Part VIII., 202

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{Transcriber's note: Spellings are sometimes erratic. A few obvious

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BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.

NO. CCCXLIV. JUNE, 1844. VOL. LV.

CONTENTS.

TRADITIONS AND TALES OF UPPER LUSATIA. NO. I. THE FAIRIES'

SABBATH, 665

COLUMBUS. (A PRINT AFTER A PICTURE BY PARMEGGIANO.)

BY B. SIMMONS, 687

TO SWALLOWS ON THE EVE OF DEPARTURE. BY THE SAME, 690

THE DILIGENCE. A LEAF FROM A JOURNAL, 692

WHO WROTE GIL BLAS? 698

MICHAEL KALLIPHOURNAS, 725

AFRICA--SLAVE TRADE--TROPICAL COLONIES, 731

NARRATION OF CERTAIN UNCOMMON THINGS THAT DID

FORMERLY HAPPEN TO ME, HERBERT WILLIS, B.D. 749

BEAU BRUMMELL, 769

THE ACTUAL CONDITION OF THE GREEK STATE, 785

INDEX, 797

* * * * *

EDINBURGH:

WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, 45, GEORGE STREET;

AND 22, PALL-MALL, LONDON.

_To whom all Communications (post paid) must be addressed._

SOLD BY ALL THE BOOKSELLERS IN THE UNITED KINGDOM.

PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND HUGHES, EDINBURGH.

BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.

No CCCXLIV. JUNE, 1844. VOL. LV.

TRADITIONS AND TALES OF UPPER LUSATIA.

No. I.

THE FAIRIES' SABBATH.

WHAT is a fairy?

READ!

["_A Wood near Athens.--Enter a Fairy on one side, and Puck on the

other._{A}]

"_Puck._ How now, Spirit! whither wander you?

_Fairy._ Over hill, over dale,

Thorough bush, thorough brier,

Over park, over pale,

Thorough flood, thorough fire,

I do wander ever where,

Swifter than the moones sphere;

And I serve the Fairy Queen,

To dew her orbs upon the green:

The cowslips tall her pensioners be;

In their gold coats spots you see;

Those be rubies, fairy favours,

In those freckles live their savours:

I must go seek some dewdrops here,

And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

Farewell, thou lob of spirits, I'll begone;

Our queen and all our elves come here anon.

_Puck._ The King doth keep his revels here to-night;

Take heed, the queen come not within his sight.

For Oberon is passing fell and wrath,

Because that she, as her attendant, hath

A lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king;

She never had so sweet a changeling.

And jealous Oberon would have the child

Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild:

But she, perforce, withholds the loved boy:

Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy:

And now they never meet in grove, or green,

By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen,

But they do square; that all their elves, for fear,

Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there."

And there, then, they are!--The blithe and lithe, bright and fine

darlings of your early-bewitched and for ever-enamoured fancy! There

they are! The King and the Queen, and the Two royal Courts of shadowy,

gorgeous, remote, and cloud-walled Elf-land: The fairies of the vision

once wafted, "by moon or star light," upon the "creeping murmur" of the

Avon!--THE FAIRIES IN ENGLAND! YOUR fairies!

Nevertheless you, from of old, are discreet. And you mistrust

information which discountenances itself, by borrowing the magical robe

of verse! Or you misdoubt this medley of our English blood, which in the

lapse of ages must, as you deem, have confounded, upon the soil, the

confluent streams of primitively distinct superstitions! Or your

suspicious inquisition rebels against this insular banishment of ours,

which, sequestering us from the common mind of the world, may, as you

augur, have perverted, into an excessive individuality of growth, our

mythological beliefs: Or--Southwards then!

One good stride over salt water lands you amongst a people, who, from

the old, have kept THEMSELVES TO THEMSELVES; whose warm, bold,

_thorough_-loyal hearts hereditarily believe, after the love and

reverence owed from the children's children to the fathers' fathers.

Here are--for good and for ill--and from a sure hand:--"THE FAIRIES IN

LOWER BRITANNY; _alio nomine_--THE KORRIGANS."

"Like these holy virgins, (the Gallicenae or Barrigenae of Mela,) our

Korrigans predict the future. They know the skill of healing incurable

maladies with particular charms; which they impart, it is affirmed, to

magicians that are their friends. Ingenious Proteuses, they take the

shape of any animal at their pleasure. In the twinkling of an eye they

whisk from one end of the world to the other. Annually, with returning

spring, they celebrate a high nocturnal festivity. A tablecloth, white

as the driven snow, is spread upon the greensward, by the margin of a

fountain. It is covered with the most delicious viands; in the midst

sparkles a crystal goblet, which sheds such a splendour as serves in the

stead of torches. At the close of the repast, this goblet goes round

from hand to hand; it holds a miraculous beverage, one drop of which, it

is averred, would make omniscient, like the Almighty. At any least

breath or stir of human kind, all vanishes.

"In truth, it is near fountains that the Korrigans are oftenest met

with; especially near such as rise in the neighbourhood of _dolmens_.{B}

For in the sequestered spots whence the Virgin Mary, who is held for

their chief foe, has not yet driven them, they still preside over the

fountains. Our traditions bestow upon them a strong passion for music,

with sweet voices; but do not, like those of the Germanic nations, make

dancers of them. The popular songs of all countries frequently depict

them combing their fine fair hair, which they seem daintily to cherish.

Their stature is that of the other European fairies: they are not above

two feet in height. Their shape, exquisitely proportioned, is as airy,

slight, and pellucid as that of the wasp. They have no other dress than

a white veil, which they wrap around their body. Seen by night, they are

very beautiful: in the daytime, you perceive that their hair is

grey--that their eyes are red--that their face is wrinkled. Accordingly,

they begin to show themselves only at the shut of eve; and they loathe

the light. _Every thing about them denotes fallen intelligences._ The

Breton peasants maintain that _they are high princesses, who, because

they would not embrace Christianity when the apostles came to preach in

Armorica, were stricken by the curse of God_. The Welsh recognise in

them, souls of Druids doomed to penance. This coincidence is remarkable.

"They are universally believed to feel a vehement hatred for the

clergy, and for our holy religion, which has confounded them with the

spirits of darkness--a grand motive, as it appears, of displeasure and

offence to them. The sight of a surplice, _the sound of bells_, scares

them away. The popular tales of all Europe would, meanwhile, tend to

support the church, in viewing them as maleficent genii. As in Britanny;

the blast of their breath is mortal in Wales, in Ireland, in Scotland,

and in Prussia. They cast weirds.{C} Whosoever has muddied the waters of

their spring, or caught them combing their hair, or counting their

treasures beside their _dolmen_, (for they there keep, it is believed,

concealed mines of gold and of diamonds,) almost inevitably dies;

especially should the misencounter fall upon a Saturday, which day, holy

to the Virgin Mother, is inauspicious for their kind,"{D} &c. &c. &c.

Here, in the stead of the joyously-sociable monarchal hive, you behold a

republic of solitarily-dwelling, and not unconditionally beautiful,

naiads! No dancing! And a stature, prodigiously disqualifying for the

asylum of an acorn cup! You are unsatisfied. Shakspeare has indeed

vividly portrayed one curiously-featured species, and M. De la

Villemarque another, of the air-made inscrutable beings evoked by your

question; but your question, from the beginning, struck at the GENERIC

notion in its purified logical shape--at the definition, then--of the

thing, a fairy.

Sir _Walter Scott_,{E} writing--the first in time of all men who have

written--at large and scientifically upon the fairies of Western Europe,

steps into disquisition by a description, duly loose for leaving his own

foot unentangled. "The general idea of SPIRITS, of A LIMITED POWER AND

SUBORDINATE NATURE, DWELLING AMONG THE WOODS AND MOUNTAINS, is perhaps

common to all nations."

A little _too_ loose, peradventure!

Dr James Grimm, heroically bent upon rescuing from the throat of

oblivion and from the tooth of scepticism, to his own TEUTONS--yet

heathen--a faith outreaching and outsoaring the gross definite

cognisances of this fleshly eye and hand, sets apart one--profoundly

read and thought--chapter, to WIGHTS AND ELVES.{F}

These terms, WIGHT and ELF, are presented by Dr Grimm as being, after a

rough way, synonymous; and you have above seen another Germanic

writer--a native of Warwickshire--take ELF for equivalent, or nearly so,

with FAIRY.

Of his many-natured Teutonic _wights and elves_, then, but with glances

darted around, northwards and westwards, and southwards and eastwards,

Dr Grimm begins with speaking thus:--

"From the _deified_ and _half-divine_ natures [investigated by this

author in several of his antecedent chapters] _a whole order of other

beings_ is especially herein distinguished, that whilst the former

either proceed of mankind, or seek human intercourse, these form a

segregated society--one might say, a peculiar kingdom of their own--and

are only, by accident or the pressure of circumstances, moved to

converse with men. Something superhuman, approximating them to the gods,

is mingled up in them: they possess power to help and to hurt man. They

are however, at the same time, afraid of him, because they are not his

bodily match. They appear either far below the human stature, or

misshapen. Almost all of them enjoy the faculty of rendering themselves

invisible."

You turn away your head, exclaiming that the weighty words of our

puissant teacher are, for your proficiency, somewhat bewildering, and

for your exigency by much too--TEUTONIC.

Have a care!

However, "Westward Hoe!" Put the old Rhine between the master of living

mythologists and yourself, and listen to Baron Walckenaer unlocking the

fountains of the fairy belief, and showing how it streams, primarily

through France, and secondarily through all remaining Western Europe.

"If there is a specifically characterized superstition, it is that which

regards _the fairies_: those _female genii_,{G} most frequently _without

name_, without descent, without kin, who are incessantly busied

subverting the order of nature, for the weal or the woe of mortals whom

they love and favour _without a motive_, or, as causelessly, hate and

persecute."{H}

What, _female_ only? Where are Oberon and Puck? _Without a name?_ Where

Titania?--Mab? _Without a motive?_ Where the godmother of the

sweet-faced and sweet-hearted Cinderella? Partial, and without a

distinct type in your own recollections, you guessingly pronounce the

characterization of the perpetual secretary too----_French_. Driven

back, disappointed on all sides, you turn round upon your difficulties,

and manfully project beating out _a definition of your own_; to which

end, glancing your eye back affectionately, and now, needle-like,

northwards across the Channel, you "at one slight bound" once more find

yourself at your own fireside, and on your table _The Midsummer Night's

Dream_, open at the second scene of the first act.

Inquirer whosoever! A problem lies large before us--complicated,

abstruse even, yet--suitably to the subject--a delicate one! To hunt

down an elusive word, and a more elusive notion! It is to find a set of

determinings which, laid together, shall form a circle fitted to confine

that inconfinable spirit--a Fairy; or, if you better like plain English,

to find the terms needed for signifying, describing, expounding the

Thought which, lurking as at the bottom of your mind, under a crowd of

thoughts, rises up, in all circumstances, to meet and answer the

name----a fairy; the Thought, which when all accidental and unessential

attributes liable to be attracted to the fairy essence have been

stripped away, remains; the _substrate_, absolute, essential, _generic_

notion, therefore--a fairy; that Thought, which whencesoever acquired,

and held howsoever, enables you to deal to your satisfaction with

proposed fairies, acknowledging THIS one frankly;--THIS, but for a

half-sister; shutting the door upon ANOTHER. You may distinguish these

terms at your pleasure, by sundry denominations: for example, you may

call them Elements of the notion--a fairy--or circumscriptive Lines of

such a notion, or indispensable Fairy-marks, or elfin Criteria, or by

any other name which you may happen to like as well or better; but when

found, call them as you will, they must reveal in essence, the thing

which we look for--the answer to the question with which we first

started, and to which we have as yet found no satisfactory solution.

As for the process of the finding. This notion is to be tracked after

widely, and in intimate recesses; more hopefully, therefore, according

to a planned campaign than a merely wild chance expatiation. The chase

ranges over a material and an intellectual ground. Of either--a word.

I. The _material_--is a _geographical_--region, and may be called,

summarily--_The western half of Europe_. Let us regard it as laid out by

languages at this day spoken. Here is a map, roughly sketched:--

A.--ABORIGINAL.

1. NORTH-WESTERN CELTS.--Ireland, Highlands of Scotland, and

the interjacent Isle of Man.

2. SOUTH-WESTERN CELTS.--Wales, Britanny, and the, till lately,

Celtic-speaking Cornwall.

3. NORTHERN GERMANS, or GERMANS BEYOND THE EIDER, or

SCANDINAVIANS.--Denmark, Sweden, Norway, Iceland.

4. SOUTHERN GERMANS, or GERMANS BELOW THE EIDER, or

TEUTONS.--Netherlands, the German empire, Switzerland.

B.--LATIN SPEAKING.

1. ITALY.--Sicily.

2. SPAIN.

3. PORTUGAL.

4. Latin-speaking FRANCE, distinguishing Normandy.

C.--GERMAN AND LATIN MIXED.

1. ENGLAND.

2. SCOTTISH LOWLANDS.

II. From all this tangible territory, we are to sweep up--what? An

overlying _intellectual_ kingdom, _videlicet_--THE KINDS OF THE FAIRIES,

rudely marked out, perhaps, as follows:--

1. The _community_ of the Fairies, monarchal or republican:--The

Fairy folk; Fairies proper.

2. The _solitary_ domestic serviceable Fairy.

3. In the mines, under the water; a Fairy folk.

4. The solitary water Fairy.

5. The Fairy-ancestress.

6. The Fairy, tutelary or persecuting, of the chivalrous metrical

romance.

7. The Fairy, tutelary or persecuting, now giving and now turning

destinies, of the fairy tale proper.

We have then to ask what are the terms, marks, common traits, or by

whatsoever name they are to be called, which are yielded by a comparison

of such seven kinds. Something like the following eight will possibly

arise:--

First, A FAIRY IS A SUBORDINATE SPIRIT.

Secondly, IS ATTRACTED TO THE SURFACE OF OUR PLANET.

Thirdly, AT ONCE SEEKS AND SHUNS MANKIND.

Fourthly, HAS A BODY.

Fifthly, IS ATTENUATE.

Sixthly, IS WITHOUT PROPER STATION AND FUNCTION IN THE GENERAL ECONOMY

OF THE UNIVERSE; OR IS MYTHOLOGICALLY DISPLACED.

Seventhly, IS ENDOWED WITH POWERS OF INTELLIGENCE AND OF AGENCY EXCELLING

HUMAN.

Eighthly, STANDS UNDER A DOOM.

To these eight criteria, taken _in the nature of the thing enquired_,

the reflective inquirer will perchance find himself led on to add two

furnished from within himself, as that--

First, Acknowledging, as in these latter days our more delicate

psychologists have called upon us to do, the names FANCY and IMAGINATION

as designating TWO faculties, the fairies belong rather to the FANCY.

Secondly, Accepting for a legitimate thought, legitimately and

cogently signified, the High Marriage which one of these finer

Metaphysicians{I}--instructed no doubt by his personal

experience--prophesies to his kind, between the "intellect of man" and

"this goodly universe," we may say that, regularly, this marriage must

have its antecedent possessing and agitating Love; that this love must,

like all possessing agitated love, have its attendant Reverie. Now,

might one venture to surmise that _this_ REVERIE breathes into the

creating of a fairy?

Does the jealous reader perchance miss in the above proposed eight

several elements the UNITY OF NOTION, which he has all along seemed to

feel in his own spirit and understanding? Let him at once conceive, as

intensely joined, the two permanent characters of _tenuity_ and

_mythological displacement_, and take this compound for the nucleus of

the unity he seeks. About these two every other element will easily

place itself. For a _soul_, he shall infuse into the whole, after in

like manner inseparably blending them--FANCY, and that love-inspired

REVERIE which won its way to us from Grassmere.

And so take, reader, our answer to your question, "_What is a fairy?_"

THIS IS A FAIRY. Are you still unsatisfied? Good. The field of

investigation lies open before you, free and inviting. On, in your own

strength, and Heaven speed you!

* * * * *

The eight or nine tales of sundry length, and exceedingly diversified

matter, contained in the two little volumes of Herr Ernst Willkomm,{J}

which have put us a-journeying to Fairy-land, have begun to produce

before the literary world the living popular superstitions of a small

and hidden mountainous district, by which _Cis Eidoran_ Germany leans

upon Sclavonia: hidden, it would seem, for any thing like interesting

knowledge, until this author began to write, from the visiting eye of

even learned curiosity. Nor this without a sufficient reason; since the

mountains do, of themselves, shut in their inhabitants, and, for a

stranger, the temper of the rugged mountaineer, at once shy and mailing

himself in defiance, is, like the soil, inaccessible. To Ernst Willkomm

this hinderance was none. He discloses to us the heart of the country,

and that of the people which have born him, which have bred him up; and

he will, if he is encouraged, write on. Three of these tales, or of

these traditions--for the titles, with this writer, appear to us

exchangeable--regard the fairies properly so called. They are, "_The

Priest's Well_," "_The Fairies' Sabbath_," here given, and "_The Fairy

Tutor_," being the first, the third, and the seventh, of the entire

present series. Upon these three tales the foregoing attempt at fixing

the generic notion of a fairy was intended to bear. Should pretty Maud,

the stone-mason's daughter, our heroine for to-day, find the favour in

English eyes which her personal merit may well claim, the remaining two

are not likely to be long withheld.

The illustrations which shall now follow, drawn from distinguished

authorities, aim at showing the consonancy of Herr Willkomm's pictures

with authentic representations of Elfin superstition already known to

the world. If, however, the criteria which have been proposed, have

been rightfully deduced, the illustrations should as materially serve us

in justifying these by proof.

Amongst the numerous points of analogy which strikingly connect our tale

with popular tales and traditions innumerable, _three_ are main to the

structure of the tale itself. They may be very briefly described as--

I. The Heathenism of the Fairies.

II. Their need, thence arising.

III. Maud's ability to help them.

* * * * *

I. The opinion, which sets the fairies in opposition to the established

faith of all Christendom, is widely diffused. To the _Breton_ peasant,

as M. de la Villemarque has above informed us, his Korrigan is a heathen

princess, doomed to a long sorrow for obstinately refusing the message

of salvation.

The brothers Grimm, speaking of the fairies in _Ireland_, say that "they

are angels cast out from heaven, who have not fallen as low as hell; but

in great fear and uncertainty about their future state, doubt,

themselves, whether they shall obtain mercy at the last day."{K}

Of the fairies in _Scotland_, it is averred by the same learned and

exact writers, that "they were originally angels dwelling in bliss, but

who, because they suffered themselves to be seduced by the archfiend,

were hurled down from heaven in innumerable multitudes. They shall

wander till the last day over mountains and lakes. They know not how

their sentence will run--whether they shall be saved or damned; but

dread the worst."

Tales, in many parts of Europe, which represent the fairies as

exceedingly solicitous about their salvation, and as _inquiring of

priests_ and others concerning their own spiritual prospects, for the

most part with an unfavourable answer, tend to fix upon them a

reproachful affinity with the spirits of darkness.

* * * * *

II. That the powerful fairies, who have appeared to us, from childhood

upwards, as irresistible dispensers of good and evil to our kind, should

_need aid_ of any sort from us, is an unexpected feature of the fairy

lore, which breaks by degrees upon the zealous and advancing inquirer.

The two excellent brothers Grimm, in the most elaborate and

comprehensive collection,{L} probably, of national traditions that

Europe possesses, have furnished us with various instances. We select a

very few. In the following graceful Alpine pastoral, the need of human

help attaches to an exigency of life or death:--

GERMAN TRADITIONS.

No. CCXX. _The Queen of the Snakes._

"A herd maiden found upon the fell a sick snake lying and almost

famished. Compassionately she held down to it her pitcher of milk. The

snake licked greedily, and was visibly revived. The girl went on her

way; and it presently happened that her lover sued for her, but was too

poor for the proud wealthy father, who tauntingly dismissed him till the

day when he too should be master of as large herds as the old herdsman.

From this time forwards had the old herdsman no luck more, but sheer

misfortune. Report ran that a fiery dragon was seen passing o' nights

over his grounds; and his substance decayed. The poor swain was now as

rich, and again sued for his beloved, whom he obtained. Upon the

wedding-day a snake came gliding into the room, upon whose coiled tail

there sat a beautiful damsel, who said that it was she to whom formerly

the kind herd maid had, in strait of hunger, given her milk, and, out

of gratitude, she took her brilliant crown from her head, and cast it

into the bride's lap. Thereupon she vanished; but the young couple

throve in their housekeeping greatly, and were soon well at ease in the

world."

Since fairies, like ourselves, are mortal, TWO LIVES may be understood

as at stake in the following:--

No. LXVIII. _The Lady of Alvensleben._

"Some hundred years ago, there lived at Calb, in the Werder, an aged

lady of the house of Alvensleben, who feared God, was gracious to the

people, and willingly disposed to render any one a service: especially

she did assist the burgesses' wives in difficult travail of childbirth,

and was, in such cases, of all desired and highly esteemed. Now,

therefore, there did happen in wise following:--

"In the night season there came a damsel to the castle gate, who knocked

and distressfully called, beseeching that it should not mislike her, if

possible, forthwith to arise, and to accompany her from the town, where

there lay a good woman in travail of child, because the last hour and

uttermost peril was already upon her, and her mistress wist no help for

her life. The noblewoman said, 'It is very midnight; all the town gates

be shut and well barred: how shall we make us forth?' The damsel

rejoined that the gate was ready open, she should come forth only, (but

beware, as do some add, in the place whither she should be conducted, to

eat or to drink any thing, or to touch that should be proffered her.)

Thereupon did the lady rise from her bed, dressed her, came down, and

went along with the damsel which had knocked. The town gate she found

open, and as they came further into a field was there a fair way which

led right into a hillside. The hill stood open, and although she did

well perceive that the thing was darksome, she resolved to go still on,

unalarmed, until she arrived at last where was a _little wifikin_ that

lay on the bed, in great pains of travail. But the noble lady gave her

succour, (by the report of some, _she needed no more than lay her hand

upon her body_,) and a little baby was born to the light of day.

"When she had yielded her aid, desire took her to return from out the

hill, home; she took leave of the sick woman, (without having any thing

touched of the meats and liquors that were offered her,) and the former

damsel anew joined her, and brought her back unharmed to the castle. At

the gateway the damsel stood still, thanked her highly in her mistress's

name, and drew off from her finger a golden ring, which she presented to

the noblewoman with these words, 'Have this dear pledge in right heedful

keeping, and let it not part from you and from your house. They of

Alvensleben will flourish so long as they possess this ring. Should it

ever leave them, the whole race must become extinct.' Herewith vanished

the damsel.

"It is said that the ring, at this day, is rightly and properly kept in

the lineage, and for good assurance deposited at Lubeck. But others,

that it was, at the dividing of the house into two branches, diligently

parted in two. Others yet, that the one half has been melted, since when

it goes ill with that branch: the other half stays with the other branch

at Zichtow. The story moreover goes, that the benevolent lady was a

married woman. When she upon the morrow told her husband the tale of

that had betid her in the night, he would not believe her, until she

said, 'Forsooth, then, an' ye will not trow me, take only the key of yon

room from the table: there lieth, I dare warrant, the ring.' Which was

exactly so. It is marvellous the gifts that men have received of the

fairies."

The most touching by far of the traditions at our disposal for

illustrating at once the dependence of the fairies upon man, and their

anxiety concerning their souls' welfare, is one in which the

all-important hope which we have said that they sometimes solicit from

the grave and authorized lips of priests, appears as floating on the

lightest breath of children. Our immediate author is James Grimm,

speaking in his German _Mythology_ of the water spirit. The tradition

itself is from Sweden, where this mythological being, the solitary

water fairy, bears the name of "The _Neck_."

"Two lads were at play by the river side. The _Neck_ sate and touched

his harp. The children called to him--

"'Why sittest thou here, _Neck_, and playest? Thou wilt not go to

heaven.' Then the _Neck_ began bitterly weeping, flung his harp away,

and sank in the deep water. When the boys came home they told their

father, who was a priest, what had happened. The father said--

"'Ye have sinned towards the _Neck_. Go ye back, and give him promise of

salvation.'

"When they returned to the river, the _Neck_ sate upon the shore,

mourning and weeping. The children said--

"'Weep not so, thou _Neck_. Our father hath said, that thy Redeemer too

liveth.'

"Then the _Neck_ took joyfully his harp, and played sweetly until long

after sundown."

"I do not know," tenderly and profoundly suggests Dr Grimm, "that any

where else in our traditions is as significantly expressed how NEEDY of

the Christian belief the HEATHEN are, and how MILDLY it should approach

them."

* * * * *

III. A few words shall here satisfy the claims of a widely-stretching

subject. Is there _one_ order of spirits which, as the Baron Walckenaer

has assured us, lavishes on chosen human heads love unattracted, and

hate unprovoked? We must look well about us ere fixing the imputation.

Spirits, upon the other hand, undoubtedly there are, and those of not a

few orders, fairies of one or another description being amongst them,

who exert, in the choice of their human favourites, a discrimination

challenging no light regard.

A host of traditions, liberally scattered over a field, of which,

perhaps, Ireland is one extremity and China the other, now plainly and

emphatically declare, and now, after a venturous interpretation, may be

understood to point out, _simplicity of will_ and _kindness of heart_ as

titles in the human being to the favour of the spirits. At times a

brighter beam irradiates such titles, to which holiness, purity, and

innocence, are seen to set their seal. We cull a few instances, warning

the reader, that, although of our best, he will possibly find them a

mere working upwards to the most perfect which we have it in our power

to bring before him in the beautiful tale of Maud.

Amongst the searchers who seem to have been roused into activity by the

German traditions of the brothers Grimm, Ludwig Bechstein takes

distinguished place for the diligence with which he has collected

different districts of Germany. Our inquiry shall owe him the two

following

TRADITIONS OF THE GRABFELD.

No. LVII. _The little Cherry-Tree upon Castle Raueneck._

"There prevails, concerning the ruins of the old hill-castle Raueneck, a

quite similar tradition to that which holds of the like named ruined

strength near Baden, in Austria. There lies yet buried here a vast

treasure, over which a spirit, debarred from repose, keeps watch,

anxiously awaiting deliverance. But who is he that can and shall

actually lift this treasure and free the spirit? Upon the wall there

grows a cherry seedling that shall one day become a tree; and the tree

shall be cut down, and out of it a cradle made. He that, being a

Sunday's child, is rocked in this cradle, will grow up, but only

provided that he have kept himself virginally pure and chaste, _at some

noontide hour_ set free the spirit, lift the treasure, and become

immeasurably rich; so as he shall be able to rebuild Castle Raueneck and

all the demolished castles in the neighbourhood round. If the plant

wither, or if a storm break it, then must the spirit again wait until

once more a cherry stone, brought by a bird to the top of the lofty

wall, shoot and put forth leaves, and haply grow to a tree."

No. LXII. _The Hollow Stone._

"In the wood near Altenstein there stands a high rock. The inhabitants

of the neighbourhood say that this rock is hollow within, and filled

with treasure in great store from the olden time. At certain seasons and

hours, it is given _to Sunday children_ to find the rock doors open, or

to open them with _the lucky flower_."

The singular superstition of spiritual favour fixing itself upon the

human child, consecrated, as it were, by the hallowed light upon which

the eyes first open, will shortly return upon us in _The Fairies'

Sabbath_.

Lo! where, from the bountiful hand of the Brothers Grimm, fall two

bright dewdrop of tradition upon the pure opening flower of childhood.

GERMAN TRADITIONS.

NO. CLIX. _The Treasure at Soest._

"In the time of the Thirty Years' war, there was to be seen standing not

far from the town of Soest, in Westphalia, an old ruin, of which the

tradition ran that there was an iron trunk there, full of money, kept by

a black dog and a bewitched maiden. The grandfathers and grandmothers

Who are gone, used to tell that a strange nobleman shall one day arrive

in the country, deliver the maiden, and open the chest with a fiery key.

They said that divers itinerant scholars and exorcists had, within the

memory of man, betaken themselves thither to dig, but been in so strange

sort received and dismissed, that no one since further had list to the

adventure, especially after their publishing that the treasure might be

lifted of none who had once taken woman's milk. It was not long since a

little girl from their village had led her few goats to feed about the

very spot; one of which straying amongst the ruins, she had followed it.

Within, in the castle court, was a damsel who questioned her what she

did there: and when she was informed, pointing to a little basket of

cherries, further said, 'It is good; therefore take of that thou see'st

before thee, with thy goat and all, and go; and come not again, neither

look behind, that a harm befall thee not.' Upon this the frightened

child caught up seven cherries, and made her way in alarm out of the

ruins. The cherries turned, in her hand, to money."

NO. CLX. _The Welling Silver._

"In February of the year 1605, in the reign of Henry Julius, Duke of

Brunswick, at a mile's distance from Quedlinburg, where it is called _at

the Dale_, it happened that a poor peasant sent his daughter into the

next shaw to pick up sticks for fuel. The girl took for this use a

larger basket upon her head, and a smaller in her hand; and when she had

filled them both and was going home, a mannikin clad all in white came

towards her, and asked:--

"'What art carrying there?'

"'Gathered sticks,' the girl made answer, 'for heating and cooking.'

"'Empty the wood out,' said further the little manling, 'take thy basket

and follow me. I shall show thee something that is better and more

profitable than thy sticks.'

"He then took her by the hand, and led her back again to a knoll, and

showed her a place which might be of two ordinary tables' breadth of a

fair pure silver, being smaller and larger coins of a moderate

thickness, with a image stamped like a Virgin Mary, and all round an

impress of exceedingly old writing. As the silver _welled up_, as it

were, abundantly out of the ground, the little girl was terrified and

drew back, neither would she empty out the sticks from her small

hand-basket. Accordingly, the little man in white himself did so, filled

the basket with the money, and gave it back to the little damsel with

saying, 'That shall be better for thee than thy sticks.' She was

confounded and took it; but upon the mannikin's requiring that she

should likewise empty out her larger basket and take silver therein, she

refused and said--'That she must carry fuel home too; for there were

little children at home who must have a warm room, and there must be

wood ready likewise for cooking.' This contented the manling, who said,

'Well, then, go; take it all home,' and thereupon disappeared.

"The girl carried the basket of silver home, and told what had happened

to her. The boors now ran flocking with pickaxes and other tools, and

would have their share of the treasure, but none of them was able to

find the spot where the silver had welled out.

"The Prince of Brunswick had a pound of the coined silver brought him,

as did moreover a burgess of Halberstadt, N. Everkan, purchase the

like."

The quick-sighted reader will not easily have missed detecting the

sudden effect produced upon the two spirits by THE TRUTHFUL

RIGHT-MINDEDNESS OF THE TWO LITTLE GIRLS.

Correspondingly, James Grimm, from surveying collectively the Teutonic

traditions of bewitched or mysteriously hidden treasure, says--

"To the lifting of the treasure is required _silence_ and _innocence_.

* * * Innocent children's hands are able to lay hold upon it, as to draw

the lot. * * * Who has viciously stained himself cannot approach it."{M}

Two short instances more from the copious fraternal collection, and we

have done. With a temper of pure childlike antiquity, they express in

the persons of the dwarfs--_Teutonic approximative, fairies_--the

sympathy of the spirits with unstained and innocent human manners; and

may, if the traditions which exhibit the fairies under a cloud of sin

and sorrow should have been felt by the reader as at all grating upon

his old love of them, help to soothe and reconcile him by a soft gleam

of illumination, here lingering as in a newly revealed Golden Age of his

own.

GERMAN TRADITIONS.

No. CXLVII. _The Dwarfs upon the Tree._

"In the summer, the dwarfs often came trooping from the cliffs down into

the valley, and joined either with help, or as lookers-on at least, the

human inhabitants at their work, especially the mowers, in hay-harvest.

They, then and there, seated themselves at their ease and pleasantly,

upon the long and thick arm of a maple in the embowering shade. But once

there came certain evil-disposed persons, who, in the night, sawed the

bough through, so that it held but weakly on to the trunk; and when the

unsuspecting creatures, upon the morrow, settled themselves down upon

it, the bough cracked in two, the dwarfs tumbled to the ground, were

heartily laughed at, fell into violent anger, and cried aloud--

'O, how is the heaven high and long!

And falsehood waxen on earth so strong!

Here to-day, and for ever away!'

They kept their word, and never again made their appearance in the

country."

No. CXLVIII. _The Dwarfs upon the Crag Stone._

"It was the wont of the dwarflings to seat themselves upon a great crag

stone, and from thence to watch the haymakers; but a few mischievous

fellows kindled a fire upon the stone, made it red-hot, and swept away

embers and ashes. Morning came, and with it the tiny folk, who burned

themselves pitiably. They exclaimed in high anger--

'O wicked world! O wicked world!'

cried vengeance, and vanished for evermore!"

We have shown,--1. The Anti-christian character imputed by tradition to

the fairies. 2. The occasional dependence of the more powerful spirits

upon the less powerful human beings; and, 3. The strong affectionate

leaning in the will of the spirits towards moral human excellence. Of

the _ability_ which, in virtue of this excellence, the human creature

possesses _to help_, Maud must, for the present, be permitted to stand

for the sole, as she is beyond all comparison our best, example.

* * * * *

The book of Ernst Willkomm takes a position in strong contrast to the

corresponding works due to the Brothers Grimm, and other great gatherers

of legendary lore. He has a personal poetic interest in the tales which

they have not. He presents himself as the expositor, not only of his

native superstitions, but also, zealously, of the Upper Lusatian

manners. Himself cradled amongst the mountains, he has drawn with

infinite pains, and by slow degrees, as he best could, from the deep

interior life of the people, their jealously withheld credences, and the

traditions which are sacredly associated with every nook of their craggy

district.

"The tract of country," says Willkomm in his Preface, "the true

Highlands of Upper Lusatia, called by the inhabitants themselves the

Upper Country, to which the tales are native, is one very narrowly

circumscribed. It amounts to scarcely ten square (German) miles. I have,

however, selected it for my undertaking," he continues, "because it is

intimately familiar to me; because the innermost character of the small

population who inhabit it is confidentially known to me; because there

is hardly a road or a path in the country which, on the darkest night, I

could not find. Interesting, romantic, magnificent is the piece of earth

which, at the confines of Bohemia, runs over hilly heights and lofty

hill, tops on to the high mountain-chain. But still more interesting, I

maintain with confidence, is the race of people."

It may seem strange at first, that the wise and profound explorers whom

we have so often had occasion to cite, the brothers Grimm, should have

failed to present us with any traditions from a corner of ground around

which they have so successfully laboured. We have hinted already at the

sufficient reason of the blank. Willkomm tells us, that the rest of the

world, which "the cabin'd cribb'd" Lusatian has himself learned to call

"_o' th' outside_," has taken no cognisance of his beautiful hill

country. Lusatia has a literature of her own, and no one is acquainted

with it. "She had, and partly still has, her own, similar to the

Imperial cities, exceeding free and energetic municipal constitution."

But no one cares about it. Celebrated and learned historians, questioned

by Willkomm on the subject, have acknowledged their ignorance in regard

to the character and laws of its small people. A more cogent reason,

however, lies nearer home, in the impenetrable reserve and

self-insulation of the mountaineers themselves. Willkomm confesses that

their coldness towards strangers is unparalleled; they have no

confidence whatever in foreigners; "and let a Lusatian but suspect," he

says, "that you come a-fishing to him, and to listen out his privacies;

then may you," as we may render the Lusatian proverb, "'Lose yourself

before you find his mushroom.'" He will communicate to strangers little

of his manners and customs; of his superstitious practices, his sacredly

guarded traditions, absolutely nothing. "He is unpliant,

self-sequestered, coarse-grained; beyond all conception easy and

phlegmatic."

Every genuine people, however, is rough-handed; and Willkomm proceeds,

after an ingenuous description of their defects, to vindicate the

natural heart of his brother highlanders. "Let him amongst the gentle,"

he proudly exclaims, "who desire to hear for once something novel,

something right vigorous, sit down beside me. He need not fear that

morals and decency will be cast out of doors. No, no! The people are

thoroughly moral and chaste at heart, if they are somewhat coarse in

expression;--ay, and tender withal. Their imagination glides as

delighted along fragrant threads of gold, as it eagerly descends amongst

the powers of darkness, amidst the dance of will-o'-the-wisps and

horrible ghost-reels. They are, at once, a blunt, good-hearted,

aboriginal stamp of men, with all the advantages and deficiencies

appurtenant."

The Lusatian traditions, brought to light in Germany by Ernst Willkomm,

and now first made known to Englishmen in these pages, were collected by

our author, as we have already observed, with difficulty and labour. A

native only of the mountain district could obtain from the lips of the

people their sacred and well-preserved lore, and even he not easily. The

tales were narrated from time to time in the spinning-room, or in the

so-called "_Hell_" of the boor or weaver, without any determinate

connexion. The listener gathered mere fragments, and these not fully,

when, thrown off his guard, he ventured to interrupt the speaker. Each

narrator conceives his tale differently, and one individual is apt to

garnish the experience of many, or what he has heard from others, with a

little spice of his own invention. Further, the details of ten or twelve

occurrences are associated with one single spot; all of which appear

externally different, and yet internally are connected closely, "so that

when comprehended in one whole picture, and not till then, they form

what, in a strict and literary sense, we are accustomed to call a

TRADITION or TALE. I, at least," adds Ernst Willkomm, "in such an

upgathering of these disjointed tones of tradition, could only

accomplish something that satisfied me by searching out the profound

hidden meaning of the people's poesy: and I have at last gone no further

than attempting to compose these detached fragments of tradition,

Lusatianwise and popularwise, from the people's own telling, into a

whole. Upon this scheme only could alike the poetical worth of the

tales, and the portraiture of the race, be rescued and rightly secured."

That the traditions have been rescued and maintained in their purity and

truth; coloured, no doubt, in the telling, and that unavoidably, under

the pencil of their educated renderer--we have every reason to believe

from internal evidences. Maintaining their own originality, they

correspond in the main to the traditions which come to us from almost

every known country on the globe, concurring to attest the intimate and

necessary relation of the human soul with what would seem to be the

remnants of an ancient and universal mythology. They bear upon their

front the minute impress of reality, not to be mistaken, and beyond the

mere invention of the poet. They are a valuable addition to the common

stock. The style of Willkomm is clear, and to the point; almost always,

as he says, in characterizing the speech of his own Upper Lusatians,

"hitting the nail upon the head." It breathes of his own mountain air,

and possesses a charm, a vigour, and freshness, which we fear that we

shall endeavour in vain to transfer to the following version:--

THE FAIRIES' SABBATH.

"Children born of a Sunday, and bastards, inherit the gift, denied to

other human beings, of beholding spirits, of talking with them, and, if

opportunity befriend, of right intimately communing with them. This was

a truth experienced by pretty Maud, the stone-mason's only daughter,

who, a hundred years ago or so, led, at the foot of the mountain-ridge

yonder, a quiet home-loving life. Maud was born, of all days in the

year, upon Easter Sunday, which is said to be a truly lucky day for a

mortal not otherwise heavily burdened with earthly blessings. In this

last respect, Maud had no reasonable cause of complaint; for her father,

by the labour of his hands, painfully earned just as much as went to a

frugal housekeeping, and the mother kept the little family in order; so

that things looked always neat and clean enough in the abode of the

stone-mason.

"All Sunday's children are very wise, and, if they are maidens, always

uncommonly beautiful. Maud was, as a child, admired by every body; nay,

it once went so far, as that a rich and beautiful, but very

sickly-looking, lady of quality, who was travelling over the mountain in

a fine carriage, tried hard to coax the poor mother out of her pretty

Maud with a large sum of gold. When the maiden had fairly stepped out of

child's shoes, and was obliged to seek employment away from home, there

was a mighty ado. It was for all the world as if a fairy was going

through the place, when Maud, early in the morning, strolled along the

banks of the murmuring stream on her road to a wealthy weaver's. The

young fellows saluted the fair one as they greeted no other. No one

ventured, however, to accost her with unseemly speeches--a kind of

thing, by the way, that young men at all times are very prone to. Maud

was treated by every one like a saint. Maidens even, her equals in

years, prized her highly; and in no way envied her the general

admiration. This might be founded in the behaviour itself of Maud. More

forward to oblige, to do good offices, more sweetly behaved, was no one.

And then she had such a grace with it all, so innocent an eye, that when

you looked into it, heaven itself seemed to shine out upon you. In

short, whoever spoke with Maud, or might walk a few steps with her, that

man was for the whole day another and a happier creature, and whatever

he undertook prospered with him.

"It would have been strange indeed had such a maiden lacked suitors, or

not very early found a sympathizing heart. Now, as for the suitors,

there was no dearth of them, Heaven knows! for there were youngsters of

the queerest fashion. Many without manners, though right well to look

at; others wealthy, but without heart or soul; and others again ready to

burst with rage, if any one but touched his hat to the beautiful

Matilda. To all such, the innocent child had not a word to say; for she

knew well enough, that scant blessing waits on marriages of such a make.

There was but one young fellow who could be said to please her

thoroughly, and he was neither rich nor singularly handsome. She had

become acquainted with him at the weaver's, where he, like herself, went

daily to work. Albert was industrious, well-behaved, and spoke so

sensibly and right-heartedly, that Maud ever listened to him with

delight. Truth to tell, he simply put her own feelings into words. A

very little time passed, before she engaged herself secretly to Albert;

and all would have gone on happily and well with them, had the two

lovers but possessed just money enough to scrape a few matters together,

and to set up housekeeping. But both were poor--poor as church mice;

and, just for that reason, the father of Maud did not look very

favourably upon the settled love-affair of his daughter. He would have

been better satisfied if the silly thing, as he called her, had given

her hand to one of the rich suitors, who would have given their ears to

please her. Since, however, once for all, the mischief was done, he,

like a good man, determined to cause his only child no heartache, and

let matters get on as they might. One condition only he insisted

upon--which was, that Maud should for the future work under her father's

roof; Albert, meanwhile, having leave every evening to pay his visits

there. In this arrangement the two lovers cordially acquiesced; for,

young as they were, they could well afford a little waiting. Meantime,

it must be their endeavour, by incessant labour and careful economy, to

save up as much as they needed for setting themselves up in their humble

dwelling. So they lived on from day to day in quiet content. And so, no

doubt, many days, and many, would have glided by, had not a singular

occurrence disturbed the profound tranquillity. This was the way of

it:--

"Maud's father, the stone-mason, found it too much for him, with his

heavy work and all, when, at noon, he had the long journey to make

between the stone quarry and his own home. Besides, the fine stone-dust

had brought on an inflammation of the eyes, so that he was obliged to

avoid the glare of the sun: no easy thing for him to do, since his road

homeward lay over a green high hill, upon which the sun beat

scorchingly: wherefore, also, the people have given it the name of the

Sun's hill. It was made, in consequence, Maud's duty to take daily her

father's homely dinner to the stone quarry--a road which, although

toilsome, was by no means disagreeable to her; inasmuch as Albert often

found means to get leave of absence, and then always escorted her a part

of the way.

"Over the Sun's hill nobody went willingly alone, either by day or by

night; for the tale ran, that to many persons wondrous things had

happened. Some had even caught, they said, their death-sickness there.

True it is, any more definite report was not easily obtained. Only so

much had Maud heard from her mother, that the GOOD PEOPLE were said, a

very, very long time ago, to have vanished into the green hill; just

when, in all the places around, so many churches had sprung up, and the

sound of bells rang over mountain and wood. These reports

notwithstanding, Maud, unconscious of evil, took her daily walk over the

Sun's hill, where indeed no one ever encountered her; so that the

splendid landscape looked often desolate and awful in the hot midday's

glow.{N} For this reason it was always a great relief to her, when, from

the top of the steep hill, she saw Albert ascending towards her. She

then felt herself more secure, and went with better spirits forward. It

was near Whitsuntide--the father sickly and more peevish than ever, and

work bringing in no supply; for provisions had risen fearfully in price

in consequence of the previous unusually hard winter. Now, as often as

Maud brought the dinner to her father, he complained bitterly, and

reproached her harshly for her folly; so that the poor child was almost

heartbroken, pined, and led a melancholy life.

"She most deeply felt her trouble, when at noon she took her lonely

journey along the desolate path that led to the quarry. Then she often

shed the bitterest tears, and prayed to God to show her an outlet, and

to have pity on their poverty.

"One day--it was just a week to Whitsun-eve--it happened that as she

went upon her way, silently and in sorrow, and in vain looked for the

beloved figure of Albert, she suddenly heard such a marvellously clear

sound of a bell that she stood still to hearken. It was upon the mid

summit of the Sun's hill; the air perfectly calm, and around, far and

near, not a creature to be seen. From the distant hamlet in the valley

clinked only the sharp tones of the whetting scythe. Maud believed that

she had had a ringing in her ears, and walked on. The singular sound was

repeated, resembling the tone exactly of a small silver bell.

"'How strange it is!' said the maiden to herself, casting her eyes upon

the ground; and in the soft moss, right at her feet, she perceived

something glistening like a fragment of blue glass. She stooped and

picked up what in colour and shape resembled a blue harebell, or, as it

is called, _Fairy's hat_; only, where the stalk should have been, there

was a so small and elegantly-wrought little silver bell, that Maud could

not help laughing outright.

"'Bless me!' she exclaimed, 'who can have made that comical thing?' and

thereupon she shook the flower, and the wee little bell began to sound

so prodigiously clear, that the poor damsel let it fall, affrighted.

"'What are thy commands?' asked immediately a slender bright voice.

Before her stood a delicate creature, not higher than her hand; but of a

symmetry of person that was perfectly astonishing. His small expressive

head, round which a grove of curls, like crisped sunbeams, played, was

just of a size, that the flower with the wondrous bell served it for a

covering. For Maud saw how he put on the sparkling hat with much

gravity, and at the same time, very knowingly, giving himself a right

bold and dandy appearance.

"'What are you then?' asked Maud trembling.

"The little fellow made a smart bow, 'Thy servant, with thy good leave,'

replied the strange being. 'I and my people have known thee a long time.

We have heard thy complainings; and because thou hast a kind heart, and

lovest the flowers, and dost not wantonly pull them to pieces, am I

charged to do thee a pleasure, provided thou wilt do the like for me and

my people.'

"'Indeed! you pretty little original!' answered Maud, 'who are thy

people? I'----

"'Hush!' interrupted the little one, with a repelling gesture of the

hand and a very impressive contraction of the brow. 'These are questions

which I cannot answer, and, what is more, cannot suffer. It is not civil

to put questions of the WHENCE and the WHAT. If thou wilt trust me, and

I should think that I have the air of a proper gentleman, then resolve

without delay whether thou wilt do me a pleasure for a reasonable

compensation.'

"'Dear little sir!' replied Maud, overcome, 'I am not mistrustful, but

so beset and afflicted that I really do not know how I am to understand

this strange business. Do not make sport of me, good child; or, if thou

art a spirit, I beseech thee have compassion on me, and let me go my way

in peace. My father is waiting for me. His little bit of dinner is

drying in the heat of the sun.'

"'Silly prattle!' interrupted the little one. 'Thy old father lies under

the rock side, and snores till the fern leaves waggle over him. The good

man's dinner will not take much harm. However, that thou mayest see how

good and honourable my intentions are, take thou my little cap. Be it

the pledge which I shall redeem from thee with a compensation. Only

resolve quickly now whether thou wilt trust me. My time is short.'

"Maud hesitated still. She held the miraculous cap with its silver bell

in her hand. The desire to get rid of the _uncanny_ creature the sooner

the better, and also, perhaps, a particle of female curiosity wrung from

her her consent.

"'Good!' said the little one in great glee. 'Now, hear me! This day

week, upon Whitsun-eve, as ye call it, do thou come here in the evening,

as soon as the moon has mounted this green hill. Be not afraid; for only

good will befall thee. As soon as thou hast reached this spot, ring with

the little bell which I have given thee; and thou wilt not repent having

been serviceable to the good people.'

"Scarcely had the little man given Maud her direction, when the

astonished maiden remarked that the ground before her feet flashed like

molten gold, sunk deeper and deeper, and in this glowing gulf the

extraordinary being vanished, like a silver star. The whole phenomenon

lasted only a few seconds, then every thing was again at rest as before.

The little bell-flower only assured Matilda that she did not dream, and

that something unusual had really taken place.

"Possessed with her feelings, she took her father his meal; and found

him, in sooth, fast asleep under the wall of rock. Of her adventure she

said nothing, but carried the pledge of the little man well secured in

her bosom. And yet how was it possible for her to persevere in her

silence? It is true, Maud knew not if the communication of the incident

was permitted her. She put her trust, however, in the pledge; and, since

she had not been commanded to silence, she hoped to be justified in

making Albert acquainted with what had happened.

"She did it with fear and trembling, and produced to her astonished

lover, as witness, the flower which had withered in the warmth of her

bosom. Singularly enough, let her shake it as often as she would, the

little bell could not be made to ring.

"'And you really mean to go?' asked Albert, when he had a little

recovered from his surprise. 'I should like to see you! To get flirting

with ghosts and hobgoblins, or whatever else the devils may be. No! go

you don't. You will throw that stupid thing into the running stream.

_There_ it won't hurt you; and upon that confounded Sun's hill you will

please never to set foot more.'

"'I have given my word, Albert; and I must keep my word let what will

happen.'

"'Very well,' said the youngster, 'that's enough! Then every thing's at

an end between us--clean at an end!'

"'How you take on now! For whom else, but for you, have I accepted this

pledge? For whom else have I so long endured--so long borne my father's

upbraidings? Dost thou think that, had I wished it, I could not long

since have wedded? And is it my fault that I am a Sunday's child? Is it

not said that all Sunday's children are born to good-luck? If you hinder

me from keeping my word with this miraculous being--and the luck that is

decreed me is meanwhile scattered to all the four winds--you may settle

it with the spirit and face his anger; for I wash my hands in

innocency.'

"Maud began to cry, kissed the shrunken leaf, and hid it again in her

bosom. Albert was not at ease. He was annoyed at the untoward encounter,

a touch of jealousy disquieted and distressed his soul, and yet he

could not say that the girl was in the wrong. At length he said,

dispiritedly--

"'Go through with your folly then. I will, however, be near you, and if

the moon-spun rascal takes improper liberties, I will snap his neck,

though mine too should crack for it.'

"For the first time in his life, Albert parted with Maud in an

ill-humour, and the poor girl herself passed a bad and restless night.

* * * * *

"'Mother,' said Maud a few days afterwards, whilst she was getting the

father's dinner ready for her, 'did you ever see a fairy?'

"'God forbid, girl!' cried the worthy and somewhat timid woman, crossing

herself. 'How came that into thy head? What hast thou to do with fairies

and elves, dwarfs and wights? A good Christian has no business with such

things of nothing, or worse.'

"'Why, aunt Nelly was telling the other day such surprising stories of

the people!' Matilda replied; 'but she did not drop a hint of our having

reason to fear any harm from them. She even called them the GOOD

PEOPLE.'

"'Daughter!' the mother seriously rejoined, 'we call them so that they

may do us no mischief. It is safer for us to leave them quite alone.'

"'Can it be true, mother, that they have buried themselves under the

Sun's hill, and keep house and home there? Aunt Nelly would have it that

in the still of the night, by bright moonlight, you may hear them

singing wonderful tunes.'

"The mother fixed her eyes upon Maud, set the old man's morsel of food

upon the hearth stone, and, taking her daughter by the hand, led her to

the stove, and seated her upon the family bench.

"'Listen!' she said, 'and take thou heed to my words. The good people,

or the fairies, which is their proper name, although they do not like to

be called so, do indeed live, though few have the gift of beholding

them, in all the mountains and valleys round about. Very, very seldom,

and only upon the most extraordinary occasions, do they ever show

themselves. When they do, it betokens luck to him that sees them, and

brings it, if he quietly fulfill their wishes. These are certainly often

out of the way, just like the people, who are strange and

incomprehensible enough. Thank Goodness, they never crossed my path! but

your godmother Helen, she had many, many years ago, a curious adventure

with the fairies.'

"'Really, mother! Aunt Nelly spoken to the fairies! O pray, dear mother,

tell me quickly and fully the whole story!'

"'First run to the quarry, and take your father his dinner,' said the

mother. 'I will try in the meanwhile to remember all about it; and if

you will promise me to say not a word to any one--not even to your

godmother, you shall hear what your aunt told me at that time.'

"Maud very naturally promised every thing, took herself off, and was

back again as quickly as possible. She did not loiter for a moment upon

the road, did not even notice the signals which her Albert made as he

came towards her from the distance. She could think only of her mother's

story.

"'Here I am again, mother!' she said breathless. 'I call that running! I

should say that the king's trained runners could do no better. But now

begin, dear mother. I will listen to you as if you were saying mass.'

"'As well as I can remember,' proceeded the mother, 'the case of the

fairies is a very singular one. Your godmother Helen disclosed to me, it

is true, just the chief particulars only; but they were quite enough to

let you understand something of the good people. They told her that,

once in every fifty or a hundred years, they have a kind of church

meeting, which from old time they call a Sabbath. For you must know,

child, that the fairies are properly Jews,{O} right down old chaffering

Jews, from _Olim's_ time.'{P}

"'O bless me! Jews!' cried Maud, frightened out of her wits.

"'Yes, yes, Jews and nothing else,' repeated the mother warmly; 'and

that's the very reason why, up to this day, they are so given to

trafficking in precious stones, pearls, gold, silver, and artful

jewellery. And when they give themselves a holiday, they go running

about above-ground, making presents to new-born babies if they are very

lovely, and playing all kinds of odd pranks. According to your godmother

Helen, the history of the fairies runs thus:--The whole people, and

their name is LEGION, were formerly in heaven.'

"'In heaven!' cried Maud, interrupting her mother, 'then why didn't the

silly creatures stay there? Where else do they hope to be more snug and

comfortable than in heaven! seated under the fur-cap of father Abraham!'

"'How you prate!' said the mother, checking her. 'If you do not

instantly tie up your tongue, and think more respectfully of the good

people, I shall not tell you another syllable.'

"'O pray! I will be quite quiet!'

"'Very well. Then the fairies were a long while ago in heaven,'

continued the mother. 'At that time they were part of the angelic host,

were fine handsome people, went about in glittering robes, and sat at

God's right hand. Now, it befell that the chief angel of all got

dissatisfied with the old management of affairs in heaven, stirred up

discontent, tampered with the half of all the angels, and tried, with

their help, to thrust out the old rightful Master of heaven and earth

from his bright throne. But it fared with him as it does with most

rebels, and rightly should with all. Our Father, in his glory, got the

better of Satan, took him by the hair of his head, and pitched him

head-foremost out of heaven into the pit of darkness, and his whole

sharkish band of retainers after him. Amongst these, however, a good

many had given ear to his fine tales, and had followed him

thoughtlessly, although they were not properly wicked at heart. They

repented their hasty work, even whilst they were falling deeper and

deeper into gloom. They put up a prayer of repentance to their Lord, and

implored his forgiveness; and because God saw that they were not rotten

at the core, he hearkened to their petition, and rescued them out of the

claws of Satan. But since they were not worthy to be received into

heaven again, the Lord banished them back to the earth, with leave given

them to dwell either within it, or in upper air, upon the hills and

rocks. You must know that, during their fall, a surprising change had

gone on in the transgressors. They had kept their forms of

light--dwindled in size, however, immensely. And since they could not

now become men,{Q} and had fooled away their celestial bliss, the Lord

granted them a clear field, with power, until the last day, to make

themselves worthy by good deeds of being re-admitted into heaven. And

thus they have their abodes all about the open hills and the meadow

flats; and only once in every fifty or a hundred years, upon

Whitsun-eve, are they permitted, in their own way, to keep the Sabbath.

And then they can only do it by loading a truly good human being with

the blessings of fortune. For thus only can they hope to expiate their

great offence in the sight of Heaven.'

"'And did godmother Helen hear this from the good people themselves?'

asked Maud, as her mother ceased. 'Was she, then, lucky?'

"'No,' said the mother, 'Nelly was not lucky, because she did not

observe the commandment of the fairies.'

"'Well, if one of the creatures came to me, and should lay a command

upon me, I would keep a quiet tongue within my head, and do readily what

he wished.'

"'Foolish chatter!' said the mother chidingly. 'Thou dost offend the

quiet people with thy empty babbling for they can hear every thing that

human lips utter.'

"Maud went singing to her work, and long mused upon her timid mother's

narrative. What she had heard filled her with so eager a curiosity that

she could scarcely wait for Whitsun-eve, although she took care to let

no one observe it. From time to time she stole a glance at her

bell-flower, tried to make it ring with shaking, but failed to bring, by

any means, one sound from the delicate little bell.

"With a longing dread, Maud saw the promised Whitsun-eve draw near. It

was not easy to leave the parental roof at nightfall. The enamoured

maiden, however, found a becoming excuse which placed a few hours at her

disposal. She went her way with the fairy cap in her bosom, ascended the

green summit of the Sun's hill, now glimmering in the moonlight, and

drew from its hiding-place the pledge that had been entrusted to her. As

if by a miracle, the little flower, touched by the moon's silvery glow,

expanded in an instant. Almost spontaneously it began to oscillate in

her hand, and shrill and clear the little bell rang, so that it

resounded into the adjacent wood, whence a soft echo melodiously

responded.

"The voice of Albert, who with vigorous strides was ascending the hill

to look close after the adventure of his beloved, reached her ear. But

the senses of Matilda were engrossed by the fairies, and to his repeated

calls she gave no answer. And she had good reason. For scarcely had the

little bell rung, when a flash, like a sparkling snake, darted here and

there upon the grass, and out of the quivering light there arose a small

and exceedingly beautiful creature, whom Maud immediately recognised for

the lord of the bell-flower. The little fellow was in Spanish costume.

He wore a doublet of sky-blue butterflies' wings, over which dropped a

magnificent lace collar woven of the gossamer. The delicate feet were

covered with transparent shoes, made of dew-drops.

"Maud stood mute with astonishment, as well at the tiny smallness of the

fairy, as at his truly classical beauty. The little creature was, in his

way, a perfect Adonis.

"'Now, my trembler, art thou resolute to follow me?' whispered the fairy

in a note that came to her like a note of the harmonicon. 'Restore me

the pledge, for we have no time to lose.'

"Maud gave back the bell-flower; the elf seized it in his little

diaphanous alabaster floral hands, waved it three times round his

dazzling head, so that the little bell sent a peal round the hills, and

then threw it upon the ground. It dilated immediately, took the shape of

a galley with masts and yards, although no larger than the moon's disk

as we see it from the earth. In the same instant the elf sat in the

little vessel, which trembled at every step, drew a rush from his

girdle, and steered with it in the air.

"'Now, come, step in!' he called to Maud.

"'In that!' exclaimed the maiden astounded. 'Heaven love you, there's

hardly room for my two feet! Besides, it will tear under me like a

poppy-leaf, for I verily believe it is made of mere air.'

"'Spare your remarks, Miss Pert!' returned the fairy, 'and step in. I

pledge my honour, and will give up my hope of salvation, if this bark of

our master's do not carry thee safely over half the earth ball in less

than no time.'

"It might be that Maud now stood under the mysterious power of a spell,

or that she was urged by an invincible curiosity. Enough: she placed her

feet in the quaking gondola, which swelled aloft like an air-balloon

until it reached the maiden's shoulders. Now the ground sank away, and

Matilda's senses failed her in the dizzy speed with which she was

hurried down into the bowels of the earth. At this precise moment Albert

reached the top of the hill. He had only the pleasure of looking after

them, and hardly that; for it appeared to him as if every thing about

him was immersed in a sea of azure so resplendently clear, that he was

for several minutes robbed of his sight.

"From the magical slumber into which the child had fallen during her

descent into the kingdom of the fairies, she was awakened by a witching

harmony of sounds. She opened her eyes, and observed, with not a little

wonder, that she was lying upon a bed or mat, or whatsoever else it

might be called, of costly emerald. Over her head nodded marvellous

flowers of the most glowing colours; butterflies, of unseen splendour,

flitted on cooling pinions around her couch, and fanned her with an air

so sweet, so invigorating, that the maiden had never breathed before

with such delight. But with all the magnificence, all the spirit and

splendour, every thing was quite other than upon the sunny earth above.

The flowers and herbs glittered indeed; but they seemed to be juiceless,

and looked as if formed of crystal. Even the butterflies had a peculiar

motion, like that of an involuntary sleepwalker. Only the harmonious

strains, which now rang louder and louder, more and more ravishing, were

so ecstatic, so inviting to joyous devotion, that Maud would fain have

shouted aloud for joy; but she felt that she could not speak, could not

cry out, and sight, touch, and hearing, were more alive than ever.

"Thus she lay for some time motionless, pleasingly intent upon the

nodding flowers, the swarming butterflies. At length the winged

multitude dispersed, and two slender fairy-forms approached her bed and

beckoned her to arise and follow them.

"Maud arose; and the fairies, who hardly reached up to her knee, taking

her between them, conducted her through a gate of mother-of-pearl into

an illimitable space, through which throng of countless millions of

elves confusedly moved. The converse of these semi-spirits sounded in

the distance harmonious, like perfect music. Notwithstanding the immense

multitude, there was nothing of tumult, nothing of uproar. They stood

all in the finest concord, and bent, waving their flower-caps

gracefully, towards the abashed, astonished maiden. It bewildered Maud

to see that not only overhead arched a star-bespangled sky, but likewise

underneath her feet the same solemn starry splendour was revealed, as if

the slight fairy people walked, between two heavens, upon the milkwhite

vapour which rolled on under them like clouds. Every fairy had on glass

or crystal shoes, if that which they wore on their feet might be so

called. It is, however, possible that the exquisitely made limbs of

these perplexing beings only deluded the eyes of the poor girl with such

an appearance.

"Nearly in the middle of the immeasurable arena rose a temple of gold,

silver, and precious stones, which, with its lofty pillars reaching to

the sky, was emblazoned in so wondrous a light, that, notwithstanding

the extreme refulgence, it did not dazzle. Within this, upon a

ceaselessly revolving sun-orb, stood the most beautiful and tallest of

the fairies. In her golden hair gleamed stars. Joy and ecstasy radiated

like a glory from her lovely pale face, and vapoury raiment concealed,

but as with a breath, her incomparable figure. Towards her pressed the

innumerable host; for the sublime creature might be the priestess of the

united elfin race. Maud was carried forwards with them, that she might

be a witness of the singular worship that was here solemnized. Not a

word was spoken, no hymn was sung; there was but a looking-up of

supplication, of trustfulness, in which all the fairies, turning round

upon their sparkling little feet, took part. After a few minutes a

joyful expression in the countenance of the worshippers proclaimed the

happy issue of the Sabbath. The stars of the upper sky shot down like

silver spangles, and hung suspended in the luminous hair of the fairies,

giving them the appearance of carrying dancing lights on their heads. A

loud, melodious, strain of rejoicing thrilled through the vast room. The

radiant structure heaved and sank. Overhead a verdurous canopy of leaves

vaulted itself; the elves, entwining arms and legs, flew in a lightning

whirl around the high priestess and the dazzled Maud, who, unawares, had

come close upon the lovely fairy.

"In a little while the slender body-chain of elves gave way; they

grouped themselves into numberless rows; every one took off the star

from his head, and, tripping up, deposited it at the feet of the

priestess, where they at length all united in composing themselves into

a great gold-bright sphere, exactly resembling that upon which the high,

officiating fairy had been borne round in the temple.

"The elfin now extended her hand to Maud and said--

"'We thank thee for the readiness with which thou hast followed my

messenger into this our hidden kingdom. Thou hast, by thy presence,

prospered our Sabbath festival. Receive, for thy reward, the gratitude

of all the fairies; and bear with thee this gift in remembrance of this

day.'

"So speaking, she plucked the coronal of stars from her hair, stretched

it out with both her hands, and hung it upon the head and neck of

Matilda.

"'Whenever thou art in trouble,' she continued, 'think of the good

people; pull one of these stars, throw it in the air by the light of the

moon, and whatsoever thou wishest, provided it be lawful, shall be

granted thee.'

"Maud would have stammered forth her thanks, but she felt herself still

powerless to speak. A kiss of the fairy upon her forehead was the signal

for breaking up. The good people once more waved their caps. The gondola

floated by, Maud mounted it, and, as quickly as she had descended, was

lifted up upon the earth again.

"'There!' said the little pilot fairy, tying the supple rudder about the

wrist of Maud, 'that is my wedding gift to you and Albert. Give him the

half of it if he pouts; and--have a care--no blabbing!'

"With that the gondola dissolved like a cloud in the air. The fairy

vanished; and Maud lay alone upon the fragrant dewy grass of the Sun's

hill.

"Still all-amazed at what had happened, and not yet come rightly to

herself, she slowly rose, intending to go home. It was then she

perceived Albert, who, with folded arms, was staring wildly and savagely

into the wood below. Matilda coughed.

"'Why where, in the name of all that is holy, have you been dancing to?'

was the not very tender greeting of her lover. 'I saw you standing there

as I came up the hill; and then lightning and streams of fire were all

about me, and here I have been full five minutes, running about in all

directions, without being able to find a trace of you.'

"'Only five minutes!' exclaimed Maud; 'that is extraordinary!'

"'Yes; and, no offence to you, not altogether right,' answered Albert.

'Did I not beg of you to wait for me?'

"'That you might wring the fairy's neck for him?' said the maiden,

laughing. 'Set yourself at ease, Albert; it is much better as it is.'

"'What is?' screamed the youngster.

"'Never mind! It is all done now; and indeed, dear boy, we shall neither

of us repent it. Come, let us go home.'

"'O ho!--_dear boy!_--Mighty wise and patronizing truly!'

"'Well, then, good Albert,' said Matilda coaxingly; 'only come away, and

don't be angry. In four weeks we shall be married.'

"'In fo--ur wee--eeks!' stuttered Albert.

"'Yes, and in three, if you like it better,' prated the overjoyed Maud.

'The good people,' she added, almost inaudibly, 'have enabled us to

marry. Therefore behave pretty, be quiet, and don't quarrel--or

else--'_every thing is at an end between us--clean at an end!_' Don't

you know that I am a Sunday's child, and am under the especial

protection of these kind, little, powerful creatures?'

"The jealous youth followed the maiden with reluctance. Whilst he

walked, murmuring in an under-tone at her side, he noticed by the light

of the full moon something flickering in Matilda's hair. He examined it

more closely, and then stood still.

"'What new fashion do you call that?' he asked in a voice of chagrin.

'The idea of hanging dried mushrooms in one's hair! If you will only

walk with that finery by daylight down to the brook, the children will

run after you, and point at you with their finger.'

"'Mushrooms!' replied Maud. 'Why, where are your eyes again?'

"'Well, I suppose you don't mean to call them silver crowns? Thank

Heaven, my eyes are good enough yet to see the difference between dried

funguses and coined money!'

"'They are glittering stars, sir,' said Maud, short and decided.

"'O indeed!' returned Albert. 'Well, then, the next time I would

recommend you to select some that shine rather brighter.'

"The lovers had, in the meanwhile, reached the hut of the stone-mason.

Albert entered with Matilda. The father lay asleep by the stove. The

mother turned her spinning-wheel.

"'Good-evening, mother!" said Albert. 'Have the goodness to tell that

conceited girl there, that her headgear is the most miserable that ever

was seen.'

"'What!' said the old lady wondering, and with a shake of the head.

'Maud has no other gear that I see, but her own beautiful hair, which

may God long preserve to her!'

"Instead of giving any answer, Albert would have set the daughter before

her mother's eyes. But Maud had already, in the doorway, pulled off the

fairy's gift, and turned pale as she saw that she had actually worn

dried mushrooms on a string, twisted of withered rushes. Albert observed

her perplexity, and laughed. He bantered her, and snatched two or three

mushrooms from the chain, to hoard up for future sport. This was the

token of their reconciliation. Maud, although very calmly, assured her

lover, over and over again, that within a month their nuptials should

take place. That the tired old man might not be disturbed, Albert went

home early; and Maud hastened to put carefully away, for a while, the

very meagre-looking fairy gifts.

"On the following morning, Albert was off betimes to his work. Putting

on his jacket, he heard something chinking within. His surprise was

naturally great, knowing that he had no money there. He dived at once

into his pocket, and drew out two large old gold pieces. Then he

suddenly remembered, that the evening before he had pocketed the

mushrooms which he had snatched away from Maud, and the most extravagant

joy possessed him. He forgot his work and every thing else; started off,

and ran, as fast as his legs could carry him, to the house of the

stone-mason.

"Maud stood at the brook, before the door, washing her small white hands

in the clear stream.

"'Good-morrow, dear Maud, and a thousand blessings on thy sweet head!'

cried Albert to her, as he came running. 'Look, look, how thy mushrooms

have changed! If the others turn out as well, I am afraid that, after

all, I must forgive that little shrimp that was so killingly polite to

you!'

"'Delightful! delightful!' exclaimed Matilda, gazing at the gold pieces.

'Mine have not changed yet--but that doesn't matter; for in the night, a

little rush band, with which the fairy steered me into his kingdom of

wonders, has bloomed into precious pearls and brilliants, and two

sparkling wreaths are now lying upstairs in my drawer.'

"Joyful surprise choked Albert's words in his throat; but Maud drew him

on, and displayed to him her glories from the fairy world.

"'Let us leave nothing undone that may help our luck. Do you take the

little wreath for the present. Such is the wish of the mysterious being,

who required my attendance at the Fairies' Sabbath.'

"Albert received the gift with a softened heart. He begged Maud's

forgiveness of his fault; she granted it willingly, and before four

weeks had passed by, the lovers were man and wife.

"Of her adventure on Whitsun-eve, Maud never spoke. So much the more had

her godmother Helen to say about it; for it was not difficult to guess

that the fairies had had their prospering hand in the marriage of her

godchild. The stone-mason now gave up his laborious calling. Albert

became the master of a moderate property, which he diligently cultivated

with his beloved Maud; and, as fair child after child was born to them,

the happy mother laid upon the breast of each a shriveled leaf from the

elfin chain, for so had her little guide counseled her, when she once,

in a doubtful hour, had summoned him to her aid. Albert and Matilda

reached a good old age; their children throve, and carefully preserved,

like their parents, the gifts received from the subterranean folk, who

continued their favour to them and to all their posterity."

FOOTNOTES:

{A} Midsummer Night's Dream.

{B} DOLMEN; literally, _stone table_. Remarkable structures, learnedly

ascribed to the Druids; unlearnedly, to the dwarfs and fairies; and

numerous throughout Western Britanny. One or more large and massive flat

stones, overlaying great slabs planted edgeways in the ground, form a

rude and sometimes very capacious chamber, or grotto. The superstition

which cleaves to these relics of a forgotten antiquity, stamps itself in

the names given to many of them by the peasantry:--_Grotte aux fees_,

_Roche aux fees_, &c.

{C} WEIRDS. The French has--LOTS. "_Elles jettent des SORTS._" For

justifying the translation, see the fine old Scottish ballad of KEMPION;

or KEMP OWAYNE, at the beginning:--

"Come here, come here, ye _freely fede_, (i. e. _nobly born_,)

And lay your head low on my knee,

A heavier WEIRD I shall ye read

Than ever was read to gay ladye.

"I WEIRD ye to a fiery beast:

And released shall ye never be,

Till Kempion the kinges son

Come to the crag and thrice kiss thee!"

{D} From the preface to the exceedingly interesting collection by M. Th.

de la Villemarque, of the transmitted songs that are current amongst his

Bas Breton countrymen.

{E} Essay on _The Fairies of Popular Superstition_, in "The Minstrelsy

of the Scottish Border."

{F} Deutsche Mythologie, von Jacob Grimm. Chap. xiii. Ed. 1. 1835, and

xvii. Ed. 2. 1843.

{G} "_Ces genies femelles._"

{H} From Walckenaer's Dissertation on the Origin of the Fairy Belief;

last printed, in an abridged form, by Jacob, in his edition of the

_Contes des Fees, par Perrault_, (Paris, 1842.)

{I} "Paradise and groves

Elysian, fortunate fields--like those of old

Sought in the Atlantic main, why should they be

A history only of departed things,

Or a mere fiction of what never was?

For the discerning _Intellect of man,

When wedded to this goodly Universe

In love and holy passion_, shall find these

A simple produce of the common day.

I long before the blissful hour arrives

Would chant, in lonely peace, the spousal verse

Of this great consummation."

WORDSWORTH. _Preface to the Excursion._

{J} _SAGEN UND MAHRCHEN aus der Oberlausitz_. Nacherzahlt von _Ernst

Willkomm_, Hanover, 1843.

{K} IRISCHE ELFENMARCHEN: Uebersetzt von den Bruedern Grimm. Leipzig,

1826. _Introduction._

{L} DEUTSCHE SAGEN: Herausgegeben von den Bruedern Grimm. Berlin, 1816

and 1818.

{M} Grimm's German Mythology, p. 544.

{N} "----his look

Drew audience and attention, STILL AS night

Or SUMMER'S NOONTIDE AIR."--_Paradise Lost. Book II._

{O} The fairies themselves hardly can have imparted to godmother Helen

the two irreconcilable derivations of their order: that they were Jews,

and that they were fallen angels. But the poet DRAMATICALLY joins, upon

the mother's lip, the two current traditions. With her, fallen angel and

Jew are synonymous, as being both opposed to the faith of the cross.

{P} Who is this unknown OLIM? Our old friend perchance, the Latin

adverb, "_Olim_," _of yore_--gradually slipped from the mouths of

scholars into the people's, and risen in dignity as it descended.

{Q} _Sic._

COLUMBUS.

(_A Print after a Picture by Parmeggiano._)

BY B. SIMMONS.

I.

RISE, VICTOR, from the festive board

Flush'd with triumphal wine,

And lifting high thy beaming sword,

Fired by the flattering Harper's chord,

Who hymns thee half divine.

Vow at the glutted shrine of Fate

That dark-red brand to consecrate!

Long, dread, and doubtful was the fray

That gives the stars thy name to-day.

But all is over; round thee now

Fame shouts, spoil pours, and captives bow,

No stormier joy can Earth impart,

Than thrills in lightning through thy heart.

II.

Gay LOVER, with the soft guitar,

Hie to the olive-woods afar,

And to thy friend, the listening brook,

Alone reveal that raptured look;

The maid so long in secret loved--

A parent's angry will removed--

This morning saw betrothed thine,

That Sire the pledge, consenting, blest,

Life bright as motes in golden wine,

Is dancing in thy breast.

III.

STATESMAN astute, the final hour

Arrives of long-contested Power;

Each crafty wile thine ends to aid,

Party and principle betray'd;

The subtle speech, the plan profound,

Pursued for years, success has crown'd;

To-night the Vote upon whose tongue,

The nicely-poised Division hung,

Was thine--beneath that placid brow

What feelings throb exulting now!

Thy rival falls;--on grandeur's base

Go shake the nations in his place!

IV.

FAME, LOVE, AMBITION! what are Ye,

With all your wasting passions' war,

To the great Strife that, like a sea,

O'erswept His soul tumultuously,

Whose face gleams on me like a star--

A star that gleams through murky clouds--

As here begirt by struggling crowds

A spell-bound Loiterer I stand,

Before a print-shop in the Strand?

What are your eager hopes and fears

Whose minutes wither men like years--

Your schemes defeated or fulfill'd,

To the emotions dread that thrill'd

_His_ frame on that October night,

When, watching by the lonely mast,

_He saw on shore the moving light_,

And felt, though darkness veil'd the sight,

The long-sought World was his at last?{A}

V.

How Fancy's boldest glances fail,

Contemplating each hurrying mood

Of thought that to that aspect pale

Sent up the heart's o'erboiling flood

Through that vast vigil, while his eyes

Watch'd till the slow reluctant skies

Should kindle, and the vision dread,

Of all his livelong years be read!

In youth, his faith-led spirit doom'd

Still to be baffled and betray'd,

His manhood's vigorous noon consumed

Ere Power bestow'd its niggard aid;

That morn of summer, dawning grey,{B}

When, from Huelva's humble bay,

He full of hope, before the gale

Turn'd on the hopeless World his sail,

And steer'd for seas untrack'd, unknown,

And westward still sail'd on--sail'd on--

Sail'd on till Ocean seem'd to be

All shoreless as Eternity,

Till, from its long-loved Star estranged,

At last the constant Needle changed,{C}

And fierce amid his murmuring crew

Prone terror into treason grew;

While on his tortured spirit rose,

More dire than portents, toils, or foes,

The awaiting World's loud jeers and scorn

Yell'd o'er his profitless Return;

No--none through that dark watch may trace

The feelings wild beneath whose swell,

As heaves the bark the billows' race,

His Being rose and fell!

Yet over doubt, and pride, and pain,

O'er all that flash'd through breast and brain,

As with those grand, immortal eyes

He stood--his heart on fire to know

When morning next illumed the skies,

What wonders in its light should glow--

O'er all one thought must, in that hour,

Have sway'd supreme--Power, conscious Power--

The lofty sense that Truths conceived,

And born of his own starry mind,

And foster'd into might, achieved

A new Creation for mankind!

And when from off that ocean calm

The Tropic's dusky curtain clear'd,

All those green shores and banks of balm

And rosy-tinted hills appear'd

Silent and bright as Eden, ere

Earth's breezes shook one blossom there--

Against that hour's proud tumult weigh'd,

LOVE, FAME, AMBITION, how ye fade!

VI.

Thou LUTHER of the darken'd Deep!

Nor less intrepid, too, than He

Whose courage broke EARTH'S bigot sleep

Whilst thine unbarr'd the SEA--

Like his, 'twas thy predestined fate

Against your grin benighted age,

With all its fiends of Fear and Hate,

War, single-handed war, to wage,

And live a conqueror, too, like him,

Till Time's expiring lights grow dim!

O, Hero of my boyish heart!

Ere from thy pictured looks I part,

My mind's maturer reverence now

In thoughts of thankfulness would bow

To the OMNISCIENT WILL that sent

Thee forth, its chosen instrument,

To teach us hope, when sin and care,

And the vile soilings that degrade

Our dust, would bid us most despair--

Hope, from each varied deed display'd

Along thy bold and wondrous story,

That shows how far one steadfast mind,

Serene in suffering as in glory,

May go to deify our kind.

FOOTNOTES:

{A} October 11, 1492.--"As the evening darkened, Columbus took his

station on the top of the castle or cabin, on the high poop of his

vessel. However he might carry a cheerful and confident countenance

during the day, it was to him a time of the most painful anxiety; and

now, when he was wrapped from observation by the shades of night, he

maintained an intense and unremitting watch, ranging his eye along the

dusky horizon in search of the most vague indications of land. Suddenly,

about ten o'clock, _he thought he beheld a light glimmering at a

distance_. Fearing that his eager hopes might deceive him, he called to

Pedro Gutierrez, gentleman of the king's bedchamber, and enquired

whether he saw a light in that direction; the latter replied in the

affirmative. Columbus, yet doubtful whether it might not be some

delusion of the fancy, called Rodrigo Sanchez of Segovia, and made the

same enquiry. By the time the latter had ascended the roundhouse, the

light had disappeared. They saw it once or twice afterwards in sudden

and passing gleams, as if it were a torch in the bark of a fisherman

rising and sinking with the waves, or in the hand of some person on

shore, borne up and down as he walked from house to house. So transient

and uncertain were these gleams, that few attached any importance to

them; Columbus, however, considered them as certain signs of land, and,

moreover, that the land was inhabited."--IRVING'S _Columbus_, vol. i.

{B} "It was on Friday, the 3d of August 1492, early in the morning, that

Columbus set sail on his first voyage of discovery. He departed from the

bar of Saltes, a small island in front of the town of Huelva, steering

in a south-westerly direction," &c.--IRVING. He was about fifty-seven

years old the year of the Discovery.

{C} "On the 13th September, in the evening, being about two hundred

leagues from the island of Ferro, he, for the first time, noticed the

variation of the needle, a phenomenon which had never before been

remarked. Struck with the circumstance, he observed it attentively for

three days, and found that the variation increased as he advanced. It

soon attracted the attention of the pilots, and filled them with

consternation. It seemed as if the very laws of nature were changing as

they advanced, and that they were entering another world subject to

unknown influences."--_Ibid._

TO SWALLOWS ON THE EVE OF DEPARTURE.

BY THE SAME.

"The day before V----'s departure for the last time from the

country--it was the 4th of August, one of the hottest days of the

season--as evening fell, he strolled with an old school-fellow

through the cool green avenues and leafy arcades of the

neighbouring park, where his friend amused him by pointing out to

his attention vast multitudes of Swallows that came swarming from

all directions to settle on the roofs and gables of the

manor-house. This they do for several days preparatory to their

departing, in one collected body, to more genial climates."--_MS.

Memoir._

I.

Joyous Birds! preparing

In the clear evening light

To leave our dwindled summer day

For latitudes more bright!

How gay must be your greeting,

By southern fountains meeting,

To miss no faithful wing of all that started in your flight!

II.

Every clime and season

Fresh gladness brings to you,

Howe'er remote your social throngs

Their varied path pursue;

No winds nor waves dissever--

No dusky veil'd FOR EVER,

Frowneth across your fearless way in the empyrean blue.{A}

III.

Mates and merry brothers

Were ye in Arctic hours,

Mottling the evening beam that sloped

Adown old Gothic towers!

As blythe that sunlight dancing

Will see your pinions' glancing

Scattering afar through Tropic groves the spicy bloom in showers!

IV.

Haunters of palaced wastes!{B}

From king-forlorn Versailles

To where, round gateless Thebes, the winds

Like monarch voices wail,

Your tribe capricious ranges,

Reckless of glory's changes;

Love makes for ye a merry home amid the ruins pale.

V.

Another day, and ye

From knosp and turret's brow

Shall, with your fleet of crowding wings,

Air's viewless billows plough,

With no keen-fang'd regretting

Our darken'd hill-sides quitting,

--Away in fond companionship as cheerily as now!

VI.

Woe for the Soul-endued--

The clay-enthralled Mind--

Leaving, unlike you, favour'd birds!

Its all--its all behind.

Woe for the exile mourning,

To banishment returning--

A mateless bird wide torn apart from country and from kind!

VII.

This moment blest as ye,

Beneath his own home-trees,

With friends and fellows girt around,

Up springs the western breeze,

Bringing the parting weather--

Shall all depart together?

Ah, no!--he goes a wretch alone upon the lonely seas.

VIII.

To him the mouldering tower--

The pillar'd waste, to him

A broken-hearted music make

Until his eyelids swim.

None heeds when he complaineth,

Nor where that brow he leaneth

A mother's lips shall bless no more sinking to slumber dim.

IX.

Winter shall wake to spring,

And 'mid the fragrant grass

The daffodil shall watch the rill

Like Beauty by her glass

But woe for him who pineth

Where the clear water shineth,

With no voice near to say--How sweet those April evenings pass!

X.

Then while through Nature's heart

Love freshly burns again,

Hither shall ye, plumed travellers,

Come trooping o'er the main;

The selfsame nook disclosing

Its nest for your reposing

That saw you revel years ago as you shall revel then.{C}

XI.

--Your human brother's lot!

A few short years are gone--

Back, back like you to early scenes--

Lo! at the threshold-stone,

Where ever in the gloaming

Home's angels watch'd his coming,

A stranger stands, and stares at him who sighing passes on.

XII.

Joy to the Travail-worn!

Omnific purpose lies

Even in his bale as in your bliss,

Careerers of the skies!

When sun and earth, that cherish'd

Your tribes, with you have perish'd,

A home is his where partings more shall never dim the eyes.

FOOTNOTES:

{A} "They all quit together; and fly for a time east or west, possibly

in wait for stragglers not yet arrived from the interior--they then take

directly to the south, and are soon lost sight of altogether for the

allotted period of their absence. Their rapidity of flight is well

known, and the 'murder-aiming eye' of the most experienced sportsman

will seldom avail against the swallow; hence they themselves seldom fall

a prey to the raptorial birds."--CUVIER, _edited by Griffiths_. Swallows

are long-lived; they have been known to live a number of years in cages.

{B} In the fanciful language of Chateaubriand, "This daughter of a king

(the swallow) still seems attached to grandeur; she passes the summer

amid the ruins of Versailles, and the winter among those of Thebes."

{C} "However difficult to be credited, it seems to be ascertained beyond

doubt, that the same pair which quitted their nest and the limited

circle of their residence here, return to the very same nest again, and

this for several successive years; in all probability for their whole

lives"--_Griffiths'_ CUVIER.

THE DILIGENCE.

A LEAF FROM A JOURNAL.

A diligence is as familiar to our countrymen as a stage-coach; and, as

railroads flourish more amongst us than with our less commercial and

enterprising neighbours, it is probable that, to many English

travellers, it is even more familiar. There is no need, therefore, to

describe the portentous vehicle. Suffice it to say, that, of the three

compartments into which it is divided, I found myself lodged--not in the

_coupee_ which looks out in front, and which has the appearance of a

narrow post-chaise that has been flattened and compressed in the effort

to incorporate it with the rest of the machine--nor in the _rotunde_

behind, where one rides omnibus-fashion--but in the central compartment,

the _interieur_, which answers to the veritable old English stage-coach,

and carries six. I was one of the central occupants of this central

division; for I had not been so fortunate as to secure a corner seat.

Now, for the convenience of the luckless person who occupies this

position, there depends from the roof of the coach, and hangs just

before his face, a broad leathern strap, with a loop through which he

can, if so disposed, place his arms; and, when his arms are thus slung

up, he can further rest his head upon them or upon the strap, and so

seek repose. Whether he finds the repose he seeks, is another matter.

One half of the traveller swings like a parrot on his perch, the other

half jolts on stationary--jolts over the eternal stones which pave the

roads in France. Perhaps there are who can go to roost in this fashion.

And if it is recorded of any one that he ever slept in this state of

demi-suspension--all swing above, all shake below--I should like very

much to know, in the next place, what sort of dreams he had. Did he

fancy himself a griffin, or huge dragon, beating the air with his wings,

and at the same time trotting furiously upon the ground? Or, in order to

picture out his sensations, was he compelled to divide himself into two

several creatures, and be at once the captured and half-strangled goose,

with all its feathers outstretched in the air, and the wicked fox who is

running away with it, at full speed, upon its back? As to myself, in no

vain expectation of slumber, but merely for the sake of change of

position, I frequently slung my arms in this loop, and leaning my head

against the broad leathern strap, I listened to the gossip of my

fellow-travellers, if there was any conversation stirring; or, if all

was still, gave myself up to meditations upon my own schemes and

projects.

And here let me observe, that I have always found that a journey in a

stage-coach is remarkably favourable to the production of good

resolution and sage designs for the future; which I account for partly

on the ground that they cannot, under such circumstances, demand to be

carried into immediate execution, and therefore may be indulged in the

more freely; and partly on this other ground, that one who has become a

traveller has loosened himself from his old customary moorings, and so

gives himself, as it were, a new starting-point in life, from which he

may, if the spirit of delusion is still happily strong within him, draw

a mathematically straight line in the given direction A B, to be the

faithful index of his future career.

What a generous sample of humanity it is that a well filled diligence

carries out of the gates of Paris! The mountain of luggage upon the

roof, consisting of boxes of all shapes and sizes, does not contain in

its numerous _strata_ of stuffs, and implements, and garments, rags and

fine linen, a greater variety of dead material, than does the threefold

interior, with its complement of human beings, of living character and

sentiment. As to the observation not unfrequently made, that Frenchmen

have less variety of character than ourselves, it is one which seems to

me to have little or no foundation. Something there doubtless is of

national character, which pervades all classes and all classifications

of men; and this colouring, seen diffused over the mass, makes us

apprehend, at first view, that there is in the several parts a radical

similarity which, in fact, does not exist. We have only to become a

little more intimate with the men themselves, and this national

colouring fades away; while the strong peculiarities resulting from

social position, or individual temperament, stand out in sharp relief.

And, in general, I will venture to say of national character--whatever

people may be spoken of--that one may compare it to the colour which the

sea bears at different times, or which different seas are said to be

distinguished by: view the great surface at a distance, it is blue, or

green, or grey; but take up a handful of the common element, and it is

an undistinguishable portion of brackish water. It is French, or

Flemish, or Spanish nature in the mass, and at a distance; looked at

closer, and in the individual, there is little else than plain human

nature to be seen.

But I did not open my journal to philosophize upon national character;

but to record, while it is still fresh in my memory, some part of the

conversation to which I was, as I travelled along, of necessity, and

whether willingly or unwillingly, a listener. To the left of me the

corner seats were occupied by two Englishmen--would it be possible to

enter into a diligence without meeting at least two of our dear

compatriots? They were both men in the prime of life, in the full flush

of health, and apparently of wealth, who, from allusions which they

dropt, could evidently boast of being of good family, and what follows

of course--of having received an university education; and whom some one

of our northern counties probably reckoned amongst its most famous

fox-hunters. All which hindered not, but that they proved themselves to

belong to that class of English travellers who scamper about the

Continent like so many big, boisterous, presumptuous school-boys, much

to the annoyance of every one who meets them, and to the especial

vexation of their fellow-countrymen, who are not, in general, whatever

may be said to the contrary, an offensive or conceited race, and are by

no means pleased that the name of Englishmen should be made a by-word

and a term of contempt. Opposite to me sat a Frenchman, of rather formal

and grave demeanour, and dressed somewhat precisely. He was placed in a

similar position in the diligence to myself; he had, however, curled up

his leathern strap, and fastened it to the roof. Apparently he did not

think the posture to which it invited one of sufficient dignity; for

during the whole journey, and even when asleep, I observed that he

maintained a certain becomingness of posture. Beside me, to the right,

sat a little lively Frenchwoman, not very young, and opposite to her,

and consequently in front also of myself, was another lady, a person of

extreme interest, who at once riveted the eye, and set the imagination

at work. She was so young, so pale, so beautiful, so sad, and withal so

exceeding gentle in her demeanour, that an artist who wished to portray

Our Lady in her virgin purity and celestial beauty, would have been

ravished with the model. She had taken off her bonnet for the

convenience of travelling, and her dark brown hair hung curled round her

neck in the same simple fashion it must have done when she was a child.

She was dressed in mourning, and this enhanced the pallor of her

countenance; ill-health and sorrow were also evidently portrayed upon

her features; but there was so much of lustre in the complexion, and so

much of light and intelligence in the eye, that the sense of beauty

predominated over all. You could not have wished her more cheerful than

she was. Her face was a melody which you cannot quarrel with for being

sad--which you could not desire to be otherwise than sad--whose very

charm it is that it has made the tone of sorrow ineffably sweet.

Much I mused and conjectured what her history might be, and frequently I

felt tempted to address myself in conversation to her; but still there

was a tranquillity and repose in those long eyelashes which I feared to

disturb. It was probable that she preferred her own reflections,

melancholy as they might be, to any intercourse with others, and out of

respect to this wish I remained silent. Not so, however, my

fellow-traveller of her own sex, who, far from practising this

forbearance, felt that she acted the kind and social part by engaging

her in conversation. And so perhaps she did. For certainly, after some

time, the beautiful and pensive girl became communicative, and I

overheard the brief history of her sufferings, which I had felt so

curious to know. It was indeed brief--it is not a three-volumed novel

that one overhears in a stage-coach--but it had the charm of truth to

recommend it. I had been lately reading Eugene Sue's romance, _The

Mysteries of Paris_, and it gave an additional interest to remark, that

the simple tale I was listening to from the lips of the living sufferer

bore a resemblance to one of its most striking episodes.

The shades of evening were closing round us, and the rest of the

passengers seemed to be preparing themselves for slumber, as, leaning

forward on my leathern supporter, I listened to the low sweet voice of

the young stranger.

"You are surprised," she said in answer to some remark made by her

companion, "that one of our sex, so young and of so delicate health,

should travel alone in the diligence; but I have no relative in Paris,

and no friend on whose protection I could make a claim. I have lived

there alone, or in something worse than solitude."

Her companion, with a woman's quickness of eye, glanced at the rich

toilette of the speaker. It was mourning, but mourning of the most

costly description.

"You think," she continued, replying to this glance, "that one whose

toilette is costly ought not to be without friends; but mine has been

for some time a singular condition. Wealth and a complete isolation from

the world have been in my fate strangely combined. They married me"----

"What! are you a married woman and so young?" exclaimed the lady who was

addressed.

"I have been; I am now a widow. It is for my husband that I wear this

mourning. They took me from the convent where I was educated, and

married me to a man whom I was permitted to see only once before the

alliance was concluded. As I had been brought up with the idea that my

father was to choose a husband for me, and as the Count D---- was both

handsome and of agreeable manners, the only qualities on which I was

supposed to have an opinion, there was no room for objection on my part.

The marriage was speedily celebrated. My husband was wealthy. Of that my

father had taken care to satisfy himself; perhaps it was the only point

on which he was very solicitous. For I should tell you that my father,

the only parent I have surviving, is one of those restless unquiet men

who have no permanent abode, who delight in travelling from place to

place, and who regard their children, if they have any, in the light

only of cares and encumbrances. There is not a capital in Europe in

which he has not resided, and scarcely a spot of any celebrity which he

has not visited. It was therefore at the house of a maiden aunt--to whom

I am now about to return--that I was married.

"I spent the first years of my marriage, as young brides I believe

generally do, in a sort of trouble of felicity. I did not know how to be

sufficiently thankful to Heaven for the treasure I found myself the

possessor of; such a sweetness of temper and such a tenderness of

affection did my husband continually manifest towards me. After a short

season of festivity, spent at the house of my aunt, we travelled

together without any other companion towards Paris, where the Count had

a residence elegantly fitted up to receive us. The journey itself was a

new source of delight to one who had been hitherto shut up, with her

instructress, in a convent. Never shall I forget the hilarity, the

almost insupportable joy, with which the first part of this journey was

performed. The sun shone out upon a beautiful landscape, and there was

I, travelling alone with the one individual who had suddenly awoke and

possessed himself of all my affections--travelling, too, with gay

anticipations to the glorious city of Paris, of which I had heard so

much, and in which I was to appear with all the envied advantages of

wealth.

"As we approached towards Paris, I noticed that my husband became more

quiet and reserved. I attributed it to the fatigue of travelling, to

which my own spirits began to succumb; and as the day was drawing to a

close, I proposed, at the next stage we reached, that we should rest

there, and resume our journey the next morning. But in an irritable and

impetuous manner, of which I had never seen the least symptom before,

he ordered fresh horses, and bade the postilion drive on with all the

speed he could. Still as we travelled he grew more sullen, became

restless, incommunicative, and muttered occasionally to himself. It was

now night. Leaning back in the carriage, and fixing my eye upon the full

moon that was shining brightly upon us, I tried to quiet my own spirit,

somewhat ruffled by this unexpected behaviour of my husband. I observed,

after a short time, that _his_ eye also had become riveted on the same

bright object; but not with any tranquillizing effect, for his

countenance grew every minute more and more sombre. On a sudden he

called aloud to the postilion to stop--threw open the carriage-door, and

walked in a rapid pace down towards a river that for some time had

accompanied our course. I sprang after him. I overtook, and grasped him

as he was in the very act of plunging into the river. O my God! how I

prayed, and wept, and struggled to prevent him from rushing into the

stream. At length he sat down upon the bank of the river; he turned to

me his wild and frenzied eye--he laughed--O Heaven! he was mad!

"They had married me to a madman. Cured, or presumed to be cured, of

his disorder, he had been permitted to return to society; and now his

malady had broken out again. He who was to be my guide and protector,

who was my only support, who took the place of parent, friend,

instructor--he was a lunatic!

"For three dreadful hours did I sit beside him on that bank--at

night--with none to help me--restraining him by all means I could devise

from renewed attempts to precipitate himself into the river. At last I

succeeded in bringing him back to the carriage. For the rest of the

journey he was quiet; but he was imbecile--his reason had deserted him.

"We arrived at his house in Paris. A domestic assisted me in conducting

him to his chamber; and from that time I, the young wife, who the other

morning had conceived herself the happiest of beings, was transformed

into the keeper of a maniac--of a helpless or a raving lunatic. I wrote

to my father. He was on the point of setting out upon one of his

rambling expeditions, and contented himself with appealing to the

relatives of my husband, who, he maintained, were the proper persons to

take charge of the lunatic. They, on the other hand, left him to the

care of the new relations he had formed by a marriage, which had

interfered with their expectations and claims upon his property. Thus

was I left alone--a stranger in this great city of Paris, which was to

have welcomed me with all its splendours, and festivities, and its

brilliant society--my sole task to soothe and control a maniac husband.

It was frightful. Scarcely could I venture to sleep an hour

together--night or day--lest he should commit some outrage upon himself

or on me. My health is irretrievably ruined. I should have utterly sunk

under it; but, by God's good providence, the malady of my husband took a

new direction. It appeared to prey less upon the brain, and more upon

other vital parts of the constitution. He wasted away and died. I indeed

live; but I, too, have wasted away, body and soul, for I have no health

and no joy within me."

Just at this time a low murmuring conversation between my two

fellow-countrymen, at my left, broke out, much to my annoyance, into

sudden exclamation.

"By God! sir," cried one of them, "I thrashed him in the _Grande Place_,

right before the hotel there--what's its name?--the first hotel in

Petersburg. Yes, I had told the lout of a postilion, who had grazed my

britska against the curbstone of every corner we had turned, that if he

did it again I would _punish_ him; that is, I did not exactly _tell_

him--for he understood no language but his miserable Russian, of which I

could not speak a word--but I held out my fist in a significant manner,

which neither man nor brute could mistake. Well, just as we turned into

the _Grande Place_, the lubber grazed my wheel again. I jumped out of

the carriage--I pulled him--boots and all--off his horse, and how I

cuffed him! My friend Lord L---- was standing at the window of the

hotel, looking out for my arrival, and was witness to this exploit. He

was most dead with laughter when I came up to him."

"I once," said his interlocutor, "thrashed an English postilion after

the same fashion; but your Russian, with his enormous boots, must have

afforded capital sport. When I travel I always look out for _fun_. What

else is the use of travelling? I and young B----, whom you may remember

at Oxford, were at a ball together at Brussels, and what do you think we

did? We strewed cayenne pepper on the floor, and no sooner did the girls

begin to dance than they began incontinently to sneeze. Ladies and

gentlemen were curtsying, and bowing, and sneezing to one another in the

most ludicrous manner conceivable."

"Ha! ha! ha! Excellent! By the way," rejoined the other, "talking of

Brussels, do you know who has the glory of that famous joke practised

there upon the statues in the park? They give the credit of it to the

English, but on what ground, except the celebrity they have acquired in

such feats, I could never learn."

"I know nothing of it. What was it?"

"Why, you see, amongst the statues in the little park at Brussels are a

number of those busts without arms or shoulders. I cannot call to mind

their technical name. First you have the head of a man, then a sort of

decorated pillar instead of a body, and then again, at the bottom of the

pillar, there protrude a couple of naked feet. They look part pillar and

part man, with a touch of the mummy. Now, it is impossible to

contemplate such a figure without being struck with the idea, how

completely at the mercy of every passer-by are both its nose--which has

no hand to defend it--and its naked toes, which cannot possibly move

from their fixed position. One may tweak the one, and tread upon the

other, with such manifest impunity. Some one in whom this idea, no

doubt, wrought very powerfully, took hammer and chisel, and shied off

the noses and the great toes of several of these mummy-statues. And

pitiful enough they looked next morning."

"Well, that was capital!"

"And the best of it is, that even now, when the noses have been put on

again, the figures look as odd as if they had none at all. The join is

so manifest, and speaks so plainly of past mutilation, that no one can

give to these creatures, let them exist as long as they will, the credit

of wearing their own noses. The jest is immortal."

The recital of this excellent piece of _fun_ was followed by another

explosion of laughter. The Frenchman who sat opposite to me--a man, as I

have said, of grave but urbane deportment, became curious to know what

it was that our neighbours had been conversing about, and which had

occasioned so much hilarity. He very politely expressed this wish to me.

If it was not an indiscretion, he should like to partake, he said, in

the wit that was flowing round him; adding, perhaps superfluously, that

he did not understand English.

"Monsieur, I am glad of it," I replied.

Monsieur, who concluded from my answer that I was in a similar

predicament with respect to the French language, bowed and remained

silent.

Here the conversation to my left ceased to flow, or subsided into its

former murmuring channel, and I was again able to listen to my fair

neighbours to the right. The lively dame who sat by my side had now the

word; she was administering consolations and philosophy to the young

widow.

"At your age health," said she, "is not irretrievable, and, sweet madam,

your good looks are left you. A touch of rouge upon your cheek, and you

are quite an angel. And then you are free--you will one day travel back

again to Paris with a better escort than you had before."

And here she gave a sigh which prepared the hearer for the disclosure

that was to follow.

"Now I," she continued, "have been married, but, alas! am _not_ a widow.

I have a husband standing out against me somewhere in the world. In the

commercial language of my father, I wish I could cancel him."

"What! he has deserted you?" said her fair companion, in a sympathizing

tone.

"You shall hear, my dear madam. My father, you must know, is a plain

citizen. He did not charge himself with the task of looking out a

husband for his girls; he followed what he called the English plan--let

the girls look out for themselves, and contented himself with a _veto_

upon the choice, if it should displease him. Now, Monsieur Lemaire was a

perfect Adonis; he dressed, and danced, and talked to admiration; no man

dressed, danced, or talked better; his mirth was inexhaustible--his

good-humour unfailing."

Well, thought I to myself, what is coming now? This lady, at all events,

chose with her own eyes, and had her own time to choose in. Is her

experience to prove, that the chance of securing a good husband is much

the same, let him be chosen how he may?

"No wonder, then," continued the lady, "that I accepted his proposal.

The very thought of marrying him as paradise; and I _did_ marry him."

"And so were really in paradise?" said the widow, with a gentle smile.

"Yes, yes! it _was_ a paradise. It was a constant succession of

amusements; theatre, balls, excursions--all enjoyed with the charming

Lemaire. And he so happy, too! I thought he would have devoured me. We

were verily in paradise for three months. At the end of which time he

came one morning into the room swinging an empty purse in the air--'Now,

I think,' said he with the same cheerful countenance that he usually

wore, 'that I have proved my devotion to you in a remarkable manner.

Another man would have thought it much if he had made some sacrifice to

gain possession of you for life; I have spent every farthing I had in

the world to possess you for three months. Oh, that those three months

were to live over again! But every thing has its end.' And he tossed the

empty purse in his hand.

"I laughed at what I considered a very pleasant jest; for who did not

know that M. Lemaire was a man of ample property? I laughed still more

heartily as he went on to say, that a coach stood at the door to take me

back to my father, and begged me not to keep the coachman waiting, as in

that case the fellow would charge for time, and it had taken his last

sou to pay his fare by distance. I clapped my hands in applause of my

excellent comedian. But, gracious Heavens! it was all true! There stood

the coach at the door, the fare paid to my father's house, and an empty

purse was literally all that I now had to participate with the gay,

wealthy, accomplished Lemaire."

"What!" I exclaimed with rage and agony, as the truth broke upon me, "do

you desert your wife?"

"Desert my charming wife!" he replied. "Ask the hungry pauper, who turns

his back upon the fragrant _restaurant_, if he deserts his dinner. You

are as beautiful, as bright, as lovely as ever--you cannot think with

what a sigh I quit you!"

"But"----and I began a torrent of recrimination.

"'But,' said he, interrupting me, 'I have not a sou. For you,' he

continued, 'you are as charming as ever--you will win your way only the

better in the world for this little experience. And as for me--I have

been in Elysium for three months; and that is more than a host of your

excellent prudent men can boast of, who plod on day after day only that

they may continue plodding to the end of their lives. Adieu! my

adorable--my angel that will now vanish from my sight!' And here, in

spite of my struggles, he embraced me with the greatest ardour, and

then, tearing himself away as if he only were the sufferer, he rushed

out of the room. I have never seen him since."

"And such men really exist!" said the young widow, moved to indignation.

"For so short a season of pleasure he could deliberately compromise the

whole of your future life."

"Is it not horrible? His father, it seems, had left him a certain sum of

money, and this was the scheme he had devised to draw from it the

greatest advantage. _Mais, mon Dieu!_" added the lively Frenchwoman, "of

what avail to afflict one's-self? Only if he would but die before I am

an old woman! And then those three months"----

Here the diligence suddenly stopped, and the conductor opening the door,

invited us to step out and take some refreshment, and so put an end for

the present to this medley conversation.

WHO WROTE GIL BLAS?

In the year 1783, Joseph Francisco De Isla, one of the most eminent of

modern Spanish writers, published a Spanish translation of Gil Blas. In

this work some events were suppressed, others altered, the diction was

greatly modified, the topographical and chronological errors with which

the French version abounded were allowed to remain, and the Spanish

origin of that celebrated work was asserted on such slender grounds, and

vindicated by such trifling arguments, as to throw considerable doubt on

the fact in the opinion of all impartial judges. The French were not

slow to seize upon so favourable an occasion to gratify their national

vanity; and in 1818, M. le Comte Francois de Neufchateau, a member of

the French Institute and an Ex-minister of the Interior, published a

dissertation, in which, after a modest insinuation that the

extraordinary merit of Gil Blas was a sufficient proof of its French

origin, the feeble arguments of Padre Isla were triumphantly refuted,

and the claims of Le Sage to the original conception of Gil Blas were

asserted, to the complete satisfaction of all patriotic Frenchmen. Here

the matter rested, till, in 1820, Don Juan Antonio Llorente drew up his

reasons for holding the opinion of which Isla had been the unsuccessful

advocate, and, with even punctilious courtesy, transmitted them before

publication to M. Le Montey, by whose judgment in the matter he

expressed his determination to abide. M. Le Montey referred the matter

to two commissioners--one being M. Raynouard, a well-known and useful

writer, the other M. Neufchateau, the author whom Llorente's work was

intended to refute.

This literary commission seems to have produced as little benefit to the

public as if each of the members had been chosen by a political party,

had received a salary varying from L1500 to L2000 a-year, and been sent

into Ireland to report upon the condition of the people, or into Canada

to discover why French republicans dislike the institutions of a Saxon

monarchy. To be sure, the advantage is on the side of the French

academicians; for, instead of sending forth a mass of confused,

contradictory, and ill-written reports, based upon imperfect evidence,

and leading to no definite conclusion, the literary commission, as

Llorente informs us, was silent altogether; whereupon Llorente

attributing, not unnaturally, this preternatural silence on the part of

the three French _savans_, to the impossibility of finding any thing to

say, after the lapse of a year and a half publishes his arguments, and

appeals to literary Europe as the judge "en dernier ressort" of this

important controversy. Llorente, however, was too precipitate; for on

the 8th of January 1822, M. de Neufchateau presented to the French

Academy an answer to Llorente's observations, on which we shall

presently remark.

It is maintained by the ingenious writer, Llorente--whose arguments,

with such additions and remarks as have occurred to us upon the subject,

we propose to lay before our readers,

1st, That Gil Blas and the Bachiller de Salamanca were originally one

and the same romance.

2dly, That the author of this romance was at any rate a Spaniard.

3dly, That his name was Don Antonio de Solis y Ribadeneira, author of

_Historia de la Conquista de Mejico_.

4thly, That Le Sage turned the single romance into two; repeating in

both the same stories slightly modified, and mixing them up with other

translations from Spanish novels.

As the main argument turns upon the originality of Le Sage considered as

the author of Gil Blas, we shall first dispose in a very few words of

the third proposition; and for this purpose we must beg our readers to

take for granted, during a few moments, that Gil Blas was the work of a

Spaniard, and to enquire, supposing that truth sufficiently established,

who that Spaniard was.

Llorente enumerates thirty-six eminent writers who flourished in 1655,

the period when, as we shall presently see, the romance in question was

written. Of these Don Louis de Guevarra, author of the Diablo Cojuelo,

Francisco de Santos, Jose Pellicer, and Solis, are among the most

distinguished. Llorente, however, puts all aside--and all, except

Pellicer perhaps, for very sufficient reasons--determining that Solis

alone united all the attributes and circumstances belonging to the

writer of Gil Blas. The writer of Gil Blas was a Castilian--this may be

inferred from his panegyric on Castilian wit, which he declares equal to

that of Athens; he must have been a dramatic writer, from his repeated

criticisms on the drama, and the keenness with which he sifts the merit

of contemporary dramatic authors; he must have been a great master of

narrative, and thoroughly acquainted with the habits and institutions of

his age and country; he must have possessed the art of enlivening his

story with caustic allusions, and with repartees; he must have been

perfectly conversant with the intrigues of courtiers, and have acquired

from his own experience, or the relation of others, an intimate

knowledge of the private life of Olivarez, and the details of Philip

IV.'s court. All these requisites are united in Solis:--he was born at

Alcala de Henares, a city of Castile; he was one of the best dramatic

writers of his day, the day of Calderon de la Barca. That he was a great

historical writer, is proved by his _Conquista de Mejico_; his comedies

prove his thorough knowledge of Spanish habits; and the retorts and

quiddities of his Graciosos flash with as much wit as any that were ever

uttered by those brilliant and fantastic denizens of the Spanish stage.

He was a courtier; he was secretary to Oropezo, viceroy successively of

Navarre and of Valencia, and was afterwards promoted by Philip IV. to be

"Oficial de la Secretaria" of the first minister Don Louis de Haro, and

was allowed, as an especial mark of royal favour, to dispose of his

place in favour of his relation. This happened about the year

1654--corresponding, as we shall see, exactly with the mission of the

Marquis de Lionne. Afterwards he was appointed Cronista Mayor de las

Indias, and wrote his famous history. These are the arguments in favour

of Solis, which cannot be offered in behalf of any of his thirty-six

competitors. It is therefore the opinion of Llorente that the honour of

being the author of Gil Blas is due to him; and in this opinion,

supposing the fact which we now proceed to investigate, that a Spaniard,

and not Le Sage, was the author of the work, is made out to their

satisfaction, our readers will probably acquiesce.

The steps by which the argument that Gil Blas is taken from a Spanish

manuscript proceeds, are few and direct. It abounds in facts and

allusions which none but a Spaniard could know: this is the first step.

It abounds in errors that no Spaniard could make--(by the way, this is

much insisted upon by M. de Neufchateau, who does not seem to perceive

that, taken together with the preceding proposition, it is fatal to his

argument:) this is the second step, and leads us to the conclusion that

the true theory of its origin must reconcile these apparent

contradictions.

A Spanish manuscript does account for this inconsistency, as it would

furnish the transcriber with the most intimate knowledge of local

habits, names, and usages; while at the same time it would not guard him

against mistakes which negligence or haste, or the difficulty of

deciphering a manuscript in a language with which the transcriber was by

no means critically acquainted, must occasion. Still less would it guard

him against errors which would almost inevitably arise from the

insertion of other Spanish novels, or the endeavour to give the work a

false claim to originality, by alluding to topics fashionable in the

city and age when the work was copied.

The method we propose to follow, is to place before the reader each

division of the argument. We shall show a most intimate knowledge with

Spanish life, clearly proving that the writer, whoever he is, is

unconscious of any merit in painting scenes with which he was habitually

familiar. Let any reader compare the facility of these unstudied

allusions with the descriptions of a different age or time, even by the

best writers of a different epoch and country, however accurate and

dramatic they may be--with _Quentin Durward_ or _Ivanhoe_, for instance;

or with Barante's _Histoire des Ducs de Bourgogne_, and they will see

the force of this remark. In spite of art, and ability, and antiquarian

knowledge, it is evident that a resemblance is industriously sought in

one case, and is spontaneous in the other; that it is looked upon as a

matter of course, and not as a title to praise, by the first class of

writers, while it is elaborately wrought out, as an artist's pretension

to eminence, in the second. If Le Sage had been the original author of

Gil Blas, he would have avoided the multiplication of circumstances,

names, and dates; or if he had thought it necessary to intersperse his

composition with them, he would have contented himself with such as were

most general and notorious; the minute, circuitous, and oblique

allusions, which it required patient examination to detect, and vast

local knowledge to appreciate, could not have fallen within his plan.

Secondly--We shall point out the mistakes, some of them really

surprising even in a foreign writer, with regard to names, dates, and

circumstances, oversetting every congruity which it was manifestly Le

Sage's object to establish. We shall show that the Spanish novels

inserted by him do not mix with the body of the work; and moreover we

shall show that in one instance, where Le Sage hazarded an allusion to

Parisian gossip, he betrayed the most profound ignorance of those very

customs which, in other parts of the work passing under his name, are

delineated with such truth of colouring, and Dutch minuteness of

observation.

If these two propositions be clearly established, we have a right to

infer from them the existence of a Spanish manuscript, as on any other

hypothesis the claims of an original writer would be clashing and

contradictory.

M. Neufchateau, as we have observed, reiterates the assertion that the

errors of Gil Blas are such as no Spaniard could commit, leaving

altogether unguarded against the goring horn of the dilemma which can

only be parried by an answer to the question--how came it to pass that

Le Sage could enumerate the names of upwards of twenty inconsiderable

towns and villages, upwards of twenty families not of the first class;

and in every page of his work represent, with the most punctilious

fidelity, the manners of a country he never saw? Nay, how came it to

pass that, instead of avoiding minute details, local circumstances, and

the mention of particular facts, as he might easily have done, he

accumulates all these opportunities of mistake and contradiction,

descends to the most trifling facts, and interweaves them with the web

of his narrative (conscious of ignorance, as, according to M.

Neufchateau, he must have been) without effort and without design.

Let us begin by laying before the readers the _pieces du proces_. First,

we insert the description of Le Sage given by two French writers.

"Voici ce que disoit Voltaire a l'article de Le Sage, dans la

premiere edition du Siecle de Louis XIV.:--

"'Son roman de Gil Blas est demeure, parcequ'il y a du naturel.'

"Dans les editions suivantes du Siecle de Louis XIV., Voltaire

ajoute un fait qu'il se contente d'enoncer simplement, comme une

chose hors de doute; c'est que Gil Blas est pris entierement d'un

livre ecrit en Espagnol, et dont il cite ainsi le titre--La vidad

de lo Escudero Dom Marco d'Obrego--sans indiquer aucunement la

date, l'auteur, ni l'objet de cette vie de l'ecuyer Dom Marco

d'Obrego."

"Extrait du Nouveau Porte-feuille historique, poetique, et

litteraire de Bruzen de La Martiniere.

"'Baillet n'entendoit pas l'Espagnol. Au sujet de Louis Veles de

Guevarra, auteur Espagnol, dans ses jugements des savants sur les

poetes modernes, Sec. 1461, il dit: On a de lui plusieurs comedies qui

ont ete imprimees en diverses villes d'Espagne, et une piece

facetieuse, sous le titre El Diabolo Cojuelo, novella de la otra

vida: sur quoi M. de La Monnoye fait cette note. Comment un homme

qui fait tant le modeste et le reserve a-t-il pu ecrire un mot tel

que celui-la? Cette note n'est pas juste. Il semble que M. de La

Monnoye veuille taxer Baillet de n'avoir pas sontenu le caractere

de modestie, qu'il affectoit. Baillet ne faisoit pas le modeste, il

l'etoit veritablement par etat et par principe; et s'il eut entendu

le mot immodeste, ce mot lui auroit ete suspect; il eut eu recours

a l'original, ou il auroit trouve Diablo, et non Diabolo, Cojuelo

et non Cojudo, et auroit bien vite corrige la faute. Mais comme il

n'entendoit ni l'un ni l'autre de ces derniers mots, il lui fut

aise, en copiant ses extraits, de prendre un _el_ pour un _d_, et

de changer par cette legere difference Cojuelo, qui veut dire

boiteux, en Cojudo, qui signifie quelqu'un qui a de gros

testicules, et sobrino l'exprime encore plus grossierement en

Francois. M. de La Monnoye devoit moins s'arreter a l'immodestie de

l'epithete, qu'a la corruption du vrai titre le Guevarra."

"Au reste, c'est le meme ouvrage que M. La Sage nous a fait

connoitre sous le titre du Diable Boiteux; il l'a tourne, a sa

maniere, mais avec des differences si grandes que Guevarra ne se

reconnoitroit qu'a peine dans cette pretendue traduction. Par

exemple, le chapitre xix de la seconde partie contient une aventure

de D. Pablas, qui se trouve en original dans un livre imprime a

Madrid en 1729, (sic.) L'auteur des lectures amusantes, qui ne

s'est pas souvenu que M. Le Sage, en avoit insere une partie dans

son Diable Boiteux, l'a traduite de nouveau avec assez de liberte,

mais pourtant en s'ecartant moins de l'original, et l'a inseree

dans sa premiere partie a peu pres telle qu'elle se lit dans

l'original Espagnol. Mais M. Le Sage l'a traitee avec de grands

changements, c'est sa maniere d'embellir extremement tout ce qu'il

emprunte des Espagnols. C'est ainsi qu'il en a use envers Gil Blas,

dont il a fait un chef-d'oeuvre inimitable."--(Pages 336-339,

edition de 1757, dans les _Passetemps Politiques, Historiques, et

Critiques_, tome 11, in 12.)

As an example of the accuracy with which Le Sage has imitated his

originals, we quote the annexed passages from Marcos de Obregon--Page 3.

"En leyendo el villete, dixo al que le traia: Dezilde a vuestro

amo, que di goyo, que para cosas, que me inportan mucho gusto no me

suelo leuantar hasta las doze del dia: que porque quiere, que pare

matarme me leuante tan demanana? y boluiendose del otro lado, se

torno a dormir."

"Don Mathias prit le billet, l'ouvrit, et, apres l'avoir lu, dit

an valet de Don Lope. 'Mon enfant, je ne me leverois jamais avant

midi, quelque partie de plaisir qu'on me put proposer; juge si je

me leverai a six heures du matin pour me battre. Tu peux dire a

ton maitre que, s'il est encore a midi et demi dans l'endroit ou

il m'attend, nous nous y verons: va, lui porter cette reponse.' A

ces mots il s'enfonca dans son lit, et ne tarda guere a se

rendormir."

"No quereys que sieta ofensa hecha a un corderillo, como este? a

una paloma sin hiel, a un mocito tan humilde, y apazible que, aun

quexarse no sabe de una cosa tan mal hecha? cierto y quisiera ser

hombre en este punto para vegarle."

"'Pourquoi,' s'ecria-t-elle avec emportement--pourquoi ne

voulez-vous pas que je ressente vivement l'offense qu'on a fait a

ce petit agneau, a cette colombe sans fiel, qui ne se plaint

seulement pas de l'outrage qu'il a recu? Ah! que ne suis-je homme

en ce moment pour le venger!"

After this we think we are fairly entitled to affirm, that Le Sage was

not considered by his contemporaries as a man of original and creative

genius; although he possessed, in an eminent degree, the power of

appropriating and embellishing the works of others, that his style was

graceful, his allusions happy, and his wit keen and spontaneous. If any

one assert that this is to underrate Le Sage, and that he is entitled to

the credit of an inventor, let him cite any single work written by Le

Sage, except _Gil Blas_, in proof of his assertion. Of course _Gil Blas_

is out of the question. Nothing could be more circular than an argument

that Le Sage, because he possessed an inventive genius, might have

written _Gil Blas_; and that because he might have written _Gil Blas_,

he possessed an inventive genius. This being the case, let us examine

his biography. Le Sage was born in 1668 at Sargan, a small town near

Vannes in Bretagne; at twenty-seven he published a translation of

Aristoenaetus; and declining, from his love of literature, the hopes of

advancement, which, had he taken orders, were within his reach, he came

to Paris, where he contracted an intimate friendship with the Abbe de

Lyonne, who settled a pension on him, taught him Spanish, and bequeathed

to him his library--consisting, among other works, of several Spanish

manuscripts--at his death. His generous benefactor was the third son of

Hugo, Marquis de Lyonne, one of the most accomplished and intelligent

men in France. In 1656 he was set on a secret mission to Madrid; the

object of this mission was soon discovered in the peace of the Pyrenees

1650, and the marriage of Maria Theresa of Austria, eldest daughter of

Philip IV., with Louis XIV. During his residence in Spain the Marquis de

Lyonne lived in great intimacy with Louis de Haro, Duke of Montoro. The

Marquis de Lyonne was passionately fond of Spanish literature; he not

only purchased all the printed Spanish works he could procure, but a

vast quantity of unprinted manuscripts in the same language, all which,

together with the rest of his library, became at his death the property

of his son, the Abbe de Lyonne--the friend, patron, and testator of Le

Sage. To these facts must be added another very important circumstance,

that Le Sage never entered Spain. Of this fact, fatal as it is to Le

Sage's claims, Padre Isla was ignorant; but it is stated with an air of

triumph by M. Neufchateau, is proved by Llorente, and must be considered

incontestable. The case, then, as far as external evidence is concerned,

stands thus. Le Sage, a master of his own language, but not an inventive

writer, and who had never visited Spain, contracts a friendship which

gives him at first the opportunity of perusing, and afterwards the

absolute possession of, a number of Spanish manuscripts. Having

published several elegant paraphrases and translations of printed

Spanish works, he published _Gil Blas_ in several volumes, at long

intervals, as an original work; after this, he published the _Bachelier

de Salamanque_, which he calls himself a translation from a Spanish

manuscript, of which he never produces the original. Did the matter rest

here, much suspicion would be thrown upon Le Sage's claims to the

authorship of _Gil Blas_; but we come now to the evidence arising, "ex

visceribus causae," from the work itself, and the manner of its

publication.

The chief points of resemblance between Gil Blas and the Bachelier de

Salamanque, are the following:--

1. The Bachelier de Salamanque is remarkable for his logical

subtilty--so is Gil Blas.

2. The doctor of Salamanque, by whom the bachelor is supported after his

father's death, is avaricious--so is Gil Blas's uncle, the canon of

Oviedo, Gil Perez.

3. The doctor recommends the bachelor of Salamanca to obtain a situation

as tutor--the canon gives similar advice to Gil Blas.

4. The bachelor is dissuaded from becoming a tutor--Fabricio dissuades

Gil Blas from taking the same situation.

5. A friar of Madrid makes it his business to find vacant places for

tutors--a friar of Cordova, in Gil Blas, does the same.

6. The bachelor is obliged to leave Madrid because he is the favoured

lover of Donna Lucia de Padilla--Gil Blas is obliged to leave the

Marquise de Chaves for the same reason.

7. Bartolome, the comedian, encourages his wife's intrigues--Melchier

Zapata does the same.

8. The lover of Donna Francisca, in Granada, is a foreign nobleman kept

there by important business--the situation of the Marquis de Marialva is

the same.

9. The comedian abandons an old and liberal lover, for Fonseca, who is

young and poor--Laura prefers Louis de Alaga to his rival, for the same

reason.

10. Bartolome, to deceive Francisca, assumes the name of Don Pompeio de

la Cueva--to deceive Laura, Gil Blas pretends to be Don Fernando de

Ribera.

11. _Le Bachelier_ contains repeated allusions to Dominican friars, and

particularly to Cirilo Carambola--similar allusions abound in _Gil

Blas_, where Louis de Aliaga, confessor of Philip III., is particularly

mentioned.

12. The character of Diego Cintillo, in the _Bachelier de Salamanque_,

is identical with that of Manuel Ordonez in _Gil Blas_.

13. An aunt of the Duke of Uzeda obtains for the bachelor the place of

secretary in the minister's office--Gil Blas obtains the same post by

means of an uncle of the Count of Olivarez.

14. The bachelor, whilst secretary at Uzeda, assists in bringing about

his patron's daughter's marriage--Gil Blas does the same whilst

secretary of the Duke of Olivarez.

15. Francisca, the actress, is shut up in a convent at Carthagena,

because the corregidor's son falls in love with her--Laura, in _Gil

Blas_, is shut up in a convent, because the corregidor's only son falls

in love with her.

16. The adventures of Francisca and Laura resemble each other.

17. So do those of Toston and Scipio.

18. Toston and Scipio both lose their wives; and both disbelieve in

reality, though they think proper to accept, the excuses they make on

their return.

19. _Finally_, in _Gil Blas_ we find a vivid description of the habits

and manners prevalent in the European dominions of Spain during the

reigns of Philip III. and Philip IV. But in no part of _Gil Blas_ do we

find any allusion to the habits and manners of the viceroy's canons,

nuns, and monks of America; and yet Scipio is dispatched with a

lucrative commission to New Spain. It may fairly be inferred, therefore,

that so vast a portion of the Spanish monarchy did not escape the notice

of the attentive critic who wrote _Gil Blas_; and the silence can only

be accounted for by the fact, that the principal anecdotes relating to

America, were reserved to make out the _Bachelier de Salamanque_, from

the remainder of which _Gil Blas_ was taken.

Now, the dates of _Gil Blas_ and the Bachelier de Salamanque were

these:--the two first volumes of _Gil Blas_ were published in 1715, the

third volume in 1724, which, it is clear, he intended to be the last.

First, from the Latin verses with which it closes; and secondly, from

the remark of the anachronism of Don Pompeyo de Castro, which he

promises to correct if his work gets to a new edition. In 1735 he

published a fourth volume of _Gil Blas_, and, in 1738, the two volumes

of the _Bachelier de Salamanque_ as a translation. Will it be said that

Le Sage's other works prove him to have been capable of inventing _Gil

Blas_? It will be still without foundation. All his critics agree, that,

though well qualified to embellish the ideas of others, and master of a

flowing and agreeable style, he was not an inventive or original writer.

Such is the language of Voltaire, M. de la Martiniere, and of Chardin,

and even of M. Neufchateau himself; and yet, it is to a person of this

description that the authorship of _Gil Blas_, second only to _Don

Quixote_ in prose works of fiction, has been attributed.

Among the topics insisted upon by the Comte de Neufchateau as most

clearly establishing the French origin of _Gil Blas_, an intimate

acquaintance with the court of Louis XIV., and frequent allusions to the

most remarkable characters in it, are very conspicuous. But to him who

really endeavours to discover the country of an anonymous writer, such

an argument, unless reduced to very minute details, and contracted into

a very narrow compass, will not appear satisfactory. He will recollect

that the extremes of society are very uniform, that courts resemble each

other as well as prisons; and that, as was once observed, if King

Christophe's courtiers were examined, the great features of their

character would be found to correspond with those of their whiter

brethren in Europe. The abuses of government, the wrong distribution of

patronage, the effects of clandestine influence, the solicitations and

intrigues of male and female favourites, the treachery of confidants,

the petty jealousies and insignificant struggles of place-hunters, are

the same, or nearly so, in every country; and it requires no great

acuteness to detect, or courage to expose, their consequences--the name

of Choiseul, or Uzeda, or Buckingham, or Bruhl, or Kaunitz, may be

applied to such descriptions with equal probability and equal justice.

But when the Tiers Etat are portrayed, when the satirist enters into

detail, when he enumerates circumstances, when local manners, national

habits, and individual peculiarities fall under his notice; when he

describes the specific disease engendered in the atmosphere by which his

characters are surrounded; when, to borrow a lawyer's phrase, he

condescends to particulars, then it is that close and intimate

acquaintance with the scenes and persons he describes is requisite; and

that a superficial critic falls, at every step into errors the most

glaring and ridiculous. There are many passages of this description in

_Gil Blas_ to which we shall presently allude; in the mean time let us

follow the advice of Count Hamilton, and begin with the beginning--

"Me voila donc hors d'Oviedo, sur le chemin de Penaflor, au milieu

de la campagne, maitre de mes actions, d'une mauvaise mule, et de

quarante bons ducats, sans compter quelques reaux que j'avois voles

a mon tres-honore oncle.

"La premiere chose que je fis, fut de laisser ma mule aller a

discretion, c'est-a-dire au petit pas. Je lui mis la bride sur le

cou, et, tirant mes ducats de ma poche, je commencai a les compter

et recompter dans mon chapeau. Je n'etois pas maitre de ma joie; je

n'avois jamais vu tant d'argent; je ne pouvois me lasser de le

regarder et de le manier. Je la comptois peut-etre pour la

vingtieme fois, quand tout-a-coup ma mule, levant la tete et les

oreilles, s'arreta au milieu du grand chemin. Je jugeai que quelque

chose l'effrayoit; je regardai ce que ce pouvoit etre. J'apercus

sur la terre un chapeau renverse sur lequel il y avoit un rosaire a

gros grains, et en meme temps j'entendis une voix lamentable qui

prononca ces paroles: Seigneur passant, ayez pitie, de grace, d'un

pauvre soldat estropie: jetez, s'il vous plait, quelques pieces

d'argent dans ce chapeau; vous en serez recompense dans l'autre

monde. Je tournai aussitot les yeux du cote d'ou partoit la voix.

Je vis au pied d'un buisson, a vingt ou trente pas de moi, une

espece de soldat qui, sur deux batons croises, appuyoit le bout

d'une escopette, qui me parut plus longue qu'une pique, et avec

laquelle il me couchoit en joue. A cette vue, qui me fit trembler

pour le bien de l'eglise, je m'arretai tout court; je serrai

promptement mes ducats; je tirai quelques reaux, et, m'approchant

du chapeau, dispose a recevoir la charite des fideles effrayes, je

les jetai dedans l'un apres l'autre, pour montrer au soldat que

j'en usois noblement. Il fut satisfait de ma generosite, et me

donna autant de benedictions que je donnia de coups de pieds dans

les flancs de ma mule, pour m'eloigner promptement de lui; mais la

maudite bete, trompant mon impatience, n'en alla pas plus vite; la

longue habitude qu'elle avoit de marcher pas a pas sous mon oncle

lui avoit fait perdre l'usage du galop."

In France, the custom of travelling on mules was unknown, so was the

coin ducats, so was that of begging with a rosary, and of extorting

money in the manner in which Gil Blas describes. In fact, the "useful

magnificence," as Mr Burke terms it, of the spacious roads in France,

and the traffic carried on upon them, would render such a manner of

robbing impossible. How then could Le Sage, who had never set his foot

in Spain, hit upon so accurate a description? Again, Rolando explains to

Gil Blas the origin of the subterraneous passages, to which an allusion

is also made by Raphael; now such are in France utterly unknown.

Rolando, giving an account of his proceedings, says, that his

grandfather, who could only "_dire son rosaire_," "_rezar su rosario_."

This is as foreign to the habits of a "vieux militaire Francois," as any

thing that can be imagined; and, on the other hand, exactly conformable

to those of a Spanish veteran:--

"Nous demeurames dans le bois la plus grande partie de la journee,

sans apercevoir aucun voyageur qui put payer pour le religieux.

Enfin nous en sortimes pour retourner an souterrain, bornant nos

exploits a ce risible evenement, qui faisoit encore le sujet de

notre entretien, lorsque nous decouvrimes de loin un carrosse a

quatre mules. Il venoit a nous au grand trot, et il etoit

accompagne de trois hommes a cheval qui nous parurent bien armes."

In this statement are many circumstances irreconcilable with French

habits. 1st, A whole day passing without meeting a traveller on the

high-road of Leon, an event common enough in Spain, but in France almost

impossible; 2d, the escort of the coach, a common precaution of the

Spanish ladies against violence--the fact that the coach is drawn by

mules, not horses, of which national trait six other instances may be

found in the same story:--

"Plusieurs personnes me voulurent voir par curiosite. Ils venoient

l'un apres l'autre se presenter a une petite fenetre par ou le jour

entroit dans ma prison; et lorsqu'ils m'avoient considere quelque

temps, ils s'en alloient. Je fus surpris de cette nouveaute: depuis

que j'etois prisonnier, je n'avois pas vu un seul homme se montrer

a cette fenetre, qui donnoit sur une cour ou regnoient le silence

et l'horreur. Je compris par la que je faisois du bruit dans la

ville, mais je ne savois si j'en devois concevoir un bon ou mauvais

presage." ... "La dessus le juge se retira, en disant qu'il alloit

ordonner au concierge de m'ouvrir les portes. En effet, un moment

apres, le geolier vint dans mon cachot avec un de ses guichetiers

qui portoit un paquet de toile. Ils m'oterent tous deux, d'un air

grave et sans me dire un seul mot, mon pourpoint et mon

haut-de-chausses, qui etoit d'un drap fin et presque neuf; puis,

m'ayant revetu d'une vieille souquenille, ils me mirent dehors par

les epaules."

This is an exact description of the manner in which prisoners were

treated in Spain, but bears not the slightest resemblance to any abuse

that prevailed at that time in France:--

"Une fille de dix ans, que la gouvernante faisoit passer pour sa

niece, en depit de la medisance, vint ouvrir; et comme nous lui

demandions si l'on pouvoit parler au chanoine, la dame Jacinte

parut. C'etoit une personne deja parvenue a l'age de discretion,

mais belle encore; et j'admirai particulierement la fraicheur de

son teint. Elle portoit une longue robe d'un etoffe de laine la

plus commune, avec une large ceinture de cuir, d'ou pendoit d un

cote un trousseau de clefs, et de l'autre un chapelet a gros

grains"--"Rosario de cuentas gordas."--_Lib. II._ _c._ 1.

This is an exact description of a class of women well known in Spain by

the name Beata, but utterly unknown in France till the Soeurs de

Charite were instituted:--

"Pendant qu'ils etoient ensemble j'entendis sonner midi. Comme je

savois que les secretaires et les commis quittoient a cette heure

la leurs bureaux, pour aller diner ou il leur plaisoit, je laissai

la mon chef-d'oeuvre, et sortis pour me rendre, non chez

Monteser, parcequ'il m'avoit paye mes appointemens, et que j'avois

pris conge de lui, mais chez le plus fameux traiteur du quartier de

la cour."-_Lib. III._

During the reign of Philip III. and Philip IV., and even till the time

of Charles IV., twelve was the common hour of dinner, and all the public

offices were closed: this is very unlike the state of things in Paris

during the reign of Louis XV., when this romance was published.

In Spain, owing in part to the hospitality natural to unsettled times

and a simple people, in part to the few strangers who visited the

Peninsula, inns were for a long time almost unknown, and the occupation

of an innkeeper, who sold what his countrymen were delighted to give,

was considered degrading: so dishonourable indeed was it looked upon,

that where an executioner could not be found to carry the sentence of

the law into effect upon a criminal, the innkeeper was compelled to

perform his functions: therefore the innkeepers, like usurers and other

persons, who follow a pursuit hostile to public opinion, were profligate

and rapacious. Don Quixote teems with instances to this effect; and

there are other allusions to the same circumstance in _Gil Blas_. It

must be observed that if M. Le Sage stumbled by accident upon so great a

peculiarity, he was fortunate; and if it was suggested to him by his own

enquiries, they were more profound in this than in most other instances.

The Barber, describing his visit to his uncle's, (1, 2, 7,) mentions the

narrow staircase by which he ascended to his relation's abode. Here,

again, is a proof of an intimate acquaintance with the structure of the

hotels of the Spanish grandees: in all of them are to be found a large

and spacious staircase leading to the apartments of the master, and a

small one leading to those of his dependents. So the hotel in which

Fabricio lives, (3, 7, 13,) and that inhabited by Count Olivarez, are

severally described as possessing this appurtenance. It is singular that

Le Sage, who seems to have been almost as fond of Paris as Socrates was

of Athens, should have picked up this intimate knowledge of the hotels

of Madrid. The knowledge of music and habit of playing upon the guitar

in the front of their houses, is another stroke of Spanish manners which

no Frenchman is likely to have thought of adding to his work (1, 2, 7.)

Marcelina puts on her mantle to go to mass. This custom prevailed in

Spain till the sceptre passed to the Bourbons--in many towns till the

time of Charles III., and in small villages till the reign of Charles

IV. Gil Blas joins a muleteer, (1, 3, 1,) with four mules which had

transported merchandise to Valladolid--this method of carrying goods is

not known in France. The same observation applies to 3, 3, 7. Rolando

informs Gil Blas, (1, 3, 2,) "Lorsqu'il eut parle de cette sorte, il

nous fit enfermer dans un cachot, ou il ne laissa pas languir mes

compagnons; ils en sortirent au bout de trois jours pour aller jouer un

role tragique dans la grande place."

This exactly corresponds with the Spanish custom, which was to allow

prisoners, capitally convicted, three days to prepare for a Christian

death. Rolando continues, "Oh! je regrette mon premier metier, j'avoue

qu'il y a plus de surete dans le nouveau; mais il y a plus d'agrement

dans l'autre, et j'aime la liberte. J'ai bien la mine de me defaire de

ma charge, et de partir un beau matin pour aller gagner les montagnes

qui sont aux sources du Tage. Je sais qu'il y a dans cet endroit une

retraite habitee par une troupe nombreuse, et remplie de sujets

Catalans: c'est faire son eloge en un mot. Si tu veux m'accompagner,

nous irons grosser le nombre de ces grands hommes. Je serai dans leur

compagnie capitaine en second; et pour t'y faire recevoir avec agrement,

j'assurerai que je t'ai vu dix fois combattre a mes cotes."

The chain of mountains of Cuenca Requena Aragon y Abaracin, in which the

Tagus rises, does contain such excavations as Rolando employed for such

purposes as Rolando mentions, (1, 3, 11.) The grace of Carlos Alfonso de

la Ventolera in managing his cloak, was an Andalusian accomplishment,

and an accomplishment which ceased to prevail when the Bourbons entered

Spain. It could not have been applied to describe a Castilian, as it was

confined to the inhabitants of Murcia, Andalusia, Valencia, and la

Mancha. How could Le Sage have known this? When the Count Azumar dines

with Don Gonzalo Pacheco, the conversation turns on bull-fights, (2, 4,

7.)

"Leur conversation roula d'abord sur une course de taureaux qui

s'etoit faite depuis peu de jours. Ils parlerent des cavaliers qui

y avoient montre le plus d'adresse et de vigueur; et la-dessus le

vieux comte, tel que Nestor, a qui toutes les choses presentes

donnoient occasion de louer les choses passees, dit en

soupirant--Helas! je ne vois point aujourd'hui d'hommes comparables

a ceux que j'ai vus autrefois, ni les tournois ne se font pas avec

autant de magnificence qu'on les faisoit dans ma jeunesse."

This alludes to the "Caballeros de Plaza," as they were called,

gentlemen by birth animated by the love of glory, very different from

the hired Picadors. This custom of the Spanish gentlemen, which many of

our fox-hunting and pheasant-shooting squires will condemn for its

cruelty, was very common during the reigns of Philip III. and IV., but

gradually declined, and was at last only prevalent at the _Fiestas

Reales_. The last example was known in 1789, to celebrate the _jura_ of

the Prince of Asturia, afterwards the pious and exemplary Ferdinand VII.

This must have been before his attempted parricide. Ambrosio de Lamela,

in order to accomplish his designs on Simon, (2, 6, 1,) purchases

articles at Chelva in Valencia, among others--

"Il nous fit voir un manteau et une robe noire fort longue, deux

pourpoints avec leurs hauts-de-chausses, une de ces ecritoires

composees de deux pieces liees par un cordon, et dont le cornet est

separe de l'etui ou l'on met les plumes; une main de beau papier

blanc un cadenas avec un gros cachet, et de la cire verte; et

lorsqu'il nous eut enfin exhibe toutes ses emplettes, Don Raphael

lui dit en plaisantant: Vive Dieu! Monsieur Ambroise, il faut

avouer que vous avez fait la un bon achat."

Now this is a faithful portrait of the inkstand, called Tintero de

Escribano, which the Spanish scriveners always carry about with them,

and which it is most improbable that M. Le Sage should ever have seen in

his life, or indeed have heard of but through the medium of a Spanish

manuscript. The account proceeds; and the distinction, which the reader

will find taken with so much accuracy, between the inquisitor and

familiar of the holy office, is one which, however familiar to every

Spaniard, it is not likely a Frenchman should be acquainted with. In

France the inquisitor was confounded with the commissary, and all were

supposed to be Dominican friars.

"La, mon garcon barbier etala ses vivres, qui consistoient das cinq

ou six oignons, avec quelques morceaux de pain et de fromage: mais

ce qu'il produisit comme la meilleure piece du sac, fut une petite

outre, remplie, disoit-il, d'un vin delicat et friand," (2, 6.)

This custom of carrying wine in a leathern bag, is a peculiar trait of

Spanish manners.

Catalena, the chambermaid of Guevarra, nurse of Philip IV., obtains from

her mistress, for Ignatio, the archdeaconry of Granada, which, as "pais

de conquista," was subject to the crown's disposal:--

"Cette soubrette, qui est la meme dont je me suis servi depuis pour

tirer de la tour de Segovie le seigneur de Santillane, ayant envie

de rendre service a Don Ignacio, engagea sa maitresse a demander

pour lui un benefice an Duc de Lerme. Ce ministre le fit nommer a

l'archidiaconat de Granade, lequel etant en pays conquis; est a la

nomination du roi."

Now, that Le Sage should have been acquainted with this fact, for fact

it unquestionably is, does appear astonishing. Till the concordat of

1753, the kings of Spain could only present to dignities in churches

subject to the royal privilege, among which was this of Granada, by

virtue of particular bulls issued at the time of its conquest. This is a

fact, however, with which very few Spaniards were acquainted. Antonio de

Pulgar, in his _Cronica de Los Reyes Catholicos_, c. 22, tells us that

Isabella, "En el proueer de las yglesias que vacaron en su tiempo, ouo

respecto tan recto, que pospuesta toda afficion siempre supplico al Papa

por hombres generosos, y grandes letrados, y de vida honesta; lo que no

se lee que con tanta diligencia ouiesse guardado ningun rey de los

passados." Another remarkable passage, and to us almost conclusive, is

the following--

"Je le menai au comte-duc, qui le recut tres poliment, et lui dit

qu'il s'etoit si bien conduit dans son gouvernement de la ville de

Valence, que le roi, le jugeant propre a remplir une plus grande

place, l'avoit nomme a la viceroyaute d'Aragon. D'ailleurs,

ajouta-t-il, cette dignite n'est point au-dessus de votre

naissance, et la noblesse Aragonoise ne sauroit murmurer contre le

choix de la cour."

This alludes to a dispute between the Spanish government and the

Aragonese, which had continued from the days of Charles V. The Aragonese

claimed either that the king himself should reside among them, or be

represented by some person of the royal blood. Charles V. appointed, as

viceroy of Aragon, his uncle, the Archbishop of Zaragoza, and then Don

Fernando de Aragon, his cousin. Philip II. appointed a Castilian to that

dignity. This produced great disturbances in Aragon, and the dispute

lasted till 1692, when the Aragonese settled the matter by putting the

Castilian viceroy, Inigo de Mendoza, to death. His successor was an

Aragonese, Don Miguel de Luna, Conde de Morata, and he was succeeded by

Don John of Austria, his brother. It is most improbable that M. Le Sage,

whose knowledge of Spanish literature was very superficial, and whose

ignorance of Spanish history was complete, should have understood this

allusion. This, therefore, leads to the conclusion that it must have

been taken from a Spanish manuscript.

In conformity with this we find Mariana saying, in the days of Ferdinand

and Isabella--"Los Aragoneses no querian recebir por Virrey a D. Ramon

Folch, Conde de Cardona, que el rey tenia senalado para este cargo;

decian era contra sus fueros poner en el gobierno de su reyno hombre

extrangero. Hobo demandas y respuestas, mas al fin el rey temporizo con

ellos, y nombro por Virrey a su hijo D. Alonso de Aragon, Arzobispo de

Zaragoza."

Can any one doubt that the writer of the following passage had seen the

spot he describes?

"Il me fit traverser une cour, et monter par un escalier fort

etroit a une petite chambre qui etoit tout an haut de la tour. Je

ne fus pas peu surpris, en entrant dans cette chambre, de voir sur

une table deux chandelles, qui bruloient dans des flambeaux de

cuivre, et deux couverts assez propres. Dans un moment, me dit

Tordesillas, on va nous apporter a manger: nous allons souper ici

tous deux. C'est ce reduit que je vous ai destine pour logement.

Vous y serez mieux que dans votre cachot; vous verrez de votre

fenetre les bords fleuris de l'Erema, et la vallee delicieuse qui,

du pied des montagnes qui separent les deux Castilles, s'etend

jusqu'a Coca. Je suis bien que vous serez d'abord peu sensible a

une si belle vue, mais quand le temps aura fait succeder une douce

melancolie a la vivacite de votre douleur, vous prendrez plaisir a

promener vos regards sur des objets si agreables."

These notices of reference, taken at random, are all adapted to the

places at which they are found--the narrative leads to them by regular

approximation, or they are suggested by the subject and occasion which

it draws forth. To introduce a given story into the body of a writing

without abruptness, or marks of unnatural transition,

"Ut per laeve moventes,

Effundat junctura ungues."

is, as Paley observes, one of the most difficult artifices of

composition; and here are upwards of a hundred Spanish names,

circumstances, and allusions, incorporated with the story written, as M.

Neufchateau assures us, by a Frenchman concerning the court of Louis

XIV. A line touching on truth in so many points, could never have been

drawn accidentally; it is the pencil thrown luckily full upon the

horse's mouth, and expressing the foam which the painter, with all his

skill, could not represent without it. Let the reader observe how

difficult Le Sage has found the task of connecting the anecdotes taken

from Marcos de Obregon, and put into the mouth of Diego, with the main

story. How awkward is this transition? "Le _seigneur_ Diego de La Fuente

me raconta d'autres aventures encore, qui lui etoient arrivees depuis;

mais elles me semblent si peu dignes d'etre rapportees, que je les

passerai sous silence."

The next branch of the argument which we are called upon to consider,

relates to the Spanish words in _Gil Blas_, which imply the existence of

a Spanish manuscript. The names Juan, Pedro, often occur in Le Sage's

work, and Pierre, Jean, are sometimes used in their stead. The word

_Don_ is prefixed by the Spaniards to the Christian, and never to the

surname, as Don Juan, Don Antonio, not Don Mariana, Don Cervantes. In

France, _Dom_, its synonyme, is, on the contrary, prefixed to the

surname--as Dom Mabillon, Don Calmet. Le Sage always adheres to the

Spanish custom. The robber who introduces Gil Blas to the cavern, says,

"Tenez, Dame Leonarde, voici un jeune garcon," &c. Again, "On dressa

dans le salon une grande table, et l'on me renvoya dans la cuisine, ou

la _Dame_ Leonarde m'instruisit de ce que j'avais a faire.... Et comme

depuis sa mort c'etoit la _Senora Leonarda_ qui avoit l'honneur de

presenter le nectar a ces dieux infernaux," &c. This expression "Senora

Leonarda," is much in favour of a Spanish original; why should not Le

Sage have repeated the expression "Dame Leonarde," on which we have a

few observations to offer, had it not been that he thought the word

under his eyes at the moment would lend grace and vivacity to the

narrative. A French writer would have said, "Tenez, Leonarde," or

perhaps, "Tenez, Madame Leonarde;" but such a phrase as "Tenez, Dame

Leonarde," in a French writer, can be accounted for only by the

translation of "senora." So we have "la Senora Catalena," (7, 12)--"la

Senora Sirena," (9, 7)--and "la Senora Mencia," (8, 10) of the French

version, and instead of "une demoiselle," "une jeune dame," which is a

translation of "senorita." In giving an account of his projected

marriage with the daughter of Gabriel Salero, Gil Blas says, (9,

1)--"C'etoit un bon bourgeois qui etoit comme nous disons poli hasta

porfiar. Il me presenta la Senora Eugenia, sa femme, et la jeune

Gabriela, sa fille." Here are three Spanish idioms--"hasta porfiar,"

which Le Sage thinks it necessary to explain, "la Senora Eugenia,"

"Gabriela." Diego de la Fuente tells his friend, "J'avois pour maitre de

cet instrument un vieux 'senor escudero,' a qui je faisois la barbe. Il

se nommoit Marcos Dobregon." A French author, instead of "senor

escudero," would have said, "vieux ecuyer;" a Spanish transcriber would

have written "Marcos de Obregon." We have (x. 3, 11) "Senor Caballero

des plus lestes," "romances" instead of "romans," (1, 5,) "prado"

instead of "pre," twice, (4, 10; 7, 13.)

Laura says--"Un jour il nous vint en fantaisie a Dorothee et a moi

d'aller voir joner les comediens de Seville. Ils avaient affiche qu'ils

representaient _la famosa comedia_, et Embajador de si mismo, de Lope de

Vega Carpio.... En fin le moment que j'attendais etant arrive,

c'est-a-dire, la fin de _la famosa comedia_, nous nous en allames." We

have "hidalgo" instead of "gentilhomme" three times; "contador mayor"

twice, once used by Chinchillo, again by the innkeeper at Suescas,

"oidor" instead of "juge" or "membre de la cour royale," "escribano"

instead of "notaire," (8, 9.) "Hospital de ninos" instead of "hospice

des enfans orphelins," "olla podrida" three times "marmalada de

berengaria," (9, 4,) and "picaro" instead of "fripon," (4, 10, 12.)

Scipio says, "un jour comme je passois aupres de l'eglise de los reyes."

There is at Toledo a church named "San Juan de los Reyes." How could Le

Sage, who never had been in Spain, know this fact? Gil Blas thus relates

an event at Valencia--"Je m'en approchai pour apprendre pourquoi je

voyois la un si grand concours d'hommes et de femmes, et bientot je fus

au fait, en lisant ces paroles ecrites en lettres d'or sur une table de

marbre noir, qu'il-y avait audessus de la porte, '_La posada de los

representantes_,' et les comediens marquaient dans leur affiche qu'ils

joueraient ce jour-la pour la premiere fois une tragedie nouvelle de Don

Gabriel Triaguero." This passage is an attestation of the fact, that

during the reign of Philip IV. the buildings of the Spanish provinces in

which dramatic performances were represented were at the same time the

residence, "posada," of the actors--a custom even now not altogether

extinguished; but which Le Sage could only know through the medium of a

Spanish manuscript. Gil Blas, imprisoned in the tower of Segovia, hears

Don Gaston de Cavallos sing the following verses--

"Ayde nie un ano _felice_

Parece un soplo ligero

Pero sin duda un instante

Es un siglo de tormento."

Where did Le Sage find these verses, sweet, gracious, and idiomatic as

they are? The use of the word "felice" for "feliz" is a poetical

license, and displays more than a stranger's knowledge of Spanish

composition. It has been said that Smollett has left many French words

in his translation of Gil Blas, and that too strong an inference ought

not to be drawn from the employment of Spanish phrases by Le Sage. But

what are the words? Are they words in the mouth of every one, and such

as a superficial dilettante might easily pick up; or do they, either of

themselves or from the conjunctures in which they are employed, exhibit

a consummate acquaintance with the dialect and habits of the people to

which they refer? Besides, it should be remembered that French is a

language far more familiar to well-educated people in England, than

Spanish ever was to the French, and that Smollett had lived much in

France; whereas Le Sage knew from books alone the language which he has

employed with so much colloquial elegance and facility. We now turn to

the phrases and expressions in French which Le Sage has manifestly

translated.

The first word which occurs in dealing with this part of the subject is

"seigneur" as a translation for "senor;" "seigneur" in France was not a

substitute for "monsieur," which is the proper meaning of "senor." On

the use of the word "dame" we have already commented. Instead of Dame

Leonarde and Dame Lorenzo Sephora, a French writer would have put

"Madame" or "la cuisiniere," or "la femme de chambre," as the case might

be. So the exclamation of the highwayman, "Seigneur passant," &c., must

be a translation of "Senor passagero." Describing the parasite at

Penaflor, Gil Blas says, "le cavalier portait une longue rapiere, et il

s'approcha de moi d'un air empresse, _Seigneur_ ecolier, me dit-il, je

viens d'apprendre que vous etes le _seigneur_ Gil Blas de Santillane.

Je lui dis, _seigneur_ cavalier, je ne croyois pas que mon nom fut connu

a Penaflor." "Le cavalier" means a man on horseback, which is not a

description applicable to the parasite; "chevalier" is the French word

for the member of a military order. "Cet homme," or "ce monsieur," would

have been the expression of Le Sage if "este caballero" had not been in

the manuscript to be copied. "Carillo" for "Camillo," "betancos" for

"betangos," "rodillas" for "revilla;" and yet M. Le Sage is not

satisfied with making his hero walk towards the Prado of Madrid, but

goes further, and describes it as the "pre de Saint Jerome"--Prado de

Ste Geronimo, which is certainly more accurate. Again he speaks of "la

Rue des Infantes" at Madrid, (8, 1)--"De los Infantos is the name of a

street in that city--and in the same sentence names "une vieille dame

Inesile Cantarille." Inesilla is the Spanish diminutive of Ines, and

Cantarilla of Cantaro. The last word alludes to the expression "mozas de

Cantaro," for women of inferior degree. Philip III. shuts up Sirena

"dans la maison des repenties." This is also the name of a convent at

Madrid, called "casa de las arrepentidas." But a still stronger argument

in favour of the existence of a Spanish manuscript, is to be found in

the passage which says that Lucretia, the repentant mistress of Philip

IV., "quitte tout a coup le monde, et se ferme dans le monastere de la

_Incarnacion_;" that having been founded by Philip III. in compliance

with the will of Dona Margarita, his wife, it was reserved expressly for

nuns connected in some way with the royal family of Spain; and that

therefore Lucretia, having been the mistress of Philip IV., was entitled

to become a member of it.

"Nous apercumes _un religieux de l'ordre de Saint Domingue_, monte,

_contre l'ordinaire de ces bons peres, sur une mauvaise mule_.{A} _Dieu

soit loue_, s'ecria le capitaine." In this sentence all the passages in

Italics are of Spanish origin. "_Seigneur cavalier_, vous etes bien

heureux qu'on se soit adresse a moi plutot qu'a un autre: je ne veux

point decrier mes confreres: a _Dieu ne plaise_ que je fasse le moindre

tort a leur reputation: mais, entre nous, il n'y en a pas un qui ait de

la conscience--_ils sont tous plus durs que des Juifs_. Je suis le seul

fripier qui ait de la morale: je ne borne a un prix raisonable; je me

contente de la livre pour sou--je veux dire du sou pour livre. _Graces

au ciel_, j'exerce rondement ma profession." Here we find "Seigneur

cavalier," "a Dieu ne plaise," which is the common Spanish phrase, "no

permita Dios," "Graces an ciel," instead of "Dieu merci," from "Gracias

a Dios." A little further we find the phrase "_Seigneur gentilhomme_,"

which can only be accounted for as a translation of "Senor hidalgo;"

"garcon de famille," (1, 17,) "benefice simple," (11, 17) are neither of

them French expressions. "The virtuous Jacintha," says Fabricio, "merite

d'etre la gouvernante du patriarche des Indes." Now, it is impossible

that the existence of such a dignity as this should have been known at

Paris. It was of recent creation, and had been the subject of much

conversation at Madrid. "Garcon de bien et d'honneur," (1, 2, 1,) "un

mozo, hombre de bien y de honor." "Je servis un potage qu'on auroit pu

presenter _au plus fameux directeur de Madrid_, et deux entrees qui

auroient eu de quoi piquer la sensualite _d'un viceroi_." It is

impossible not to see that the first of the phrases in italics is a

translation "del director mas famoso de Madrid;" first, because a

Frenchman would have used "celebre," and secondly, because the word

"director" in a different sense from that of confessor was unknown at

Madrid. The allusion to the Viceroy, a functionary unknown to the French

government, also deserves notice. The notaire, hastening to Cedillo,

takes up hastily "son manteau et son chapeau." This infers a knowledge

on the part of the writer that the Spanish scrivener never appeared,

however urgent the occasion, without his "capa." We have the word

"laboureurs" applied to substantial farmers, (1, 2, 7.) This is a

translation of "labradores," to which the French word does not

correspond, as it means properly, men dependent on daily labour for

their daily bread. "J'ai fait elever," says the schoolmaster of Olmedo,

"un theatre, sur lequel, Dieu aidant, je ferai representer par mes

_disciples_ une piece que j'ai composee. Elle a pour titre les jeunes

amours de Muley Bergentuf Roi de Moroi." "_Disciples_" is a translation

of "discipulos." A French writer would have said "eleves." Again, the

title of the Pedant's play is thoroughly Spanish. It was intended to

ridicule the habit which prevailed in Spain, after the expulsion of the

Moriscoes in 1610, of adapting for the stage Moorish habits and

amusements, by making a stupid pedant in an obscure village, select them

as the subject of his tragedy.

Describing the insolence of the actors, Gil Blas says, "Bien loin de

traiter d'excellence les seigneurs, elles ne leur donnoient pas meme _de

la seigneurie_." This would hardly be applicable to the manners of the

French. The principal of Lucinde's creditors, "se nommoit Bernard

Astuto, qui meritoit bien son nom." The signification of the name is

clear in Spanish; but in French the allusion is totally without meaning.

This probably escaped Le Sage in the hurry of composition, or it would

have been easy to have removed so clear a mark of translation. The

following mark is still stronger. Speaking of Simon, the bourgeois of

Chelva, he says--"Certain Juif, qui s'est fait Catholique, mais dans le

fond de l'ame il est encore _Juif comme Pilate_." Now, the lower classes

of Spain perpetually fall into this error of calling Pilate a Jew; and

this is a trait which could hardly have occurred to a foreign writer,

however well acquainted with Spain, much less to a writer who had never

set his foot in that country. Here we cannot help observing, that the

whole scene from which this passage is taken is eminently Spanish. In

Spain only was such a proceeding possible as the scheme for deprecating

Simon, executed by Lucinda and Raphael. The character of the victim, the

nature of the fraud, the absence of all suspicion which such proceedings

would necessarily provoke in any other country, are as conclusive proofs

of Spanish origin as moral evidence can supply. Count Guliano is found

playing with an ape, "pour dormir _la siesta_." Lucretia says to Gil

Blas, "Je vous rends de tres humbles graces," "doy a usted muy umildes

gracias." A French writer would have said, "Je vous remercie

infiniment." Melendez is described as living "a la Porte du Soleil du

coin de la Rue des Balustrees," "esquina de la Calle de Cofreros." There

is such an alley as this, but it is unknown to ninety-nine Spaniards in

a hundred. Beltran Moscada tells Gil Blas, "Je vous reconnois bien,

moi--nous avons joue mille fois tous deux _a la Gallina ciega_." This Le

Sage thinks it necessary to explain by a note, to inform his readers

that it is the same as "Colin Maillard." From all these various phrases

and expressions, scattered about in different passages of Gil Blas, and

taken almost at random from different parts of the work, the conclusion

that it was copied from a Spanish manuscript appears inevitable.

Le Sage has named Sacedon, Buendia, Fuencarrat, Madrid, Campillo,

Aragon, Penaflor, Castropot, Asturias; Salcedo, Alava; Villaflor,

Cebreros, Avila; Tardajos, Kevilla, Puentedura, Burgos; Villar-de-saz;

Almodovar, Cuenca; Almoharin, Monroy, Estremadura; Adria, Gavia, Vera,

Granada; Mondejar, Gualalajara; Vierzo, Ponferrada, Cacabelos, Leon;

Calatrava, Castilblanco, Mancha; Chinchilla, Lorque, Murcia; Duenas,

Palencia; Colmenar, Coca, Segovia; Carmona, Mairena, Sevilla; Cobisa,

Galvez, Illescas, Loeches, Maqueda, Kodillas, Villarejo, Villarrubia,

Toledo; Bunol, Chelva, Chiva; Gerica, Liria Paterna, Valencia;

Ataquines, Benavente, Mansilla, Mojados, Olmedo, Penafiel, Puente de

Duero, Valdestillas, Valladolid.

The story of _Gil Blas_ contains the names of no less than one hundred

and three Spanish villages and towns of inferior importance, many of

them are unknown out of Spain--such as Albarracin, Antequera, Betanzos,

Ciudad Real, Coria, Lucena, Molina, Mondonedo, Monzon, Solsona,

Trujillo, Ubeda.

There are also cited the names of thirteen dukes--Alba, Almeida,

Braganza, Frias (condestable de Castilia,) Lerma, Medina-celi, Medina de

Rioseco, (almirante de Castilia,) Medina-Sidonia, Medina de las Tarres

(Marques de Toral,) Mantua, Osuna, Sanlucar la Mayor y Uceda. Eleven

marquises--De Almenara, Carpia, Chaves, Laguardia, Leganes, Priego,

Santacruz, Toral, Velez, Villa-real y Zenete. Eight condes--De Azumar,

Galiano, Lemos, Montanos, Niebla, Olivares, Pedrosa y Polan. Of these

four only are fictitious. It is remarkable also, that one title cited in

_Gil Blas_, that of Admirante de Castilia, did not exist when Le Sage

published his romance--Felipe V. having abolished it, to punish the

holder of that dignity for having embraced the cause of the house of

Austria. Nor are there wanting the names of persons celebrated in their

day among the inhabitants of the Peninsula. Such are Fray Luis Aliago,

confessor of Philip III., Archimandrite of Sicily, and inquisitor-general,

Don Rodrigo Calderon, secretary of the king, Calderon de la Barca,

Antonio Carnero, secretary of the king, Philip IV., Cervantes, Geronimo

de Florencia, Jesuit preacher of Philip IV., Fernando de Gamboa, one of

the gentlemen of his bedchamber, Luis de Gongora, Ana de Guevarra, his

nurse, Maria de Guzman, only daughter of Olivarez, Henry Philip de

Guzman, his adopted son, Baltasar de Zuniga, uncle of Olivarez, Lope de

Vega Carpio, Luis Velez de Guevarra, Juana de Velasco, making in all

nineteen persons. There are the names of not only thirty-one families of

the highest class in Spain, as Guzman, Herrera, Mendoza, Acuna, Avila,

Silva, &c., but twenty-five names belonging to less illustrious, but

still distinguished families; and twenty-nine names really Spanish, but

applied to imaginary characters. This makes a list of eighty-five names,

which it seems impossible for any writer acquainted only with the lighter

parts of Spanish literature to have accumulated. Nor should it be

forgotten that there are forty-five names, intended to explain the

character of those to whom they are given, like Mrs Slipslop and Parson

Trulliber, retained by Gil Blas, notwithstanding the loss of their

original signification. Doctor Andros don Anibal de Chinchilla, Alcacer,

Apuntador, Astuto, Azarini, Padre Alejos y Don Abel, Buenagarra,

Brutandof, Campanario Chilindron, Chinchilla, Clarin, Colifichini, Cordel,

Coscolina, Padre Crisostomo, Doctor Cuchillo, Descomulgado, Deslenguado,

Escipion, Forero, Guyomar, Ligero, Majuelo, Mascarini, Melancia, Mogicon,

Montalban, Muscada, Nisana, Doctor Oloroso, Doctor Oquetos, Penafiel,

Pinares, Doctor Sangrado, Stheimbach, Samuel Simon, Salero, Talego, Touto,

Toribio, Triaquero, Ventolera, Villaviciosa, are all names of this sort.

Who but a Spaniard, then, was likely to invent them? Were there no other

argument, the case for Spain might almost safely be rested on this issue.

But this is not all, since the mistakes, orthographical and geographical,

which abound in the French edition of _Gil Blas_, carry the argument

still further, and place it beyond the reach of reasonable contradiction.

The reader will observe, that much of the question depends upon the fact,

admitted on all sides, that Le Sage did not transcribe his version from

any printed work, but from a manuscript. Had Le Sage merely inserted

stories here and there taken from Spanish romances, his claims as an

original writer would hardly be much shaken by their discovery, supposing

the plot, with which they were skilfully interwoven, and the main bulk

and stamina of the story, to be his own. But where the errors are such as

can only be accounted for by mistakes, not of the press, but of the

copies of a manuscript, and are fully accounted for in that manner--where

they are so thickly sown, as to show that they were not errors made by a

person with a printed volume before his eyes, but by a person deciphering

a manuscript written in a language of which he had only a superficial

acquaintance, no candid enquirer will hesitate as to the inference to

which such facts lead, and by which alone they can be reconciled with the

profound and intimate knowledge of Spanish literature, habits, and

manners, to which we have before adverted. The innkeeper of Penaflor is

named _Corcuelo_ in the French version, an appellation utterly without

meaning. The real word was _Corzuelo_, a diminutive from _corzo_, which

carries a very pointed allusion to the character of the person. It was

usual to write instead of the _z_--_c_ with a cedilla, and this was

probably the origin of the mistake. The innkeeper of Burgos is called in

the French text _Manjuelo_, which is not Spanish, and is equally

unmeaning. The original undoubtedly was _Majuelo_, the diminutive of

_Majo_, which is very significant of the class to which the person

bearing the name belonged. The person to whom Gil Blas applies for a

situation at Valladolid, is called in the French text _Londona_. The real

word is Londono, the name of a village near Orduna, in Biscay. _Inesile_

is the name given to the niece of Jacinta. This is instead of _Inesilla_,

and corresponds with the French Agnes. Castel Blargo is used for Castel

Blanco. Rodriguez says to his master, "Je ne touche pas un marave_dis_ de

vos finances." The word in the manuscript was _marivedi_. Le Sage has

used the plural for the singular. "Seguier," a proper name, is used for

"Seguiar." "De la Ventileria" is the unmeaning name given to a frivolous

coxcomb, instead of "De la Ventilera." Le Sage, speaking of the same

person, sometimes calls her "Dona _K_imena de Guzman," and sometimes

"Dona _Ch_imena," a manifest proof that "Dona _X_imena" was written in

the work from which he transcribed; as the French substitute sometimes

_k_ and sometimes _ch_, for the Spanish _x_.

Pedros is used for Pedroga, (the name of a noble family.)

Moyades for Miagades, (a village.)

Zendero for Zenzano, (do.)

Salceda for Salcedo, (do.)

Calderone for Calderon.

Oliguera for Lahiguera.

Niebles for Niebla.

Jutella for Antella.

Leiva for Chiva.

After Gil Blas's promotion, he says that his haughty colleague treated

him with more respect; and this is expressed in such a way as to show

that Le Sage was ignorant of Spanish etiquette, and did not understand

thoroughly the meaning of what he transcribed. "Il Don Rodrigo de

Calderone ne m'appela plus que Seigneur de Santillane, lui qui

jusqu'alors ne m'avoit traite que de _vous_, sans jamais se servir du

terme de seigneurie," supposing the meaning equivalent--whereas, in

fact, though Gil Blas might complain of not being addressed in the third

person, which would draw with it the use of senor, and was a common form

of civility--it would have been ridiculous to represent him as addressed

by a name, senoria, to which none but people of high station and

illustrious rank were entitled. But Le Sage supposed that every one

addressed as senor, might also be spoken of by the term senoria; a

mistake against which a very moderate knowledge of Spanish usages would

have guarded him. We may illustrate this by a quotation from Navarete:--

"En este estado enviaron a decir a Magallanes.... Que si se queria

avenir a lo que cumpliese, al servicio de S. M. estarian a lo que

les mandase, y que si hasta entonces le dieron tratamiento de

merced, _en adelante se lo darian de senoria_, y le besarian pies y

manos."

This was intended as a proof of the greatest reverence by the mutineers,

whom, notwithstanding this submission, Magallanes took an early

opportunity to destroy.

Gil Blas relates the absurd resolution of the Conde Duque D'Olivarez, to

adopt the son of a person with whom he, among others, had intrigued as

his own. This anecdote was well known in Spain. The supposed father of

this youth was an alcalde de corte, called Valcancel; and _he_ had been

rivaled by an alguazil. The son was called in the early part of his life

Julian Valcancel. When adopted by Olivarez, he took the name of Eurique

Felipe de Guzman, which the people said ought to be exchanged for that

of Del Alguazil del Alcalde de Corte. Olivarez divorced him from the

woman to whom he was certainly married, and obliged him to marry the

daughter of the Duca de Frias. He was called by the people of Madrid a

man with two names, the son of three fathers, and the husband of two

wives. Le Sage, by substituting the name of Valdeasar for that of

Valcancel, proves that he was ignorant of the whole transaction. In the

_auto da fe_ which Gil Blas sees at Toledo, and in which his old friends

terminate their adventures in so tragical a manner--some of the guilty

are represented as wearing _carochas_ on their heads. This is a word

altogether without meaning; the real word was _corozas_, a cap worn by

criminals as a badge of degradation.

Another mistake deserves attention, as supplying the strongest proof of

an inaccurate transcriber. "J'espere," says Maitre Joachim to his

master, "que je vous servirai tantot un ragout digne d'un _can_tador

mayor." The word was not "_can_tador," but "_con_tador mayor," the

"ministro de hacienda," or chancellor of the exchequer; a situation

under a despotic government of the highest dignity and opulence. So Don

Annibal de Chinchilla exclaims--"Me croit-elle un contador mayor," when

repelling a demand of a rapacious prostitute. But Le Sage mistook the

_o_ of his manuscript for an _a_, and turned a phrase very intelligible

into nonsense. We now come to the passage which M. Neufchateau quotes as

decisive in favour of Le Sage's claims. It certainly was to be found in

no Spanish manuscript.

"Don Louis nous mena chez un jeune gentilhomme de ses amis, qu'on

appeloit don Gabriel de Pedros. Nous y passames le reste de la

journee; nous y soupames meme, et nous n'en sortimes que sur les

deux heures apres minuit pour nous en retourner au logis. Nous

avions peut-etre fait la moitie du chemin, lorsque nous

rencontrames sous nos pieds dans la rue deux hommes etendus par

terre. Nous jugeames que c'etoient des malheureux qu'on venoit

d'assassiner, et nous nous arretames pour les secourir, s'il en

etoit encore temps. Comme nous cherchions a nous instruire, autant

que l'obscurite de la nuit nous le pouvoit permettre, de l'etat ou

ils se trouvoient, la patrouille arriva. Le commandant nous prit

d'abord pour des assassins, et nous fit environner par ses gens;

mais il eut meilleure opinion de nous lorsqu'il nous eut entendus

parler, et qu'a la faveur d'une lanterne sourde, il vit les traits

de Mendoce et de Pacheco. Ses archers, par son ordre, examinerent

les deux hommes que nous nous imaginions avoir ete tues; et il se

trouva que c'etoit un gros licencie avec son valet, tous deux pris

de vin, ou plutot ivres-morts. 'Messieurs,' s'ecria un des archers,

'je reconnois ce gros vivant. Eh! c'est le seigneur licencie

Guyomar, recteur de notre universite. Tel que vous le voyez, c'est

un grand personnage, un genie superieur. Il n'y a point de

philosophe qu'il ne terrasse dans une dispute; il a un flux de

bouche sans pareil. C'est dommage qu'il aime un peu trop de vin, le

proces, et la grisette. Il revient de souper de chez son Isabella,

ou, par malheur, son guide s'est enivre comme lui. Ils sont tombes

l'un et l'autre dans le ruisseau. Avant que le bon licencie fut

recteur, cela lui arrivoit assez souvent. Les honneurs, comme vous

voyez, ne changent pas toujours les moeurs.' Nous laissames ces

ivrognes entre les mains de la patrouille, qui eut soin de les

porter chez eux. Nous regagnames notre hotel, et chacun ne songea

qu'a se reposer."

Now this story pierces to the heart the theory which M. Neufchateau

cites it in order to establish. It is an anecdote incorporated by Le

Sage with the rest of the work; and how well it tallies with a Spanish

story, and the delineation of Spanish manners, let the reader judge. The

rector of the university of Salamanca was required to unite a great

variety of qualifications. In the first place, his birth must have been

noble for several generations; not perhaps as many as a canon of

Strasburg was required to trace, but more than it was possible for the

great majority even of well born gentlemen to produce. The situation,

indeed, was generally conferred upon the members of the second class of

nobility, and very often upon those of the first. He was a judge, with

royal and pontifical privileges, exempt from the authority of the bishop

in ecclesiastical, and from the royal tribunals in secular, matters. His

morals were sifted with the strictest scrutiny; and yet this dignified

ecclesiastic is the person whom Le Sage represents as lying in the

streets stupefied with intoxication, and this not from accident, but

from habitual indulgence in a vice which, throughout Spain, is

considered infamous, and which none but those who are below the

influence of public opinion, and even those but in rare instances, are

ever known to practise. To call a man a drunkard in Spain, is considered

a worse insult than to call him a thief; and the effect of the story is

the same as if a person, pretending to describe English manners, were to

represent the Lord Chancellor as often in custody on a charge of

shoplifting, and permitted, in consideration of his abilities, still to

remain in office and exercise the duties of his station.

The principal topographical errors are the following:--Dona Mencia names

to Gil Blas two places on the road near Burgos--these she calls Gofal

and Rodillas; the real names are Tardagal and Revilla, (1, 11;) Ponte de

Mula is put for Puenta Duro, (1, 13;) Luceno for Luyego; Villardera for

Villar del Sa, (5, 1;) Almerim for Almoharia, (5, 1;) Sliva for Chiva,

(7, 1;) Obisa for Cobisa, (10, 10;) Sinas for Linas; Mililla for

Melilla; Arragon for Aragon. Describing his journey from Madrid to

Oviedo, Gil Blas says they slept the first night at Alcala of Henares,

and the second at Segovia. Now Alcala is not on the road from Madrid to

Segovia, nor is it possible to travel in one day from one of these

cities to the other--probably Galapagar was the word mistaken. Penafiel

is mentioned as lying on the road from Segovia to Valladolid, (10, 1;)

this is for Portillo. Now, if Le Sage had invented the story, and

clothed it with names of Spanish cities and villages, taken from

_printed_ books, can any one suppose that he could have fallen into all

these errors?

A thread of Spanish history winds through the whole story of _Gil Blas_,

and keeps every circumstance in its place; therefore the date of the

hero's birth may be fixed with the greatest precision. He tells us he

was fifty-eight at the death of the Count Duke of Olivarez, that is,

1646; Gil Blas was therefore born 1588, and this corresponds altogether

with different allusions, which show that when the romance was written

the war between Spain and Portugal was present to the author's mind, and

the subject of his constant animadversion. Portugal, as our readers may

recollect, became subject to the Spanish yoke in 1580, the Duke of

Braganza was raised to the throne of that kingdom in 1640; and the war

to which that event gave rise was not terminated till 1668; when Charles

II. acknowledged Alphonso VI. as the legitimate ruler of Portugal. That

when the work was written the war between Spain and Portugal continued,

may be inferred from the fact, that the mention of Portugal is

perpetually accompanied with some allusion to hostilities which were

then carried on between the two countries. The romance must therefore

have been written between the disgrace of the Count Duke, 1646, and the

recognition of Portuguese independence, 1668. But we may contract the

date of the work within still narrower limits. It could not have been

written before 1654, as the works of Don Augustini Moreto, none of which

were published before 1654, are cited in it--it is not of later date,

because there is no allusion in any part of the work to the death of

Philip IV., to the peace of the Pyrenees, or to any other ministers but

Lerma, Uzeda, and Olivarez. Don Louis de Haro, Marquis of Carpio, and

Duke of Montora, is not mentioned moreover. Gil Blas, describing himself

to Laura, says that he is the only son of Fernando de Ribera, who fell

in a battle on the frontiers of Portugal fifteen years before. This is a

prolepsis; for the battle was fought in 1640. But this manifest

anachronism, which entirely escaped Le Sage, was intended by the author

as an autograph, a sort of "chien de Bassano," to point out the real

date of the work. Bearing in mind, then, that Gil Blas was born in 1588;

that Portugal was annexed to Spain in 1580 without a struggle; and

remained subject to its dominion till 1640; let us consider the

anachronisms in which Le Sage has plunged himself, partly through his

ignorance of Spanish history, partly from the attempt to interpolate

other Spanish novels with the main body of the work he has translated.

One of these is confessed by Le Sage himself, and occurs in the story of

Don Pompeio de Castro, inserted in the first volume. Don Pompeio is

supposed to relate this story at Madrid in 1607; in it a king of

Portugal is spoken of at that time as being an independent sovereign.

Now in the third volume of the seventh book, in the year 1608, Pedro

Zamora tells Laura, with whom he has eloped, that they were in security

in Portugal, a foreign kingdom, though actually subject to the crown of

Spain. Now this is quite correct, and here Le Sage's attention was

called to the anachronism above cited in his preceding volume, which he

undertakes to correct in another edition--a promise which he fulfilled

by the clumsy expedient of transferring the scene from Portugal to

Poland. But how comes it to pass that Le Sage, who singles out with such

painful anxiety the error to which we have adverted, suffers others of

equal importance to pass altogether unnoticed? For instance, in the

twelfth book, eighth chapter, Olivarez speaks of a journey of Philip IV.

to Zaragoza; which took place indeed, but not until two years after the

disgrace of Olivarez. Cogollos, speaking in 1616, alludes to a

circumstance connected with the revolt of Portugal in 1640; Olivarez,

sixteen months afterwards, mentions the same circumstance, saying to

Cogollos--"Your patron, though related to the Duke of Braganza, had, I

am well assured, no share in his revolt." In 1607, Gil Blas, being the

servant of Don Bernardo de Castel Blanco, says, that some suppose his

master to be a spy of the king of Portugal, a personage who at that time

did not exist. Now, if Le Sage intended to leave to posterity a lasting

and unequivocal proof of his plagiarism, how could he do so more

effectually than by dwelling on one anachronism as an error which he

intended to correct, in a work swarming in every part with others

equally flagrant, of which he takes no notice? We have mentioned these

mistakes, particularly as being mistakes into which the original author

had fallen, and which, as his object was not to give an exact relation

of facts, he probably disregarded altogether. And here again we must

repeat our remark, that these perpetual allusions indicate a writer not

afraid of exposing himself by irretrievable blunders, and certain of

being understood by those whom he addressed. A Spaniard writing for

Spaniards, would of course take it for granted that his countrymen were

acquainted with those very facts and allusions which Le Sage sometimes

formally endeavours to explain, and sometimes is unable to detect; while

a writer conscious, as the French author was, of a very imperfect

acquaintance with the language and usages of Spain, would never indulge

in those little circumstantial touches which a Spaniard could not help

inserting.

We now come to errors of Le Sage himself. Dona Mencia speaks of her

first husband dying in the service of the king of Portugal, five or six

years after the beginning of the seventeenth century. Events are

described as taking place in the time of Philip II., under the title of

Le Mariage de Vengeance, which happened three hundred years before, at

the time of the Sicilian Vespers, 1283. Gil Blas, after his release from

the tower of Segovia, tells his patron, Alonzo de Leyva, that four

months before he held an important office under the Spanish crown; while

he tells Philip IV. that he was six months in prison at Segovia. But the

following very remarkable error almost determines the question, as it

discovers demonstrably the mistake of a transcriber. Scipio, returning

to his master in April 1621, informs Gil Blas that Philip III. is dead;

and proceeds to say that it is rumoured that the Cardinal Duke of Lerma

has lost his office, is forbidden to appear at court, and that Gaspar de

Guzman, Count of Olivarez, is prime minister. Now, the Cardinal Duke of

Lerma had lost his office since the 4th October 1618, three years before

the death of Philip III. How is this mistake explained? By the

transcriber's omission of the words "Duke of Uzeda, son of," which

should precede the cardinal duke, &c., and which makes the sentence

historically correct; for the Duke of Uzeda was the son of the Cardinal

Duke of Lerma, did succeed his father, and was turned out of office at

the death of Philip III., when he was succeeded by Olivarez. If there

was no other argument but this, it would serve materially to invalidate

Le Sage's claims to originality; as the omission of these words makes

nonsense of a sentence perfectly intelligible when corrected, and causes

the writer, in the very act of alluding to a most notorious fact in

Spanish history, with which, even in its least details, he appears in

other places familiar, to display the most unaccountable ignorance of

the very fact he makes the basis of his narrative. Surely if plagiarism

can ever be said "digito monstrari et dicier hic est," it is here.

If we consider the effect of all these accumulated circumstances--the

travelling on mules, the mode of extorting money, the plunder of the

prisoners by the jailer, the rosary with its large beads carried by the

Spanish Tartuffe, instead of the "haire and the discipline" mentioned by

Moliere, the description of the hotels of Madrid, the inferior condition

of surgeons, the graceful bearing of the cloak, the notary's inkstand,

the posada in which the actors slept as well as acted, the convent in

which Philip's mistress is placed with such minute propriety, the

Gallina Ciega, the lane in Madrid, the dinner hour of the clerks in the

minister's office, the knowledge of the ecclesiastical rights of the

crown over Granada, and of the Aragonese resistance to a foreign

viceroy, the number of words left in the original Spanish, and of others

which betray a Spanish origin, the names of cities, villages, and

families, that rise spontaneously to the hand of the writer, and the

perpetual mistakes which their enumeration occasions, among which we

will only here specify that of C_a_ntador for C_o_ntador, and the

omission of the words "Duc d'Uzeda," which can alone set right a

flagrant anachronism--if we consider the effect of all these

circumstances, we shall look in vain for any reason to doubt the result

which such a complication of probabilities conspires to fortify.

The objections stated by M. Neufchateau to this overwhelming mass of

evidence, utterly destructive as it is to the hypothesis of which he was

the advocate, are so feeble and captious, that they hardly deserve the

examination which Llorente, in the anxiety of his patriotism, has

condescended to bestow on then. M. Neufchateau objects to the minute

references on which many of Llorente's arguments are built; but he

should remember that, in an examination of this sort, it is "one thing

to be minute, and another to be precarious;" one thing to be oblique,

and another to be fantastical. On such occasions the more powerful the

microscope is that the critic can employ, the better; not only because

all suspicion of contrivance or design is thereby further removed, but

because proofs, separately trifling, are, when united, irresistible; and

the circumstantial evidence to which courts of justice are compelled, by

the necessity of human affairs, to recur, in matters where the lives and

fortunes of individuals are at stake, is not only legitimate, but

indispensable, before tribunals which have not the same means of

investigation at their command. In this, however, the evidence is as

full, positive, and satisfactory as any evidence not appealing to the

senses or mathematical demonstration for its truth, can possibly be; and

any one in active life who was to forbear from acting upon it, would

deserve to be treated as a lunatic. Let us, however, consider the

admissions of M. Neufchateau. He admits, 1st, That Le Sage was never in

Spain. 2dly, Le Sage, in 1735, acknowledged the chronological error into

which he had fallen, from inserting the story of Don Pompeyo de Castro,

and announced his intention to correct it. 3dly, He allows, in 1724,

when the third volume of _Gil Blas_ was published, Le Sage annexed to it

the Latin distich, implying that the work was at an end--

"Inveni portum, spes et fortuna, valete;

Sat me lusistis, ludite nunc alios."

He allows, therefore, that the publication of the fourth volume, eleven

years after the third volume of _Gil Blas_ was published, was as far

from the original intention of the author as it was on the expectation

of the public. 4thly, That, from the introduction of the Duke of Lerma

on the stage at the close of the work, the history of Spain is adhered

to with exact fidelity. 5thly, He allows that the description of Spanish

inns, (10, 12,) is taken from the "Vida del Escudero Marcos de Obregon."

6thly, He allows that the novel of "Le Mariage de Vengeance," related

by Dona Elvira, is inconsistent with all the rest of the story of _Gil

Blas_. The anachronisms in which Le Sage is entangled, by applying a

story to the seventeenth century that relates to the thirteenth, prove

his ignorance of Spanish history. On this M. Neufchateau remarks as

usual, that no Spaniard would have fallen into such an error. True; but

how does it happen that the person making it is so intimately acquainted

with the topography and habits of Spain? and how can this contradiction

be solved, but by supposing that Le Sage incorporated a Spanish story

which caught his fancy with the manuscript before him? 7thly, He allows

that the story of Dona Laura de Guzman is taken from a Spanish comedy

entitled, "Todo es enredos amor y el diablo son las mugeres." 8thly, He

allows that the expression, "et je promets de vous faire tirer pied ou

aile du premier ministre,"{B} is not French; it is in fact the

translation of a Spanish proverb, "Agarrar pata o alon." 9thly, He

admits that the intimate acquaintance with the personal history of the

Count Duke, displayed by Le Sage, is astonishing. 10thly, He admits that

the stories of--

Dona Mencia de Mosquera, contained in 1st book, 11th, 12th, 13th, and

14th chapters,

Of the story of Diego de la Fuente, contained in the 2d book,

7th chapter,

-- Don Bernardo de Castelblanco, contained in the 2d book,

1st chapter,

-- Don Pompeyo de Castro, contained in the 2d book, 7th

chapter,

-- Dona Aurora de Guzman, contained in the 4th book, 2d, 3d,

5th, and 6th chapters,

-- Matrimonio por Venganza, contained in the 4th book, 4th

chapter,

-- Dona Serafina de Polan and Don Alfonso de Leiva,

contained in 10th book,

-- Rafael and Lucinda, contained in 5th book, 1st chapter,

-- Samuel Simon en Chelva, contained in 6th book, 1st

chapter,

-- Laura, contained in 7th book, 7th chapter,

-- Don Anibal de Chinchilla, contained in 7th book, 12th

chapter,

-- Valerio de Luna and Inesilla Cantarilla, contained in

8th book, 1st chapter,

-- Andres de Tordesillas, Gaston de Cogollos, and Elena de

Galisteo, contained in 9th book, 4th, 11th, and 13th

chapters,

-- Scipio, contained in 10th book, 10th, 11th, and 12th

chapters,

-- Laura and Lucrecia, contained in 12th book, 1st chapter,

-- And the Histories of Lerma and Olivarez, contained in

11th book, 5th, 6th, 8th, 9th, 11th, 12th, 13th; and

2d book, 3d, 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th, 8th, 9th, 10th, 11th,

12th, and 13th chapters.

Composing more than two-thirds of _Gil Blas_--are taken from the

Spanish. Such are the admissions of Le Sage's advocates.

Even after these important deductions, there remains enough to found a

brilliant reputation. To this remainder, however, Le Sage is not

entitled. It is, we trust, proved to every candid reader, that, with the

exception of one anecdote, entertaining in itself, but betraying the

greatest ignorance of Spanish manners, two or three allusions to the

current scandal and topics of the day, and the insertion of several

novels avowedly translated from other Spanish writers; all the merit of

Le Sage consists in dividing a manuscript placed by his friend, the Abbe

de Lyonne, in his possession, into two stories--one of which was _Gil

Blas_, and the other, confessed by himself to be a translation and

published long after the former, was the _Bachelier de Salamanque_. To

the argument of chronological error, the sole answer which M.

Neufchateau condescends to give is, that they are incomprehensible; and

on his hypothesis he is right. As to the Spanish words and phrases

employed in _Gil Blas_, the names of villages, towns, and families which

occur in it, he observes that these are petty circumstances--so they

are, and for that very reason the argument they imply is irresistible.

The story of the examination of Gaspar, the servant of Simon, in the

Inquisition scene, is gravely urged by M. Neufchateau as a proof that

the writer was a Frenchman, as no Spaniard would dare to attack the

Inquisition. This is strange confusion. Not a word is uttered against

the Inquisition in the scene. Some impostors disguise themselves in the

dress of inquisitors to perpetrate a fraud. If a French novel describe

two or three swindlers, assuming the garb of members of the old

Parliament of Paris in execution of their design, is this an attack on

the Parliament of Paris? Is the "Beaux' Stratagem" an attack on our army

and peerage? The argument, however, may be retorted; for had a Frenchman

been the author of the story, it is more than probable that he would

have introduced some attack upon the Inquisition, and quite certain that

the characters brought forward would have deviated from the strict

propriety they now preserve. Some confusion would have been made among

them--an error which M. Neufchateau, in the few lines he has written

upon the subject, has not been able to avoid. We may add that this whole

scene was printed in Spanish, under the eye of the Inquisition, without

any interference on the part of that venerable body, who, though

tolerably quick-sighted in such matters, were not, it should seem, aware

of the attack upon them which M. Neufchateau has been sagacious enough

to discover. To the argument drawn from the geographical blunders, M.

Neufchateau mutters that they are excusable in a writer who had never

been in Spain. The question, how such a writer came wantonly to incur

them, he leaves unanswered. M. Neufchateau asserts, that there is in

Spanish no proverb that corresponds to the French saying, "A quelque

chose le malheur est bon." But a comedy was written in the time of

Philip IV., entitled, "No hay man que por bien no venga." He argues that

_Gil Blas_ is not the work of a Spaniard, because it does not, like _Don

Quixote_, abound with proverbs; by a parity of reasoning, he might infer

_The Silent Lady_ was not written by an Englishman; as there is no

allusion to Falstaff in it.

But it may be said, if Le Sage was so unscrupulous as to appropriate to

himself the works of another writer in _Gil Blas_, how came he to

acknowledge the _Bachelier de Salamanque_ as a translation?

This is a fair question, but the answer we can give is satisfactory. The

originals of all his translations, except _Gil Blas_ and the _Bachelier

de Salamanque_, were printed; and therefore any attempt at wholesale

plagiarism must have been immediately detected. The _Bachelier de

Salamanque_, it is true, was in manuscript; but it had been long in the

possession of the Marquis de Lerma and his son, before it became the

property of Le Sage; and although tolerably certain that it had never

been diligently perused, Le Sage could not be sure that it had not

attracted superficial notice, and that the name was not known to many

people. Now, by eviscerating the _Bachelier de Salamanque_ of its most

entertaining anecdotes, and giving them a different title, and then

publishing the mutilated copy of a work, the name of which, with the

outline of its story, was known to many people as an acknowledged

translation, he took the most obvious means of disarming all suspicion

of plagiarism, and setting, as it seems he did, on a wrong track the

curiosity of enquirers. How came the original manuscript not to be

printed by its author? Because it could not be printed with impunity

within the jurisdiction of the Spanish monarchy: the allusions to the

abuses of the court and the favourites of the day are so obvious--the

satire upon the imbecility of the Spanish government so keen and

biting--the personal descriptions of Philip III. and Philip IV. so

exact--the corruption of its ministers of justice, and the abuses

practised in its prisons, branded in terms so lively and vehement--the

attacks upon the influence of the clergy, their hypocrisy, their

ambition, and their avarice, so frequent and severe--that while Philip

IV. and Don John of Austria, the fruit of his intrigue with the actress

Marie Calderon, so carefully pointed out, were still alive, and before

the generation to which it alludes had passed away, its publication, in

Spain at least, was impossible. The _Bachelier de Salamanque_ was not

published for the same reason; and for the same reason, even in a

country with perhaps more pretensions to freedom than Spain possessed,

no one has yet acknowledged himself the writer of _Junius_. But why do

you not produce the Spanish manuscript, and set the question at rest?

exclaims with much _naivete_ M. Neufchateau. Does such an argument

deserve serious refutation? That is, why do not you Spaniards produce a

manuscript given to one Frenchman by another at Paris, in the 18th

century, which of course, if our theory be true, he had the strongest

temptation to destroy? Rather may the Spaniards ask, why do not _you_

produce the original manuscript of the _Bachelier de Salamanque_, which

would overthrow at least one portion of our hypothesis?

The object of _Gil Blas_ is to exhibit a vivid representation of the

follies and vices of the successive administrations of Lerma, Uzeda, and

Olivarez; to point out the actual state of the drama in Spain under the

reign of Philip IV., who, indolent as he was, possessed the taste of a

true Spaniard for dramatic representation; to criticise the absurd

system pursued by the physicians, abuses of subordinate officers of

justice, the follies of false pretenders to philosophy, the disorders

and corruptions which swarm in every department of a despotic and

inefficient government, the multitude of sharpers and robbers in the

towns and highways, the subterranean habitations in which they found

shelter and security, the ingenuity of their frauds, and daring outrages

of their violence--in short, to hold up every species of national error,

and every weakness of national folly, to public obloquy and derision. In

dwelling upon such topics the writer will, of course, describe scenes

and characters common to every state of civilized society. The broad and

general features of the time-serving courtier, of the servile coxcomb,

of the rapacious mistress, of the expecting legatee, the frivolous man

of fashion, and the still more frivolous pedant, will be the same,

whatever be the country in which the scene is laid, and by whatever

names they happen to be distinguished. France had, no doubt, her

Sangrados and Ochetos, her Matthias de Silva and Rodrigo, her Lauras and

her Archbishops of Granada.

"Pictures like these, dear madam, to design,

Asks no firm hand, and no unerring line;

Some wandering touches, some reflected light,

Some flying stroke, alone can hit 'em right."

Where the touches are more exact and delicate, where the strokes are

laid on with the painful labour of a Flemish pencil, where the business

and the bosoms of men are addressed more directly, there it is we shall

find proofs of the view and purpose of the author; such traits are the

key with the leather strap that verified the judgment of Sancho's

kinsmen. To what purpose should a Frenchman, writing in the time of

Louis XIV., censure the rapacity of innkeepers, and the wretchedness of

their extorted accommodation, when France, from the time of Chaucer to

the present hour, has been famous for the civility of the one and the

convenience of the other? To what purpose, if the French government were

to be criticised, enumerate the danger of high-roads, and the caverns

unexplored by a negligent administration, in which bandits found a

refuge? If France was aimed at, how does it happen that the literature

of its golden age is the subject of attack, and a perverted and

fantastic style of writing assigned to an epoch remarkable for the

severity and precision of its taste? If Spain is meant, the attack is

perfectly intelligible, as the epoch is exactly that when Spanish taste

began to degenerate, and the style of Spanish writers to become vicious,

inflated, and fantastic, in imitation of Gongora, who did so much to

ruin the literature of his country; as other writers of much less

ability, but who addressed themselves to a public far inferior in point

of taste to that of Gongora, have recently done in England. Nothing

could be worse chosen than such a topic. As well might England be

attacked now for its disregard of commerce and its enthusiastic love of

genius, or France for its contempt of military glory. When _Gil Blas_

was published, France was undoubtedly the model of civilized Europe, the

fountain from whence other stars drew light. To ridicule the bad taste

of the age of Malebranche, the master of Addison, and of Boileau, the

master of Pope, will appear ridiculous to an Englishman. To accuse the

vicious style which prevailed in the age of Bossuet, Fenelon, and

Pascal, will appear monstrous to every one with the least tincture of

European literature.

Let us apply this mode of reasoning to some instance in which national

prejudice and interest cannot be concerned. Let us suppose that some one

were to affirm that the _Adelphi_ of Terence was not a translation from

Menander; among the incorrigible pedants who think Niebuhr a greater

authority on Roman history than Cicero, he would not want for

proselytes. Let us see what he might allege--he might urge that Terence

had acknowledged obligations to Menander on other occasions, and that on

this he seemed rather studiously to disclaim it, pointing out Diphilus

as his original--he might insist that Syrus could only have been the

slave of a Roman master, that Sannio corresponded exactly with our

notions of a Roman pander, that AEschinus was the picture of a dissolute

young patrician--in short, that through the transparent veil of Grecian

drapery it was easy to detect the sterner features of Roman manners and

society; nay more, he might insist on the marriage of Micio at the close

of the drama, as Neufchateau does upon the drunkenness of Guyomar, as

alluding to some anecdote of the day, and at any rate as the admitted

invention of Terence himself. He might challenge the advocates of

Menander to produce the Greek original from which the play was borrowed;

he might reject the Greek idioms which abound in that masterpiece of the

Roman stage with contempt, as beneath his notice; and disregard the

names which betray a Grecian origin, the allusions to the habits of

Grecian women, to the state of popular feeling at Athens, and the

administration of Athenian law, with supercilious indifference. All this

such a reasoner might do, and all this M. Neufchateau has done. But

would such a tissue of cobweb fallacies disguise the truth from any man

of ordinary taste and understanding? Such a man would appeal to the

whole history of Terence; he would show that he was a diligent

translator of the Greek writers of the middle comedy, that his language

in every other line betrayed a Grecian origin, that the plot was not

Roman, that the scene was not Roman, that the customs were not Roman; he

would say, if he had patience to reason with his antagonist, that a

fashionable rake, a grasping father, an indulgent uncle, a knavish

servant, an impudent ruffian, and a timid clown, were the same at Rome,

at Thebes, and at Athens, in London, Paris, or Madrid. He would ask, of

what value were such broad and general features common to a species,

when the fidelity of an individual likeness was in question? He would

say, that the incident quoted as a proof of originality, served only, by

its repugnance to Grecian manners, and its inferiority to the work in

which it was inserted, to prove that the rest was the production of

another writer. He would quote the translations from fragments still

extant, which the work, exquisite as it is, contains, as proofs of a

still more beautiful original. Lastly, he would cite the "Dimidiate

Menander" of Caesar, as a proof of the opinion entertained of his genius

by the great writers of his own country; and when he had done this, he

might enquire with confidence whether any one existed capable of forming

a judgment upon style, or of distinguishing one author from another, who

would dispute the position for which he contended.

The sum and substance of all M. Neufchateau's argument is the slight

assumption, that every allusion to a man eminent for wit and genius,

must be intended for a Frenchman. Of this nature is the affirmation that

Triaquero is meant for Voltaire; and the still more intrepid

declaration, that Lope de Vega and Calderon de la Barca are cited, not

as Spanish authors, but as types by which Corneille and Racine are

shadowed out. It is true that the passage is exactly applicable to

Calderon and Lope de Vega; and for that reason, as they are great comic

writers, can hardly apply equally well to Corneille and Racine. But such

trifling difficulties are as dust when placed in the balance with the

inveterate opinion to which we have already alluded.

According to the principles adopted by M. Neufchateau, _Gil Blas_ might

be adapted to any court, or age, or country. For instance, if Triaquero,

meaning a charlatan, (which, by the way, it does not,) refers of

necessity to Voltaire, might not any Englishman, if the work had been

published recently, insist that the work must have been written by an

Englishman, as the allusion could apply to no one so well as him, who,

having been a judge without law, and a translator of Demosthenes without

Greek, had, to his other titles to public esteem, added that of being an

historian without research?

The difference between Dr Sangrado and our hydropathists is merely that

between hot and cold water, by no means excluding an allusion to the

latter, under the veil, as M. Neufchateau has it, of Spanish manners.

Would it be quite impossible to find in St James's Street, or in certain

buildings at no great distance from the Thames, the exact counterparts

of Don Matthias de Silva and his companions? Gongora, indeed, in spite

of his detestable taste, was a man of genius; and therefore to find his

type among us would be difficult, if not impossible, unless an excess of

the former quality, for which he was conspicuous, might counterbalance a

deficiency in the latter. Are our _employes_ less pompous and empty than

Gil Blas and his companions? our squires less absurd and ignorant than

the hidalgoes of Valencia? Let any one read some of the pamphlets on

Archbishop Whately's Logic, or attend an examination in the schools at

Oxford, and then say if the race of those who plume themselves on the

discovery, that Greek children cried when they were whipped is extinct?

To be sure, as the purseproud insolence of a _nouveau riche_, and indeed

of _parvenus_ generally, is quite unknown among us, nobody could rely on

those points of resemblance. But with regard to the other topics, would

it not be fair to say, in answer to such an argument--All this is mere

commonplace generality; such are the characters of every country where

European institutions exist, or European habits are to be found?

Something more tangible and specific is requisite to support your claim.

You are to prove that the picture is a portrait of a particular

person--and you say it has eyes and a nose; so have all portraits. But

where are the strokes that constitute identity, and determine the

original?--There is no mention of Crockford's or of the Missionary

Society, of the Old Bailey or the Foundling Hospital; and if Ordonez is

named, who gets rich by managing the affairs of the poor, this can never

be meant for a satire on the blundering pedantry of your Somerset-house

commissioners.--Here is no hint that can be tortured into a glance at

fox-hunters, or game-preservers, of the society for promoting rural

deans, at your double system of contradictory law, at special pleading

at quarter-sessions,{C} at the technical rigour of your institutions,

at the delay, chicanery, and expense of your judicial proceedings, at

the refinement, ease, wit, gayety, and disinterested respect for merit,

which, as every body knows, distinguish your social character; nothing

is said of the annual meeting of chemists, geologists, and

mathematicians, so beneficial to the real interests of science, by

making a turn for tumid metaphor and the love of display necessary

ingredients in the character of its votaries, extirpating from among

them that simplicity which was so fatal an obstacle to the progress of

Newton,--and turning the newly discovered joint of an antediluvian

reptile into a theme of perennial and ambitious declamation; nothing is

said about those discussions on baptismal fonts, those discoveries of

trochees for iambics, or the invention of new potatoe boilers, which in

the days of Hegel, Berryer, Schlosser, Savigny, and Cousin, are the

glory and delight of England; in short, there is nothing to fix the

allusions on which you rely on to distinguish them from those which

might be applicable to Paris, Vienna, or Madrid.

There are no people less disposed than ourselves to detract from the

merit of eminent French writers; they are always clear, elegant, and

judicious; often acute, eloquent, and profound. There is no department

of prose literature in which they do not equal us; there are many in

which they are unquestionably our superiors. Unlike our authors, who, on

those subjects which address the heart and reason jointly, adopt the

style of a treatise on the differential calculus; and when pure science

is their topic, lead us to suppose (if it were not for their disgusting

pomposity) they had chosen for their model the florid confusion of a

tenth-rate novel;--the French write on scientific subjects with

simplicity and precision, and on moral, aesthetic, and theoretical

questions with spirit, earnestness, and sensibility. Having said so

much, we must however add, that a liberal and ingenious acknowledgment

of error is not among the shining qualities of our neighbours. When a

question is at issue in which they imagine the literary reputation of

their country to be at stake, it is the dexterity of the advocate,

rather than the candour of the judge, that we must look for in their

dissertations. He who has argued on the guilt of Mary with a Scotchman,

or the authenticity of the three witnesses with a newly made archdeacon,

and with a squire smarting under an increasing poor-rate or the

corn-laws, may form a just conception of the task he will undertake in

endeavouring to persuade a French critic that his countrymen are in the

wrong. The patient, if he does not, as it has sometimes happened in the

cases to which we have referred, become "pugil et medicum urget," is

sure, as in those instances, to triumph over all the proofs which reason

can suggest, or that the hellebore of nine Anticyras could furnish him

with capacity to understand. Of this the work of M. Neufchateau is a

striking proof. Truth is on one side, Le Sage's claim to originality on

the other; and he supports the latter: we do not say that he is willing,

rather than abandon his client, to assert a falsehood; but we are sure

that, in order to defend him, he is ready to believe absurdities.

The degree of moral guilt annexed to such conduct as that which we

attribute to Le Sage, is an invidious topic, not necessarily connected

with our subject, and upon which we enter with regret.

Lessing accused Wieland of having destroyed a palace, that he might

build a cottage with its materials. However highly we may think of the

original, we can hardly suppose such an expression applicable to _Gil

Blas_. Of the name of the author whose toil Le Sage thus appropriated,

charity obliges us to suppose that he was ignorant; but we should not

forget that the case of Le Sage is not precisely that of a person who

publishes, as an original, a translation from a printed work, as Wieland

did with his copy of Rowe's Lady Jane Grey, and Lord Byron with his copy

of the most musical lines in Goethe. The offence of Le Sage more

resembles that imputed (we sincerely believe without foundation) to

Raphael; namely, that after the diligent study of some ancient frescoes,

he suffered them to perish, in order to conceal his imitation. But we

hasten to close these reflections, which tenderness to the friend and

companion of our boyhood, and gratitude to him who has enlivened many an

hour, and added so much to our stock of intellectual happiness, forbid

us to prolong. Let those who feel that they could spurn the temptation,

in comparison with which every other that besets our miserable nature is

as dross--the praise yielded by a polished and fastidious nation to rare

and acknowledged genius--denounce as they will the infirmity of Le Sage.

But let them be quite sure, that instead of being above a motive to

which none but minds of some refinement are accessible, they are not

below it. Let them be sure that they do not take dulness for integrity,

and that the virtue, proof to intellectual triumphs, and disdaining "the

last infirmity of noble minds," would not sink if exposed to the ordeal

of a service of plate, or admission in some frivolous coterie. For

ourselves we will only say, "Amicus Plato sed magis amica veritas."

For these reasons, then, which depend on the nature of the thing, and

which no testimony can alter--reasons which we cannot reject without

abandoning all those principles which carry with them the most certain

instruction, and are the surest guides of human life--we think the main

fact contended for by M. Llorente, that is, the Spanish origin of _Gil

Blas_, undeniable; and the subordinate and collateral points of his

system invested with a high degree of probability; the falsehood of a

conclusion fairly drawn from such premises as we have pointed out would

be nearer akin to a metaphysical impossibility; and so long as the light

of every other gem that glitters in a nation's diadem is faint and

feeble when compared with the splendour of intellectual glory, Spain

will owe a debt of gratitude to him among her sons who has placed upon

her brow the jewel which France (as if aggression for more material

objects could not fill up the measure of her injustice towards that

unhappy land) has kept so long, and worn so ostentatiously.

FOOTNOTES:

{A} So in Don Quixote the friars are described "Estando en estas

razones, aslomaron por el camino dos Frayles de la Orden de san Benito,

Cavalleros _sobre dos Dromedarios, que no eran mas pequneas dos mulas en

que venian_."

{B} It occurs, however, in Madame de Sevigne's letters. But that most

charming of letter-writers understood Spanish, which Anne of Austria had

probably made a fashionable accomplishment at the court of France. The

intrigue for which Vardes was exiled, shows, that to write in Spanish

was an attainment common among the courtiers of Louis XIV.

{C} We call ourselves a _practical_ people! A man incurred, a _few

months_ ago, an expense of L70, for saying that he was "ready," instead

of saying that he was "ready and _willing_" to do a certain act. The

man's name was Granger. Another unfortunate creature incurred costs to

the amount of L3000, by one of the most ordinary proceedings in our

courts, called a motion, of course, and usually settled for a guinea. A

clergyman libelled two of his parishioners in a Bishop's Court. The

matter never came to be heard, and the expense of the _written_

proceedings was upwards of L800! Can any system be more abominable than

one which leads to such results?

MICHAEL KALLIPHOURNAS.

Few of the events of our life afford us greater pride than revisiting a

well-known and celebrated city after many years' absence. The pleasure

derived from the hope of enjoyment, the self-satisfaction flowing from

the presumption of our profound knowledge of the place, and the feeling

of mental superiority attached to our discernment in returning to the

spot, which, at the moment, appears to us the particular region of the

earth peculiarly worthy of a second visit--or a third, as the case may

be--all combine to stuff the lining of the diligence, the packsaddle of

the Turkish post-horse, or the encumbrance on the back of the camel

which may happen to convey us, with something softer than swandown. Time

soon brings the demon of discontent to our society. The city and its

inhabitants appear changed--rarely for the better, always less to our

taste. Ameliorations and improvements seem to us positive evils; we sigh

for the good old times, for the dirty streets of Paris, the villanous

odours of Rome, the banditti of Naples, the obsequiousness of Greece,

and the contempt, with the casual satisfaction of being spit upon, of

Turkey. In short, we feel the want of our youth every where.

I enjoyed all the delights and regrets which mere local associations can

call up, a few months ago, on revisiting Athens after many years'

absence. On the 6th of May 1827, I had witnessed the complete defeat of

the Greek army. I had beheld the delhis of Kutayia sabring the flying

troops of Lord Cochrane and General Church, and seen 1500 men slain by

the sword in less than half an hour, amidst the roll of an ill-sustained

and scattered fire of musketry. The sight was heartbreaking, but grand.

The Turkish cavalry came sweeping down to the beach, until arrested by

the fire of the ships. Lord Cochrane and his aide-de-camp, Dr Goss,

themselves had been compelled to plunge more than knee-deep in the AEgean

ere they could gain their boat. On the hill of the Phalerum I had heard

General Gueheneuc criticise the manoeuvres of the commander-in-chief,

and General Heideck disparage the quality of his coffee. As the Austrian

steamer which conveyed me entered the Piraeus, my mind reverted to the

innumerable events which had been crowded into my life in Greece. A new

town rose out of the water before my eyes as if by enchantment; but I

felt indignant that the lines of Colonel Gordon, and the tambouria of

Karaiskaki, should be effaced by modern houses and a dusty road. As soon

as I landed, I resolved to climb the Phalerum, and brood over visions of

the past. But I had not proceeded many steps from the quay, lost in my

sentimental reverie, ere I found that reflection ought not to begin too

soon at the Piraeus. I was suddenly surrounded by about a dozen

individuals who seemed determined to prevent me from continuing my walk.

On surveying them, they appeared dressed for a costume ball of

ragamuffins. Europe, Asia, and Africa had furnished their wardrobe. The

most prominent figure among them was a tall Arab, in the nizam of

Mehemet Ali, terminated with a Maltese straw hat. His companions

exhibited as singular a taste in dress as himself. Some wore sallow

Albanian petticoats, carelessly tied over the wide and dusky nether

garments of Hydriots, their upper man adorned by sailors' jackets and

glazed hats; others were tightly buttoned up in European garments, with

their heads lost in the enormous fez of Constantinople. This antiquarian

society of garments, fit representatives to a stranger of the

Bavaro-Hellenic kingdom of Otho the gleaner, and the three donative

powers, informed me that it consisted of charioteers. Each member of the

society speaking on his own account, and all at the same time--a

circumstance I afterwards found not uncommon in other antiquarian and

literary societies at Athens--asked me if I was going to Athens:

+eis Athenas+ was the phrase. The Arab and a couple of Maltese alone said

"Ees teen Atheena." Entrapped into a reply by the classic sound, I

unwittingly exclaimed "Malista--Verily I am."

The shouts my new friends uttered on hearing me speak Greek cannot be

described. Their volubility was suddenly increased a hundredfold; and

had all the various owners of the multitudinous garments before me

arisen to reclaim their respective habiliments, it could hardly have

been greater. I could not have believed it possible that nine Greeks,

aided by two Maltese and a single Arab, could have created such a din.

The speakers soon perceived that it was utterly impossible for me to

hear their eloquent addresses, as they could no longer distinguish the

sounds of their own voices; so with one accord they disappeared, and ere

I had proceeded many steps again surrounded me, rushing forward with

their respective vehicles, into which they eagerly invited me to mount.

If their habiliments consisted of costumes run mad, their chariots were

not less varied, and afforded an historical study in locomotion. Distant

capitals and a portion of the last century must have contributed their

representatives to the motley assemblage. The tall Arab drove a superb

fiacre of the days of hoops, a vehicle for six insides; phaetons,

chariots, droschkies, and britskas, Strong's omnibus, and Rudhart's

stuhlwagen, gigs, cars, tilburies, cabriolets, and dogcarts, were all

there, and each pushing to get exactly before me. Lord Palmerston's

kingdom is doubtless a Whig satire on monarchy; the scene before me

appeared a Romaic satire on the Olympic games. I forgot my melancholy

sentiment, and resolved to join the fun, by attempting to dodge my

persecutors round the corners of the isolated houses and deep lime-pits

which King Otho courteously terms streets. I forgot that barbarians were

excluded from the Olympic games, not on account of the jealousy of the

Greeks, but because no barbarian could display the requisite skill. The

charioteers and their horses knew the ground so much better than I did,

that they blockaded me at every turn; so, in order to gain the rocky

ground, I started off towards the hill of the Phalerum pursued by the

_pancosmium_ of vehicles. On the first precipitous elevation I turned to

laugh at my pursuers, when, to my horror, I saw Strong's omnibus

lumbering along in the distance, surrounded by a considerable crowd, and

I distinguished the loud shouts of the mob:--+Pou einai ho trelos

ho Anglos+; "Where is the mad Englishman?" So my melancholy was

conducting me to madness.

My alarm dispelled all my reminiscences of Lord Cochrane, and my visions

of the Olympic games. I sprang into the droschky of a Greek sailor, who

drove over the rocks as if he only expected his new profession to endure

for a single day. We were soon on the Piraeus road, which I well knew

runs along the foundations of one of the long walls; but I was too glad

to escape, like Lord Palmerston and M. Thiers, unscathed from the

imbroglio I had created, to honour even Themistocles with a single

thought. My charioteer was a far better specimen of the present, than

foundations of long walls, ruined temples, and statues without noses,

can possibly be of the past. He informed me he was a sailor: by so

doing, he did not prove to me that he estimated my discernment very

highly, for that fact required no announcement. He added, however, what

was more instructive; _to wit_, that he had received the droschky with

the horses, that morning, from a Russian captain, in payment of a bad

debt. He had resolved to improviso the coachman, though he had never

driven a horse before in his life--+eukolon einai+--"it is an

easy matter;" and he drove like Jehu, shouted like Stentor, and laughed

like the Afrite of Caliph Vathek. He ran over nobody, in spite of his

vehemence. Perhaps his horses were wiser than himself: indeed I have

remarked, that the populace of Greece is universally more sagacious than

its rulers. In taking leave of this worthy tar at the Hotel de Londres,

I asked him gravely if he thought that, in case Russia, England, or

France should one day take Greece in payment of a bad debt, they would

act wisely to drive her as hard as he drove his horses? He opened his

eyes at me as if he was about to unskin his head, and began to reflect

in silence; so, perceiving that he entertained a very high opinion of my

wisdom, I availed myself of the opportunity to advise him to moderate

his pace a little in future, if he wished his horses to survive the

week.

During my stay at Athens, King Otho was absent from his capital; so

that, though I lost the pleasure of beholding the beautiful and graceful

queen, I escaped the misfortune of being dishonoured by receiving the

cross of an officer of the order of the Redeemer. His Hellenic majesty

takes a peculiar satisfaction in hanging this decoration at the

buttonholes of those who served Greece during the revolutionary war;

while he suspends the cross of Commander round the necks, or ornaments

with the star of the order the breasts, of all the Bavarians who have

assisted him in relieving Greece of the Palmerstonian plethora of cash

gleaned from the three powers. For my own part, I am not sure but that I

should have made up my mind to return the cross, with a letter full of

polite expressions of contempt for the supposed honour, and a few hints

of pity for the donor; as a very able and distinguished friend of

Greece, whose services authorized him so to act, did a few days before

my arrival.

On attempting to find my way through Bavarian Athens, I was as much at a

loss as Lady Francis Egerton, and could not help exclaiming, "Voila des

rues qui ont bien peu de logique!" After returning two or three times to

the church Kamkarea, against whose walls half the leading streets of the

new city appear to run bolt up, I was compelled to seek the assistance

of a guide. At length I found out the dwelling once inhabited by my

friend Michael Kalliphournas. A neat white villa, with green Venetian

blinds, smiling in a court full of ruins and rubbish, had replaced the

picturesque but rickety old Turkish kouak of my former recollections. I

enquired for the owner in vain; the property, it was said, belonged to

his sister; of the brother nobody had heard, and I was referred for

information to the patriotic and enterprising Demarch, or mayor, who

bears the same name.

In the end my enquiries were successful, and their result seemed

miraculous. To my utter astonishment I learned that Michael had become a

monk, and dwelt in the monastery of Pentelicus; but I could obtain no

explanation of the mystery. His relations referred me to the monk

himself--strangers had never heard of his existence. How often does a

revolution like that of Greece, when the very organization of society is

shaken, compress the progress of a century within a few years! There

remained nothing for me but to visit the monastery, and seek a solution

of the singular enigma from my friend's own mouth; so, joining a party

of travellers who were about to visit the marble quarries of Pentelicus,

and continue their excursion to the plain of Marathon, I set out on such

a morning as can only be witnessed under the pure sky of Attica.

The scenery of our ride is now familiar to tourists. Parnes or Parnethus

with its double top,{A} Brilessus or Pentelicus with its numerous rills

and fountains, and Hymettus with its balmy odours, have been "hymned by

loftier harps than mine." My companions proved gay and agreeable young

men. They knew every body at Athens, and every thing, and willingly

communicated their stores of knowledge. I cannot resist recounting some

of the anecdotes I heard, as they do no discredit to the noble princes

to whom they relate.

When an English prince visited Athens, King Otho, who it seems is his

own minister, and conducts business quite in a royal way, learned that

he was no Whig, and instantly conceived the sublime idea of making use

of his royal highness's services to obtain Lord Palmerston's dismissal

from office. The monarch himself arranged the plan of his campaign. The

prince was invited to a _fete champetre_ at Phyle, and when the party

was distributed in the various carriages, he found himself planted in a

large barouche opposite the king and queen. King Otho then opened his

intrigue; he told the prince of the notes in favour of constitutional

government and economical administration which Lord Palmerston had

written, and Sir Edmund Lyons had presented; and he exclaimed, "I assure

you, my dear prince, all this is done merely to vex me, because I would

not keep that speculating charlatan Armansperg! Lord Palmerston cares no

more about a constitution, nor about economy, than Queen Victoria, or

you and I. When the Duc de Broglie, who has really more conscience than

our friend the Viscount, proposed that Greece should be pestered with a

constitution and such stuff, Palmerston answered very judiciously,

'Greece--bah!--Greece is not fit for a constitution, nor indeed for any

other government but that of my nabob!' Now, my dear prince, Queen

Victoria can never mean to offend me, the sovereign of Greece, when the

Ottoman empire is so evidently on the eve of dismemberment; and," quoth

Otho the gleaner, "I am deeply offended, at which her British majesty

must feel grievously distressed." The prince doubtless thought her

majesty's distress was not inconsolable; but he only assured his

Hellenic majesty that he could be of no possible use to him in his

delicate intrigue at the court of St James's. He tried to get a view of

the scenery, and to turn the conversation on the state of the country;

but Otho was not so easily repulsed. He insisted that the prince should

communicate his sentiments to Queen Victoria; and, in spite of all the

assurances he received of the impossibility of meddling with diplomatic

business in such a way, his Hellenic majesty, to this very day, feels

satisfied that Lord Palmerston was sent to the right-about for offending

him; and he is firmly persuaded that, unless Lord Aberdeen furnish him

with as many millions as he demands to secure his opposition to Russia,

the noble earl will not have a long tenor of office.

A young Austrian of our party shouted, "Ah, it requires to be truly _bon

garcon_, like the English prince, to submit to be so bored, even by a

king! But," added he, "our gallant Fritz managed matters much better.

The Archduke Frederick, who behaved so bravely at Acre, and so amiably

lately in London, heard, it seems, of the treatment the prince had met

with, and resolved to cure his majesty of using his guests in such

style. Being invited to a party at Pentelicus, he was aware that he

would be placed alone on the seat, with his back to the horses, and

deprived of every chance of seeing the country, if it were only that the

diplomatic intrigue at the court of Queen Victoria might remain

concealed from the lynx-eyed suspicion of the _corps diplomatique_ of

Athens; for King Otho fancies his intrigues always remain the

profoundest secrets. When the archduke handed the lovely queen into the

carriage, politeness compelled King Otho to make a cold offer to the

young sailor to follow; the archduke bowed profoundly, sprang into the

carriage, and seated himself beside her majesty. The successor of

Agamemnon followed, looking more grim than Hercules Furens: he stood for

a moment bolt upright in the carriage, hoping his guest would rise and

vacate his seat; but the young man was already actively engaged in

conversation. The Emperor of the East--in expectancy--was compelled to

sit down with his back to the horses, and study the landscape in that

engaging manner of viewing scenery. Never was a fete given by a sulkier

host than King Otho that day proved to be. In returning, the archduke

had a carriage to himself. When questioned on the subject of his ride,

he only remarked that he always suffered dreadfully from sickness when

he rode with his back to the horses. He was sure, therefore, that King

Otho had placed him beside the queen to avoid that horrible

inconvenience."

Other anecdotes were recounted during our ride, and our opinion of his

Hellenic majesty's tact and taste did not become more favourable, when

it was discovered that his proceedings had utterly ruined the immense

quarries of Pentelicus--

"Still in its beam Pentele's marbles glow,"

can now only be said of the ruins, not of the quarries. In order to

obtain the few thousand blocks required for the royal palace at Athens,

millions of square feet of the purest statuary marble have been shivered

to atoms by the random process of springing mines with gunpowder. If

King Otho had done nothing worse in Greece than converting the marble

quarries of Pentelicus into a chaos of rubbish, when he found them

capable of supplying all Europe for ages with the most beautiful

material for the sculptor, he would have merited the reputation he so

justly bears, of caring as little about the real welfare of Greece as

Lord Palmerston himself. My companions quitted me at the quarries,

making pasquinades on the royal palace and its royal master; while I put

up my horse and walked slowly on to the ancient monastery of Pentele,

not Mendele, as Lord Byron has it.

I was soon sitting alone in the cell of Michael, and shall now recount

his history as I had it from his own mouth. Michael Kalliphournas was

left an orphan the year the Greek revolution broke out. He was hardly

fourteen years old, and yet he had to act as the guardian and protector

of a sister four years younger than himself. The storm of war soon

compelled him to fly to AEgina with the little Euphrosyne. The trinkets

and gold which his relations had taught him to conceal, enabled him to

place his sister in a Catholic monastery at Naxos, where she received

the education of a European lady. Michael himself served under Colonel

Gordon and General Fabvier with great distinction. In 1831, when the

Turks were about to cede Attica to Greece, Michael and Euphrosyne

returned to Athens, to take possession of their family property, which

promised to become of very great value. At that time I had very often

seen Phrossa, as she was generally called; indeed, from my intimacy with

her brother, I was a constant visitor in the house. Her appearance is

deeply impressed on my memory. I have rarely beheld greater beauty,

never a more elegant figure, nor a more graceful and dignified manner.

She was regarded as a fortune, and began to be sought in marriage by all

the young aristocracy of Greece. It was at last conjectured that a young

Athenian, named Nerio, the last descendant of the Frank dukes of Athens,

had made some impression on her heart. He was a gay and spirited young

man, who had behaved very bravely when shut up with the troops in the

Acropolis during the last siege of Athens, and he was an intimate friend

of her brother. I had left Athens about this time, and my travels in the

East had prevented my hearing any thing of my friends in Greece for

years.

There is a good deal of society among the Greek families at Athens for a

few weeks before the Carnival. They meet together in the evenings, and

amuse themselves in a very agreeable way. At one of these parties the

discourse fell on the existence of ghosts and spirits; Michael, who was

present, declared that he had no faith in their existence. With what

groans did he assure me his opinion was changed, and conjured me never

to express a doubt on the subject. All the party present exclaimed

against what they called his free-masonry; and even his sister, who was

not given to superstition, begged him to be silent lest he should offend

the _neraiidhes_, who might punish him when he least expected it. He

laughed and ridiculed Phrossa, offering to do any thing to dare those

redoubted spirits which the company could suggest. Nerio, a far greater

sceptic than Michael, suddenly affected great respect for the invisible

world, and by exciting Michael, gradually engaged him, amidst the

laughing of his companions, to undertake to fry a dozen of eggs on the

tomb of a Turkish _santon_, a short distance beyond the Patissia

gate--to leave a pot of charcoal, to be seen next morning, as a proof of

his valour, and return to the party with the dish of eggs.

The expedition was arranged, in spite of the opposition of the ladies;

four or five of the young men promised to follow at a little distance,

unknown to Michael, to be ready lest any thing should happen. Michael

himself, with a _zembil_ containing a pot of charcoal, a few eggs and a

flask of oil in one hand, and a frying-pan and small lantern in the

other, closely enveloped in his dusky capote, proceeded smiling to his

task. The tomb of the Turk consisted of a marble cover taken from some

ancient sarcophagus, and sustained at the corners by four small pillars

of masonry--the top was not higher than an ordinary table, and below the

marble slab there was an empty space between the columns. It has long

since disappeared; but that is not wonderful, since King Otho and his

subjects have contrived to destroy almost every picturesque monument of

the past in the new kingdom. The thousands of Turkish tombs which not

many years ago gave a historic character to the desert environs of

Negrepont, and the splendid _serail_ of Zeitouni, with its magnificent

marble fountains and baths, have almost disappeared--the storks have bid

adieu to Greece--nightly bonfires, caused by absurd laws, destroy the

few trees that remain; and in short, unless travellers make haste and

visit Greece quickly, they will see nothing but the ruins which King

Otho cannot destroy nor Pittaki deface, and the curiosities which Ross

cannot give to Prince Pueckler, added to the pleasure they will derive

from beholding King Otho's own face and the facade of his new palace.

The night was extremely dark and cold, so that the friends of Michael,

familiar as they were with their native city, found some difficulty in

following him without a lantern through the mass of ruins Athens then

presented. As they approached the tomb, they perceived that he had

already lighted his charcoal, and was engaged in blowing it vigorously,

as much to warm his hands as to prepare for his cooking operations.

Creeping as near to him as possible without risking a discovery, they

heard, to their amazement, a deep voice apparently proceeding from the

tomb, which exclaimed, "Bou gedje kek sohuk der adamlera.--It must be a

cold night for mankind." "To pisevo effendi," said Michael in a careless

tone, but nervously proceeded to pour a whole bottle of oil into the

frying-pan. As soon as the oil was boiling and bubbling, the voice from

the tomb again exclaimed, "Gaiour ne apayorsun, mangama

pisheriorsun--yuckle buradam--aiyer yiklemassun ben seni kibab

ederem, tahamun yerine seni yerim," signifying pretty nearly,

"Infidel, what are you doing here? You appear to be cooking; fly hence,

or I will eat my supper of thy carrion." And at the instant a head

covered by an enormous white turban protruded itself from under the

tombstone with open mouth. Michael, either alarmed at the words and the

apparition, or angry at the suspicion of a premeditated trick on the

part of his companions, seized the panful of boiling oil, and poured the

whole contents into the gaping mouth of the spectre, exclaiming, "An

echeis toson orexin, na to ladhi, Scheitan oglou!--If you are so hungry,

take the oil, son of Satan!" A shriek which might have awakened the dead

proceeded from the figure, followed by a succession of hideous groans.

The friends of Michael rushed forward, but the lamp had fallen to the

ground and was extinguished in the confusion. Some time elapsed ere it

was found and lighted. The unfortunate figure was dragged from the tomb,

suffocated by the oil, and evidently in a dying state, if indeed life

was not already extinct. Slowly the horrible truth became apparent.

Nerio had separated himself from the rest of the party unperceived,

disguised himself, and gained the tomb before the arrival of Michael,

who thus became the murderer of his sister's lover. I shall not attempt

to describe the feelings of Michael in recounting this dreadful scene.

The affair never made much noise. The Turks did not consider themselves

authorized to meddle in the affairs of the Greeks. Indeed, the infamous

murder of the Greek _bakalbashi_, a short time before by Jussuf-bey,

with his own hand, had so compromised their authority, that they were in

fear of a revolution. The truth was slowly communicated to Euphrosyne by

Michael himself--she bore it better than he had anticipated. She

consoled her brother and herself by devoting her life to religious and

charitable exercises; but she never entered a monastery nor publicly

took the veil. She still lives at Athens, where her charity is

experienced by many, though few ever see her. When I left Greece on a

visit to Mount Athos, my friend Michael insisted on accompanying me;

and, after our arrival on the holy mountain, he exacted from me a

promise that I would never discover to any one the monastery into which

he had retired, nor even should we by chance meet again, address him as

an acquaintance, unless he should speak to me. His sister alone is

entrusted with his secret.

FOOTNOTES:

{A} The _par_, which indicates the double or equal summit, is only found

in Latin, though unquestionably AEolic; the other two derivations are

classic Greek. Parnes, Parnettus, Parnassus. The name of the two

mountains is precisely the same.

AFRICA--SLAVE TRADE--TROPICAL COLONIES.

The readers of this magazine will readily remember the part which it

took, at an early period, in discussing and in delineating the

geographical features of Africa. In the number for June 1826 there is an

article, accompanied by a map, showing from undoubted authorities the

course and termination of the great river Niger in the sea in the Bight

of Benin, where, from similar authorities, it was placed by me in 1820

and 1821, and where actual observation by Englishmen has lately clearly

established the fact that it does terminate. In the upper and middle

parts of its course the longitudes were erroneous, having adopted Major

Rennell's delineation of Western Africa as a guide; but in 1839 the

whole of that quarter of Africa was narrowly examined, and the courses

of the western rivers reduced to their proper positions, as delineated

in my large map of Africa constructed in that year, to which, with the

"Geographical Survey of Africa," for which it was made, the reader is

referred for further and particular information on all these subjects.

With these observations, I proceed to bring before the reader

geographical information concerning eastern and central Africa of the

highest and most gratifying importance, and obtained by the researches

of different voyagers and travellers within the last four years.

Foremost amongst these ranks, the expedition sent by the present Viceroy

of Egypt to explore the Bahr-el-Abiad, or White River, above its

junction with the Blue River, from Khartoum upwards and southwards;

after it, the interesting travels of Messrs Krapf and Isenberg, two

missionaries from the Church Missionary Society, from Tajura to Ankobar,

from Ankobar south-west to the neighbourhood of the sources of the

Hawash; and after that, Mr Krapf's journey from Ankobar north by Lake

Haik, through Lasta to Antalow, and thence to Massouah on the Red Sea.

Next, the interesting accounts collected by M. Lefebvre and M.

D'Abbadie, concerning the countries in some parts of the more eastern

horn of Africa; and last, and the most specific and important of the

whole, the accounts received of the country of Adel, and the countries

and rivers in and south of Shoa, and those from the Blue Nile in Gojam

and Damot to the sea at the mouth of the Jub, under the equator, by

Major Harris, late British ambassador to the King of Shoa.

As the present article is accompanied by a map, constructed after great

labour, and engraved most carefully by Mr Arrowsmith, the general

outline of the whole may here be deemed sufficient, without lengthened

discussion and observation.

The Egyptian expedition alluded to started from Khartoum (now become a

fine town) at the close of the wet season in 1839. It consisted of four

or five small sailing vessels, some passage boats, and four hundred men

from the garrison of Senaar, the whole commanded by an able officer,

CAPTAIN SELIM. They completed their undertaking, and returned to

Khartoum at the end of 135 days, during which time, in obedience to the

commands of their master, they explored the Bahr-el-Abiad to the

distance southwards of 1300 miles, (turnings and windings included,) to

three degrees thirty minutes north latitude, and thirty-one east

longitude, from Greenwich, where it divided into two streams; the

smaller, and it is very small, coming from the south-west, and the

larger, still even at the close of the dry season a very considerable

river, which came from the south-east, upwards from the east, and still

more upwards from the north-east. A subsequent voyage in 1841 gained the

information that the stream descended past Barry, and there can be no

doubt that another, if not the chief branch, comes from the south-east,

in the bearing which Ptolemy gave it, and, as he states, from amongst

mountains covered with perpetual snow, of which Bruce also heard, and

which we now learn from Major Harris really stand in that quarter of

Africa.

The longitude of the river at the bifurcation is exactly the same as

Ptolemy has given it, which is very remarkable. The sources of the

White River will therefore be found where Ptolemy and Bruce have placed

them. The latter, in his notes, states expressly that the Bahr-el-Abiad

rose to the south of Enarea, not far from the equator, and that it had

no great western branch, nor was any necessary to give the river its

magnitude. (Vol. vii. App. p. 92.)

The expedition in question found no very large affluents from the west

side; but they found two of very considerable magnitude on the east

side--one the Blue River, and the other the Red River, or Bahr-Seboth,

which latter they navigated upwards of 150 miles in a direct line, and

left it a considerable stream, nearly as large as the eastern branch of

the White River, where they had left it. The banks of the Bahr-Seboth

were precipitous and high, whereas those of the Bahr-el-Abiad were low,

and on both sides covered with lakes, the remains probably of the

preceding inundation. Scarcely a hill or mountain was in sight from the

river till approaching the bifurcation, when the country became

mountainous, the climate more cool, and the vegetation and trees around

those of the temperate zone. The country on both sides is a high

table-land, the scenery every where very beautiful, well peopled by

different tribes, copper-coloured, and some of them even fair. Every

where the banks are covered and ornamented with beautiful trees, and

cattle, sheep, goats, elephants, &c., are numerous and abundant. Amongst

the Bhours, they found Indian goods brought from the shores of the

Indian ocean. Day by day, the breadth, depth, and current of the river

were observed and marked. For a considerable distance above Khartoum,

the breadth was from one and a half to one and a quarter mile, the depth

three or four fathoms, and the current about one and a half mile per

hour. Above the parallel of nine degrees, the river takes a remarkable

bend due west for about 90 miles, when it passes through a large lake,

the waters of which emitted an offensive smell, which might proceed from

marshy shores.{A} Above the lake, the breadth decreases to one-third or

one-fourth of a mile, the depth to twelve or thirteen feet, with a

current of one and a half mile per hour, the bottom every where sand,

with numerous islands interspersed in the stream. The mountainous

country around the upper part abounds with iron mines.

Going eastward, we come to the elevated mountainous ranges which give

birth to the Bahr-el-Abiad to the south, the Gochob, the Kibbee, and

their numerous tributary streams to the east and south-east, and the

Toumat, the Yabous, the Maleg, and other rivers which flow north into

the Abay. This vast chain is very elevated, and in many places very

cold, especially to the west of Enarea, and to the west and south of

Kaffa. From the sources of the Kibbee and the Yabous, it stretches

eastwards to Gurague, and thence, still eastward, by the Aroosi, Galla,

and Hurrur or Harrar, to Cape Guardafui, approaching in some places to

within sixty miles or less of the sea of Babel-Mandeb; the elevation to

the east of Berbera decreases to about 5000 feet, and from which

numerous streams flow both to the north and to the south. Eastward of

the meridian of Gurague, a branch from the chain strikes off due north

through Shoa, by Ankobar and Lake Haik, to the northward of which it

separates, and runs one branch N.N.W. to Samen, and another by Angot,

N.E. by east, to the Red Sea, at Assab, and the entrance of the straits

of Babel-mandeb. The whole of this chain is very elevated; near Ankobar

some peaks being 14,000 feet high, and constantly white with snow or

hail; and round the sources of the Tacazze and the Bashilo, near the

territory of the Edjow Galla, the mountains are covered with snow. Mr

Krapf, in his journey more to the east, found the cold exceedingly keen,

the elevation exceeding 10,000 feet; and still more eastward, near the

little Assanghe lake, Pearce found hoar frost in the mornings in the

month of October. From the ranges mentioned, numerous other ranges

branch off in different directions, forming the divisions between tribes

and rivers, the latter of which are very rapid, and their borders or

banks very high and precipitous, and rugged.

From the province of Bulga or Fattygar, this chain, running

northwards, rises to a great height, springing like the walls of a

fortification from the western bank of the Hawash, from whence numerous

small streams descend to increase that river. All to the eastward of

that river is comparatively low, (called Kolla, or the low hot country,)

and to the sea-shore is one continued sheet of volcanic strata and

extinct volcanoes, dry and poor, especially during the dry season, when

travelling is difficult and dangerous owing to the want of water. It is

inhabited chiefly by wild beasts and by fierce tribes of the wandering

Dancali, and, more to the south-east, by the Mohammedan Somauli. In

early times this country, however, was rich and powerful, from being the

channel of commerce between Abyssinia when powerful, and the countries

to the east, Arabia, Persia, and India. From Zeila and Erur southward,

the country improves, and becomes fertile and well watered.

Before turning our attention to the interesting countries round the

sources of the Gochob and its tributary streams, and those through which

it subsequently flows, so clearly brought to our knowledge by Major

Harris, (he is certainly the first who has done so,) and the survey of

the coast near its mouth by Lieutenant Christopher of the Indian navy,

and by him given to the gallant major--it is necessary, for the better

understanding of our subject, to turn our attention to the explanation

of the names of some countries and places given so differently by

different informants, and which, thus given and not sufficiently

attended to, create great confusion and great errors in African

geography.

By the aid of Mr Bruce, Mr Krapf, Major Harris, and information

collected from native travellers, (see _Geographical Bulletins of

Paris_, Nos. 78 and 98,) we are enabled to rectify these points, and

clear away heaps of inaccuracies and confusion.

First, then, Enarea and Limmu are the same. The country is called Enarea

by the Abyssinians, and Limmu by the Gallas, having been conquered by a

Galla tribe of that name, which tribe came originally from the

south-west. There is another Limmu, probably so named from another

portion of the same tribe. It is near or the same as Sibou, which,

according to Bruce, is ten days' journey from the capital of Enarea,

and, according to the French Geographical Bulletin, (No. 114,) not far

from Horro and Fazoglo. But the first Limmu is the Limmu of Jomard's

Galla Oware, because he states distinctly that Sobitche was its capital;

that, in marching northwards from it, he crossed the Wouelmae river; and

that Gingiro, to which he had been, lay to the right, or east, of his

early route; and further, that the river which passed near Sobitche ran

to the south. Enarea is not very extensive, but a high table-land, on

every side surrounded by high mountain ranges, and is situated (see

_Geographical Bulletin_, 1839) at the confluence of two rivers, the Gibe

and the Dibe.

Kaffa, in its restricted sense, is a state on the upper Gochob; but, in

its ancient and extended meaning, it is a large country, extending from

north to south a journey of one month, and includes in it several states

known by separate names, although the whole of these are often referred

to in the name Kaffa by native travellers. It is known also by the names

of Sidama and Susa, and the people of Dauro call it Gomara; but the

Christians in Southern Abyssinia call it Kaffa, and Sidama or Susa,

which latter, properly speaking, forms its southern parts.

Dawro, Dauro, or Woreta, are the same; it is a large country, and

divided into three states--namely, Metzo or Metcho, Kulloo, and Goba;

and is a low and hot, but fertile country, situated to the east of

Kaffa, and to the west of the Gochob.

Major Harris is the only individual who has given us the bearings and

distances connected with this portion of Africa, and without which the

geographical features of the country could not have been fixed with any

precision; but which, having been obtained, act as pivots from which the

correct positions of other places are ascertained and fixed with

considerable accuracy.

Let us now attend to the sources and the courses of the principal

rivers. The Kibbee, or Gibe, has three sources. The chief branch springs

to the west of Ligamara, and southwards of that place it runs east,

(_Geographical Bulletin_, No. 105, _and also_ No. 78,) when suddenly

turning upon itself; as it were, it bends its course westward to Limmu,

having below Leka received the Gwadab, coming from the west and passing

to the south of Lofe. The Kibbee waters the small but elevated country

of Nono, and passes very near Sakka. Westward of Sakka it is joined by

two other branches coming from the north-west and west, one called

Wouelmae, the Wouelmae of Oware, and the other Dibe. From thence it

flows eastward, and bounds Gingiro on the north. The early Portuguese

travellers expressly state, that six days' journey due east from Sakka,

and at one day's journey from the capital of Gingiro, having first

crossed a very high mountain, they crossed the Kibbee, a rapid rocky

stream, and as large as the Blue River where they had crossed it in the

country of the Gongas. On the third day after leaving the capital of

Gingiro, pursuing their course due east to the capital of Cambat, they

again crossed the Zebee, or Kibbee, _larger_ than it was to the westward

of Gingiro, but less rapid and rocky; its waters resembling _melted

butter_, (hence its name,) owing, no doubt, to the calcareous ridges

through which it flowed. From thence it bends its course to the

southward, and is soon after joined by the Gochob, which bounds the

empire of Gingiro to the south. Bruce particularly and emphatically

mentions the extraordinary angle which the Kibbee here makes.

To the north of Gingiro the Kibbee is joined by the Dedhasa, (pronounced

Nassal,) and which is considered to be the same as Daneza or Danesa,

which, according to Lieutenant Christopher, is a Galla name for the Jub

or Gochob. This river is passed (see _Geographical Bulletin of 1839_)

before coming to Ligamara and Chelea, and one and a half day's journey

from Gouma, in the route from Gooderoo to Enarea. In its lower course it

abounds with crocodiles. Below the junction with the Dedhasa, the Kibbee

receives the Gala river, coming from the north-east, and from the

confines of Gurague and Kortshassie.

The separation of the waters in these parts takes place to the north of

Gonea and Djimma, or Gouma. The rivers that flow to the Blue Nile or

Abay, with the exception of the Yabous, which is, according to Bruce, a

considerable stream descending from the south and south-east, are all

small streams. Shat, the province where the tea-plant is produced, is

situated to the north of Enarea, and is watered by the river called

Giba, the fish of which are said to be poisonous, (_Bruce_, vol. iii. p.

254.) Bruce states most pointedly that the capital of Enarea is fifty

leagues distant from the passage of the Abay at Mine, "due south, a

little inclining to the west," (Vol. iii. page 324;) and which bearing

and distance corresponds very correctly with several very clear and

satisfactory itineraries lately obtained. Without any high peaks or

mountains, the country round the sources of these rivers is very

elevated, and from the grain and fruits which they produce, cannot be

less than 7500 feet above the level of the sea.

The Toumat is a small stream. Above Cassan, says the _Geographical

Bulletin_, No. 110, it has water all the year, thus indicating that

below that place the water fails in the dry season. It runs between two

high chains of mountains; the east Bank, that chain being known as the

country called Bertat. The rains, according to Bruce, (the _Geographical

Bulletin_ agrees in this,) commence in April; but they do not fall heavy

at that time, and but little affect the rivers. Beyond the chain, on the

western bank of the Toumat, the country is level to Denka and the banks

of the White River, which is stated to be eleven days' journey due west

from Fazoglo. Iron is very abundant in the countries round the Toumat

and the Yabous, and caravans of Arabian merchants regularly traverse the

country from Ganjar near Kuara, and two days' journey south of

Kas-el-Fael, by Fazoglo and Fadessi, to Kaffa and Bany; the road, as the

latter places are approached, being described as hilly and very woody,

with numerous small streams.

The Gochob rises in Gamvou, a high, wild, and woody country, part of

Limmu; and bending its course south-east, next east, and then

south-east, it forms the lake Tchocha, and afterwards rolls over the

great cataract Dumbaro, soon after which it joins the Kibbee, when the

united stream tales the name of the Gochob, or Jub, by which it is known

till it enters the sea. Where crossed in the road from Sakka to Bonga,

it is described as larger than any other stream which flows to join it

from the country more to the south; much larger, indeed, than either the

Gitche or Omo, its subsequent tributaries. These are the principal

rivers of Kaffa, which is described as a high, cold country, as cold as

Samen, or Simien, as Major Harris writes it, in Abyssinia. Bonga, the

capital of Kaffa, or Susa, is one of the largest cities in these parts,

and coffee of superior quality is produced every where, both in Kaffa

and Enarea, in the greatest abundance. So also is civet and ivory.

The Omo, where crossed in the road to Tuftee, is passed by a bridge of

wood sixty yards in length, which shows that it is not a very large

river, nor can it be, this place being so near the district where its

sources must lie. In the dry season it is described as a very small

stream. The mountains in the south of Kaffa or Susa, are covered with

snow, and to the south of this place they are said to rise to a

stupendous height, "to reach the skies," and are clothed with eternal

snow!

Malo, or Malee, (as Major Harris spells it,) is westward from Koocha,

and not far from Jajo, (certainly the Jedo of Salt,) and which is at a

considerable distance from the sea, (_Geographical Bulletin_, No. 114.)

Malee touches upon both Goba and Doko, and the latter again touches upon

Kulloo. It is in Malee that the Omo, now a considerable stream, joins

the Gochob, after having received from the mountains of Souro and

valleys of Sasa the Toreesh or Gotze, a considerable stream. Doko and

Malee, like Dauro or Woreta, are very hot low countries, abounding in

cotton. In Doko, bamboo forests are frequent and extensive. The

population are represented to be of a diminutive stature, exceedingly

rude and ignorant, and are a prey to all their surrounding neighbours,

who invade their country at pleasure, and carry off the wretched people

into slavery. In this portion of Africa, or very near it, the early Arab

writers and Portuguese navigators placed a nation of pigmies; and in

this it would appear that they were correct. After the junction of the

Omo, the Gochob pursues its way by Ganana to the sea at Juba, a few

miles to the south of the equator. The western bank is inhabited by

Galla tribes, and the eastern by Somauli. In this part of its course it

is called Jub by the Arabians, Gowend or Govend by the Somauli, Yumbu by

the Souahilis, and Danesa by the Gallas.

The Gochob below Wolama is joined on the east side by a considerable

stream called the Una, which rises to the south of Gurague; and in

Koocha and on the same side by a still larger stream, which comes from

the country of the Ara or Ala Galla to the east of Gurague, and near the

western sources of the Wabbe or Webbe. Koocha is thirty days' navigation

upwards and fifteen downwards from the sea, with which it has a

considerable trade; white or fair people coming up the river to that

place; but these are not allowed to proceed further inland. The

inhabitants of Koocha carry on a great trade by means of the Gochob with

Dauro in slaves, ivory, coffee, &c.; the Galla of Dauro bringing these

down the Gochob in rafts with high gunwales, which indicates that the

Gochob is a river of considerable magnitude, and may become of great

importance in the future communications with Africa; the soil and

climate around it being very fine, particularly in the lower parts near

the sea, where the land is level, and the soil a fine deep red mould.

After Bruce, Salt had delineated with considerable accuracy the source

of the Webbe and the countries around it; but, except his map, we had no

further particulars. These are, however, supplied by Major Harris and Mr

Krapf in the countries south-east of Shoa, about Harrar and its sources;

and further by accounts collected by D'Abbadie at Berbera from

intelligent natives, travellers regarding the countries more to the

south, and over the remainder of the north-eastern coast of Africa.

The principal source of the Webbe is to the east of the Aroosi

mountains, and in the country of the Ala Galla; whence, running

eastward, it passes Imi and Karanle, (the Karain of Krapf;) it runs

south-east and afterwards south in a winding course towards the Indian

ocean. To the north of six degrees of latitude, it is joined by several

streams from the neighbourhood of Harrar and places more to the east;

and in about six degrees of latitude, by a large stream which rises near

Lake Souaie, and runs through the country of Bergama or Bahr Gama. The

various countries through which the Webbe and his tributaries flow, are

distinctly marked on the map. The country around its sources is very

hilly and cold, the mountains resembling in height and appearance the

boldest in Abyssinia; and to the eastward of its middle course, the

mountains in Howea are very high and cold. In these springs the river

Doaro, which flows into the sea, a considerable river during the rains;

but at other times its mouth is nearly blocked up with sand, which is

the case with some streams more to the northward.

North of Mount Anot the country is fine and well watered, and during the

rains a very large river, according to Christopher, flows through it,

descending from the range to the south-east of Berbera, and entering the

sea in about eight degrees thirty minutes north latitude. Around Capes

Halfoon and Guardafui the country is fine and well watered with small

streams, and the climate delicious, as is the coast from Cape Guardafui

westward to Berbera.

Harrar stands in a beautiful, fertile, and well-watered valley,

surrounded with hills, the soil rich, and producing fine coffee

abundantly. It is strictly Mahommedan, and, comparatively speaking, a

considerable place, though much shorn of its dominion and power from

those days when it had become the capital of that portion of eastern

Africa ruled by the Mahommedans; and when under Mahommed _Gragne_,

(left-handed,) it overran and desolated the whole Abyssinian empire,

then under that unfortunate sovereign King David. In the county south of

Berbera there is abundance of fine wells of excellent water. Waggadeyn

is a very beautiful country, and produces abundance of myrrh and

frankincense, as in fact every portion of the eastern horn, from Enarea

inclusive, also does. It is the great myrrh and frankincense country,

from which Arabia, Egypt, Judea, Syria, and Tyre were supplied in early

days of Scripture history. The Webbe is only six fathoms broad and five

feet deep in the dry season in Waggadeyn; but in the rainy season the

depth is increased to five fathoms. It is navigated by rafts lower down.

Incense, gum, and coffee, are every where abundant around the Webbe and

its tributary streams. Harrar contains about 14,000 inhabitants, and

Berbera 10,000; Sakka about 12,000.

All the early Arabian writers pointedly state, and so also do the

Portuguese discoverers, that the Webbe entered the sea _near Mukdishu_

or Magadoxo. This was no doubt the fact; but from what cause we know

not, the river, after approaching within a short distance of Magadoxo to

the north, turns south-west, and approaching in several places very near

the sea, from which it is only separated by sandhills, it terminates in

a lake about halfway between Brava and the Jub. This is Christopher's

account; but my opinion is, that this lake communicates with the sea

during the rainy season, and even in a small stream in the dry season

also. Christopher pointedly states, that besides filtrating through the

sandhills, it communicates with the sea in two places, between Merka and

Brava; and that this is correct, is proved from the fact, that while the

river near Merka is 175 feet broad, it is reduced to seventy-five feet

near Brava; while the _Geographical Bull._, No. 98, p. 96, states, that

a small river enters the sea to the south of Brava, a branch

unquestionably from the Webbe.

The country between Magadoxo and the Jub is called Ber-el-Banader, and

north of Magadoxo, and situated between the Webbe and the Doaro, is the

considerable province called Hamer. Christopher describes the Somauli

inhabiting the lower Webbe as civil and obliging, the soil fine and

fruitful, and the climate the most delicious he had ever visited. The

inhabitants offered to conduct him in safety to Abyssinia, and into very

remote districts in the interior. The name of England is beginning to be

well known, respected, and feared in this fine portion of Africa; and it

is not a little to be regretted and lamented that this has not been the

case at a much earlier period.

The early Arabian writers, such as Batouta, write Magadoxo, Mukdishu;

Christopher states that it is now divided into two parts, in a state of

hostilities with each other, and that the southern part is called

Mukutshu, and the northern Mukkudeesha.

According to the _Geographical Bulletin_, No. 98, p. 98, the word

_ganana_ signifies _queue_, or tail, which explains at once the river

which Christopher makes enter the Webbe near Galwen, coming from the

north-westward, to be in reality a branch flowing off from the Jub at

that place. It is a thing unknown to find a river rising in a low

alluvial country.

To the east of the Webbe the country is inhabited by Somauli tribes, who

are Mahommedans and considerable traders. The country seems every where

to have a considerable population; and instead of being a blank and a

waste, as hitherto supposed and represented on maps, it is found to be

one of the finest portions of Africa, or of the world. Grain of every

kind known in the temperate zones, especially wheat of superior

qualities, is most abundant, and so cheap that the value of a dollar can

purchase as much as will maintain a man for a whole year!

The sources of the Hawash approach within about thirty miles of the

Abay. The lake Souaie in Gurague is about thirty miles in circumference,

and contains numerous islands. In these are lodged some ancient and

valuable Abyssinian records. It is fed by five small rivers, and empties

itself into the Hawash, (see _Ludolf_.) Gurague is a Christian state,

but reduced to great misery and poverty by the Galla tribes which

surround it on every side. The elevation of Ankobar above the sea is

8200 feet, and of Augollalla about 200 more; so that the climate is very

moderate. The country is every where very mountainous; but at the same

time is in many places well cultivated. The rivers run in deep valleys

or dells, and are very rocky and rapid. The present kingdom of Shoa

contains about 2,500,000 of inhabitants, chiefly Christians of the

Alexandrian Church.

In March 1842, Mr Krapf set out from Ankobar, to proceed to Egypt, by

way of Gondar and Massuah; but, after traversing the mountainous parts

of Northern Shoa, and the countries of the Woollo-Galla, and reaching a

short distance beyond the Bashilo, (then only five days' journey from

Gondar,) he was compelled, from hostilities prevailing among the chiefs

in that quarter, to retrace his steps to Gatera. In the journey which he

had so far accomplished, Mr Krapf traversed the country near the sources

of the numerous rivers which flow to form the Jimma and the Bashilo. The

mountains were high and cold, (especially in the province of Mans,) and

exceedingly precipitous, ascending and descending 3000 feet in the

course of a few hours. The soil in the valleys was good, and tolerably

well cultivated. Sheep, with long black wool, were numerous; the

population in general rude and ignorant. From Gatera he took his course

to Lake Haik, and from thence, pursuing his route north-eastward, he

crossed the numerous streams which rise in the mountainous range to the

westward, and pursue their course to the country of Adel, north of

Aussa. Crossing the very elevated range on the western frontier of

modern Angot, he pursued his journey to Antalon, leaving at Lat the

Tacazze four days' journey to the west, and crossing in his course the

numerous streams, such as the Tarir, the Ghebia, Sumshato, and the

Tyana, (this last a considerable river,) which flow northward from the

mountains of Angot and Woggerat to form the Areequa, a large tributary

to the Tacazze. Mr Krapf's route lay a little to the westward of Lake

Assanghe, and considerably in this portion thereof to the west of the

route of Alvaraez, who passed on the south side of Mount Ginnamora, from

whence the streams descended to the south-east.

Lake Haik is a fine sheet of water about forty-five miles in

circumference, with an island near the north-west corner, and an outlet

in the west, which runs to the Berkona. On the east and the south sides

it is surrounded with high mountains. Mount Ambassel or Amba Israel, the

celebrated mountain in Geshen where the younger branches of the royal

family of Abyssinia were imprisoned in early times, is a little to the

north of Lake Haik, and beyond the Mille. It runs north and south, in

length about twelve or thirteen miles, and is exceedingly high and

steep, the sides thereof being almost perpendicular. Mr Krapf, amongst

the most considerable rivers which he passed in this quarter, mentions

the Ala, which he states runs to, and is lost in, the deserts of the

country of Adel. This is important, and this river is no doubt the Wali

of Bruce, which he mentions (vol. iii. p. 248) as the scene of a

remarkable engagement between the sovereigns of Abyssinia and Adel in

1576, during the reign of the Abyssinian king Sertza Denghel. The

Abyssinian army descended from Angot, and crossing the Wali, a

considerable river, cut off the army of Adel from Aussa, drove a portion

thereof into the stream, where they were drowned, while the remainder

flying crossed the stream lower down, and thus effected their escape to

Aussa. This confirms in a remarkable manner the position of this river,

and would almost go to establish the fact that it cannot unite with Lake

Aussa, the termination of the Hawash.

At the Ala Mr Krapf states that he was then seven days' journey from

Aussa. Aussa, according to Bruce, or rather the capital of Aussa, was in

former times situated on a rock on the bank of the river Hawash. It is

called Aussa Gurel in the old Portuguese maps, and is no doubt the Aussa

Guraiel of Major Harris, laid down on the Arabic map which he obtained

from a native of that place. When low, the termination of the Hawash may

be said to form three lakes; but during the rainy season the land is

flooded round to a great extent, the circumference of the lake then

extending to 120 geographical miles. When the waters retire they leave,

like the Nile in Egypt, a quantity of fine mud or slime, which,

cultivated as it immediately is, produces abundant crops, and on this

account the valley of Aussa is, and always has been, the granary of

Adel. From the southern boundary of the lake to the place where the

Hawash finally extricates itself from the mountainous ranges, the

distance is about five days' journey, or from sixty to seventy miles.

The length of the fine valley of Aussa is about one hundred miles.

From the summit of the chain which separates the waters which flow

south-east to Adel, and north-west to the Tacazze, Mr Krapf says, that

looking over Lasta to the towering snow-clad peaks of Samen or Simien,

the whole country had the appearance of the raging waves of the sea in a

terrible tempest. The soil around the upper branches of the Tacazze is

very good, especially in Wofila, Boora, and Enderta, adjoining the fine

river Tyana; but it is only indifferently cultivated, owing to the

perpetual wars and feuds amongst the chieftains and tribes in these

parts, and the bad and unsettled governments which now exist in Tigre,

and, in fact, in all Abyssinia. Travelling in these parts is difficult

and insecure, owing to the plundering dispositions of the people, and

the rapacity of the chiefs, who live beyond the control of any

commanding or great sovereign power. At Gatera Mr Krapf was robbed of

every thing that he had by the ferocious Woollo-Galla chief, _Adara

Bille_, from whose clutches he escaped with some difficulty.

But time and space forbids me going more at length into the interesting

journeys of these late eastern travellers, amongst which those of Major

Harris is certainly the most important. He has accurately determined,

and been the first to determine, the longitude and latitude of Tajoura,

Lake Assal or the Salt Lake, and Ankobar, &c., and thus given correct

starting points from which to regulate the bearings and distances of the

other very interesting places in the interior. The bay of Tajoura

affords good anchorage; but the best point to start for the interior is

Zeila, the route thence to Shoa running along the edges of the watered

and more cultivated districts.

Amongst the travellers who visited this quarter of Africa lately is Dr

T. C. Beke. He, however, went over the same ground as the others in his

journey from Tajoura to Ankobar, (Messrs Krapf and Isenberg had preceded

him a considerable time;) therefore his letters and communications, so

far as yet known, contain little that is new. The only portion connected

with Shoa which the others had not visited, is about thirty-five miles

of the lower course of the Jimma, near its junction with the Abay, where

the latter stream is about 600 feet broad, and from three to five feet

deep. His subsequent travels in this part of Africa were confined to

Gojam, Damot, and part of Agow Medre, and to the source of the Nile; but

except being more minute in minor details regarding these provinces and

their numerous small streams and rivers, they add little to the

information given by Bruce. Still his journey, when given to the world,

may supply us with some interesting particulars regarding what he

actually saw.

Dr Beke travelled individually for information; but, in aid of his

laudable enterprise, received some pecuniary assistance from the African

Civilization Society and the Royal Geographical Society. Being a member

of the former society, and while engaged in constructing the maps for

the journals of the Church Missionary Society in the summer of last

year--not for personal gain, but solely to benefit Africa--the

communications and maps which from time to time came from Dr Beke to

that society, were readily put into my hands to use, where they could be

used, to advance the cause of Africa. Amongst the maps there was one of

the countries to the south of the Abay, including Enarea, Kaffa, and

Gingiro, constructed at and sent from Yaush in Gojam, September 6, 1842,

together with some of the authorities on which it had been made. In that

map the whole of the rivers, even to the south of Enarea and Kaffa, the

Gojob, (as the Doctor writes it,) the Omo, the Kibbee or Gibe, the

Dedhasa, and Baro, are all made, though rising beyond, that is, to the

south of Gingiro and to the south and south-east of Kaffa and Woreta,

(Woreta is placed to the south of Kaffa,) to run north-westward into the

Abay. In fact, the Gojob is represented on that map to be the parent

stream of the Bahr-el-Azreek or Blue River, and quite a distinct stream

from the Abay, which it is made to join by the Toumat, having from the

south-east received in its middle course the Geba, the Gibe, the

Dedhasa, and the Baro, and from the south-west the Omo or Abo. The whole

delineation, a copy of which I preserved, presented a mass so contrary

to all other authorities, ancient and modern, that to rectify or reduce

it to order was found impracticable, or where attempted only tended to

lead into error.

The error of bringing such an influx of water as the rivers mentioned,

and so delineated, would bring to the Blue Nile, is evident from the

fact, that this river at Senaar in the dry season is, according to

Bruce, only about the size of the Thames at Richmond. His words are

specific and emphatic, (Vol. vii. App. p. 89)--"The Nile at Babosch is

like, or greater than the Thames at Richmond"--"has fine white sand on

its banks"--"the water is clear, and in some places not more than two

feet deep." Dumbaro (or Tzamburo, as the Doctor calls it in the map

alluded to) is laid down between eight degrees and nine degrees north

latitude, and west of Wallega; Tuftee is placed more to the north on the

river designated the Blue River, and Gobo still further north upon it,

in fact adjoining to its junction with the Abay. Doko is not noticed on

the map.

The intelligent native Abyssinian Gregorius, without referring to

numerous other credible, early, and also modern authorities, determines

this important point quite differently and accurately; for he assured

Ludolf, (A. D. 1650, see _Ludolf_, p. 38,) that all those rivers that

are upon the borders of Ethiopia, in the countries of "Cambat, Gurague,

Enarea, Zandera, Wed, Waci, Gaci, and some others," do not flow into the

Nile or any of his tributaries, but "enter the sea, every one in his

distinct region," that is, the Indian ocean.

Since his return to England Dr Beke has, I have reason to believe, found

out his great error; and will alter the course of all these rivers in

Enarea and Kaffa, and bend their courses to the south-east and south.{B}

With these observations I proceed to a more important portion of my

subject; namely, the position and capabilities of Africa, as these

connect themselves with the present position and prospects of the

British Tropical possessions, and the position and prospects of the

Tropical possessions of other powers.

The support of the power and the maintenance of the political

preponderance of Great Britain in the scale of nations, depend upon

colonial possessions. To render colonies most efficient, and most

advantageous for her general interests, it is indispensably necessary

that these should be planted in the Tropical world, the productions of

which ever have been, are, and ever will be, eagerly sought after by the

civilized nations of the temperate zones.

One of the greatest modern French statesmen, Talleyrand, understood and

recommended this fact to his master. In his celebrated memorial

addressed to Bonaparte in 1801, speaking specially of England and her

colonies, he says:--

"Her navy and her commerce are at present all her trust. France may

add Italy and Germany to her dominions with less detriment to Great

Britain then will follow the acquisition of a navy and the

extension of her trade. Whatever gives colonies to France supplies

her with ships, sailors, manufactures, and husbandmen. Victories by

land can only give her mutinous subjects, who, instead of

augmenting the national force by their riches or numbers,

contribute only to disperse and enfeeble that force; but the growth

of colonies supplies her with zealous citizens, and the increase of

real wealth; and increase of effective numbers is the certain

consequence."

"What could Germany, Italy, Spain, and France, combining their

strength, do against England? They might assemble in millions on

the shores of the Channel, but THERE would be the limits of their

enmity. Without ships to carry them over, and without experienced

mariners to navigate these ships, Britain would only deride the

pompous preparation. The moment we leave the shore her fleets are

ready to pounce upon us, to disperse and to destroy our ineffectual

armaments. There lies her security; in her insular situation and

her navy consists her impregnable defence. Her navy is in every

respect the offspring of her trade. To rob her of that, therefore,

is to BEAT DOWN her LAST WALL, AND TO FILL UP HER LAST

MOAT. To gain it to ourselves is to enable us to take advantage of

her deserted and defenceless borders, and to complete the

humiliation of our only remaining competitor."

These are correct opinions, and merit the constant and most serious

attention of every British statesman. The increased cultivation and

prosperity of foreign Tropical possessions is become so great, and is

advancing so rapidly the power and the resources of other nations, that

these are embarrassing this country in all her commercial relations, in

her pecuniary resources, and in all her political relations and

negotiations.

During the fearful struggle of a quarter of a century, for her existence

as a nation, against the power and resources of Europe, directed by the

most intelligent but remorseless military ambition against her, the

command of the productions of the torrid zone, and the advantageous

commerce which that afforded, gave to Great Britain the power and the

resources which enabled her to meet, to combat, and to overcome, her

numerous and reckless enemies in every battle-field, whether by sea or

by land, throughout the world. In her the world saw realized the fabled

giant of antiquity. With her hundred hands she grasped her foes in every

region under heaven, and crushed them with resistless energy.

Who, it may be asked, manned those fleets which bore the flag, and the

fame, and the power, of England over every sea and into every land--who

swept fleets from the sea, as at Aboukir, and navies from the ocean, as

at Trafalgar?

It may pointedly and safely be stated--the seamen supplied by the

colonial trade, and chiefly by the West Indian colonial trade of Great

Britain. About 2000 seamen, for example, were every year drawn into the

West Indian trade of the Clyde from the herring fisheries on the west

coast of Scotland, and just as regularly transferred from that colonial

trade into British men-of-war, such men being the best seamen that they

had, because they were men accustomed to every climate from the arctic

circle to the equator.

In the event of any future war, men of this description will more than

ever be wanted; because the torrid regions are become more populous and

more powerful, either in themselves or as connected with great nations

in the temperate zones, and consequently the sphere of European

conflicts will be more extended in them.

The world, especially Europe and America, is vastly improved since 1815.

Great Britain must look at and attend to this. She must march and act

accordingly. The world will not wait for her if she chooses to stand

still; on the contrary, other nations will "go ahead," and leave her

behind to repent of her folly.

"England," said her greatest warrior, "cannot have a little war;"

neither can she exist as a little nation.

The natives of the torrid zone can only labour in the cultivation of the

soil of that zone. In no other zone can the special productions of the

torrid zone be produced in perfection.

There now remains no portion of the tropical world where _labour can be

had on the spot_, and whereon Great Britain can so conveniently and

safely plant her foot, in order to accomplish the desirable

object--extensive Tropical cultivation--but Tropical Africa. Every other

part is occupied by independent nations, or by people that may and will

soon become independent.

British capital and knowledge will abundantly furnish the means to

cultivate her rich fields. This is the only rational and lasting way to

instruct and to enlighten her people, and to keep them enlightened,

civilized, and industrious. By adopting this course also, that British

capital, both commercial and manufacturing, which in one way or other

finds its way, and which will continue to find its way, especially while

money is so cheap in this country, into foreign possessions to assist

the slave trade and to support slavery--will be turned to support the

cause of freedom in Africa, and at the same time to increase instead of

tending to diminish the trade and the power of this country.

The principle which Great Britain has adopted in her future agricultural

relations with the Tropical world is, that colonial produce must be

produced, and that it can be produced in that region cheaper by free

African and East Indian labour than by slave labour. This great

principle she cannot deviate from, nor attempt to revoke.

If the foreign slave trade be not extinguished, and the cultivation of

the Tropical territories of other powers opposed and checked by British

Tropical cultivation, then the interests and the power of such states

will rise into a preponderance over those of Great Britain; and the

power and influence of the latter will cease to be felt, feared, and

respected, amongst the civilized and powerful nations of this world.

Civilization and peace can only be brought round in Africa by the

extension of cultivation, accompanied by the introduction of true

religion. Commerce will doubtless prove a powerful auxiliary; but to

render it so, and to raise commerce to any permanent or beneficial

extent, cultivation upon an extensive scale must precede commerce in

Africa.

It is, therefore, _within_ Africa, and by African hands and African

exertions chiefly, that the slave trade can be destroyed. It is IN

Africa, not OUT of Africa, that Africans, generally speaking, can and

must be enlightened and civilized. Teach and show her rulers and her

people, that they can obtain, and that white men will give them, more

for the productions of their soil than for the hands which can produce

these--and the work is done. All other steps are futile, can only be

mischievous and delusive, and terminate in disappointment and defeat. To

eradicate the slave trade will not eradicate the passions which gave it

birth.

In attempting to extinguish the African slave trade and to benefit

Africa, Great Britain has, in one shape or other, expended during the

last thirty-six years above L20,000,000; yet, instead of that traffic

being destroyed, it has, as regards the possessions of foreign powers,

been trebled, and is now as great as ever, while Africa has received no

advantage whatever. Since 1808, about 3,500,000 slaves have been

transported from Africa to the Brazils and Cuba. The productions of what

is technically denominated colonial Tropical produce has, in

consequence, been increased from L15,000,000 to L60,000,000 annually,

augmented in part, it is true, from the natural increase of nearly one

million slaves more in the United States of America.

In abolishing slavery in the West Indies, Great Britain has besides

expended above L20,000,000; still that measure has hitherto been so

little successful, that L100,000,000 of fixed capital additional,

invested in these colonies, stand on the brink of destruction; while, in

addition to the former sums, the people of Great Britain have, from the

enhanced price of produce, paid during the last six or seven years

L10,000,00 more, and which has gone chiefly, if not wholly, into the

pockets of the negro labourers in excessive high wages, the giant evil

which afflicts the West Indies.

When the emancipation of the slaves in the West Indies was carried

amidst feeling without judgment, the nation was so ready to pay

L20,000,000, and the West Indians, especially those in England, so

anxious to receive it, each considering that act all that was requisite

to be done, that neither party ever thought for a moment of what foreign

nations had done, were doing, and would do, in consequence. The warnings

and advice of local knowledge were scouted in England, till these evils,

which prudence might and ought to have prevented, now stare all parties

in the face with a strength that puzzles the wisest and appals the

boldest.

Instead of supplying her own wants with Tropical produce, and next

nearly all Europe, as she formerly did, it is the fact that, in some of

the most important articles, she has barely sufficient to supply her own

wants; while the whole of her colonial possessions, east, west, north,

and south, are at this moment supplied with--and, as regards the article

of sugar, are consuming--foreign slave produce, brought direct, or,

refined in bond, exported and sold in the colonies at a rate as cheap,

if not really cheaper, than British muscovado, the produce of these

colonies.

Such a state of things cannot continue, nor ought it any longer to be

permitted to continue, without adopting an effectual remedy.

The extent of the power and the interests which are arrayed against each

other, in this serious conflict, must be minutely considered to be

properly understood in a commercial and in a political point of view.

Unless this is done the magnitude of the danger, and the assistance

which is necessary to be given, and the exertions which are requisite in

order to bring the contest to a successful issue, cannot be properly

appreciated or correctly understood.

The value of what is technically called colonial produce at present

produced in the British colonial possessions, the East Indies included,

is about L10,000,000 yearly, from a capital invested to the extent of

L150,000,000. The trade thus created employs 800 ships, 300,000 tons,

and 17,000 seamen yearly. This is the yearly value of the property and

produce of the British Tropical agricultural trade, now dependent upon

free labour.

Against this we have opposed, in the western world alone, nearly

L60,000,000 of agricultural produce, exportable and exported yearly,

requiring a trade in returns equal to L56,000,000, and a proportionate

number of ships' tonnage and seamen. In the trade with Cuba and Port

Rico alone, the United States have 1600 vessels employed yearly,

(230,000 tons of shipping,) making numerous and speedy voyages, and from

which trade only, these states, in case of emergency, could man and

maintain from twenty to thirty sail of the line.

On the part of foreign nations there has, since 1808, been L800,000,000

of fixed capital created in slaves, and in cultivation wholly dependent

upon the labour of slaves. On the other hand, there stands on the part

of Great Britain, altogether and only, about L130,000,000 (deducting the

value paid for the slaves) vested in Tropical cultivation, and formerly

dependent upon slave labour, and which has in part been swept away,

while the remainder is in danger of being so.

Let us have recourse to a few returns and figures, in order to show what

is going on, especially by slave-labour in other countries, as compared

with British possessions, in three articles of colonial produce, namely,

sugar, (reducing the foreign clayed sugar into muscovado to make the

comparison just,) coffee, and cotton; and as regards a few foreign

countries only, nearly three-fourths of which produce, be it observed,

has been created within the last thirty years.

SUGAR--1842.

_British possessions._ _Foreign possessions._

cwts. cwts.

West Indies, 2,508,552 Cuba, 5,800,000

East Indies, 940,452 Brazils, 2,400,000

Mauritius, (1841,) 544,767 Java, 1,105,757

--------- Louisiana, 1,400,000

Total, 3,993,771 ----------

Total, 10,705,757

COFFEE--1842.

lbs. lbs.

West Indies, 9,186,555 Java, 134,842,715

East Indies, 18,206,448 Brazils, 135,000,800

---------- Cuba, 33,589,325

Total, 27,393,003 Venezuela, 34,000,000

-----------

Total, 337,432,840

COTTON--1840.

lbs. lbs.

West Indies, 427,529 United States, 790,479,275

East Indies, 77,015,917 Java, 165,504,800

To China from do., 60,000,000 Brazils, 25,222,828

----------- -----------

Total, 137,443,446 Total, 981,206,903

The above figures require only to be glanced at, to learn the increased

wealth and productions of foreign nations, in comparison with the

portion which England has in the trade and value of such articles, now

become absolutely necessary for the manufactures, the luxuries, and the

necessaries of life amongst the civilized nations of the world.

In the enormous property and traffic thus created in foreign

possessions, by the continuance and extension of the slave trade,

British merchants and manufacturers are interested in the cause of their

lawful trade to a great extent. The remainder is divided amongst the

great civilized nations of the world, maintaining in each very

extensive, very wealthy, very powerful, and, as opposed to Great

Britain, very formidable commercial and political rival interests.

Further, it is the very extensive and profitable markets which the

above-mentioned yearly creation of property gives to the manufacturers

of foreign countries, that have raised foreign manufactures to their

present importance, and which enables these, in numerous instances, to

oppose and to rival our own.

The odds, therefore, in agricultural and commercial capital and

interest, and consequently in political power and influence, arrayed

against the British Tropical possessions are very fearful--SIX TO ONE.

This is a most serious but correct state of things. Alarming as it is to

contemplate, still it must be looked at, and looked at with firmness;

for even yet it may be considered without terror or alarm.

The struggle, both national and colonial, is clearly therefore most

important, and the stake at issue incalculably great.

It is by the assistance of African free labour, and by the judicious and

just application thereof, both in Africa and in the West Indian

colonies, that the victory of free labour over slave labour, freedom

over slavery, can be achieved and maintained.

The abundant population of Africa, properly directed, and a small

portion gradually taken from judiciously selected districts of that

continent, and under proper regulations, will be found sufficient to

cultivate, not only her own fertile fields, but also to supply in

adequate numbers free labourers to maintain the cultivation of the

British West Indian colonies. It must always be borne in mind, that in

the maintenance of cultivation, civilization, and industry, in those

possessions, the cultivation, industry, and civilization of Africa

depend. _The cause of both is henceforth the same, and cannot, and ought

not, and must not be separated._ Whatever sources the West Indian

colonies may and must look to for immediate relief, it is in civilized

and enlightened Africa that they can only depend for a future and

permanent support. Abandon this principle and this course, and the error

committed will, at an early day, be fatal and final.

Yet if the labour of Africa is continued to be abstracted to any

considerable extent by Europeans, and from any points except from free

European settlements in Africa, in order to cultivate other quarters of

the world, all hope of improving the condition of Africa is at an end;

because the abstraction of such labour can only be obtained by the

continuation of internal slavery and a slave trade within Africa;

because labour, if generally abstracted from Africa as heretofore,

whether in freemen or slaves, will tend to enhance the cost of that

which remains to such an extent, as will render it all but impossible

for any industrious capitalist, whether European or native, to extend

and maintain successfully cultivation in Africa.

Had the 9,000,000 of slaves which, from first to last, have been torn

from Africa to cultivate America, been employed in their native land,

supported by European (British) capital, and guided by British

intelligence, how much more beneficial and secure than it is, would

every thing have been to Africa, to England, and to the world?

Europe has been acting wrong: let her not continue in error; and, at the

same time, let England meet and grapple with the question with enlarged

and liberal views--views that look to future times and future

circumstances--views such as England ought to entertain, and such as

Great Britain only can yet see carried into effect.

We first established cultivation in the West Indies by a population not

natives of the soil, but which required to be imported from another and

distant quarter of the globe. This, politically and commercially

speaking, was a great error; but it has been committed, and it would be

a greater error to leave those people, now free British subjects, and

the large British capital there vested, to decay, misery, and general

deterioration. They must be supported, and it is fortunate that they can

be supported, through their present difficulties, without inflicting a

grievous wrong on Africa, by taking her children from her by wholesale

to cultivate distant and foreign lands.

If European nations generally adopt the system of transporting labourers

as freemen from Africa, then Africa would continue to be as much

distressed, tortured, and oppressed, as ever she has been; while with

the great strength of slave labour which those vast and fertile

countries, Brazils, Cuba, &c., possess, they would, by the unlimited

introduction of people called free from Africa, but which, once got

into their power, they could coerce to labour for stated hire, overwhelm

by increased production all the British colonies both in the west and in

the east.

Such abstraction of the African population from their country, would

give a fearful impulse to an internal slave trade in Africa. The

unfeeling chiefs on the coast, the most profligate, debased, and

ferocious of mankind, would by fraud, force, or purchase, in the

character of emigration agents, drag as many to the coast as they

pleased and might be wanted; and while they did not actually sell, nor

the European, technically speaking, buy, the people so brought from

interior parts, these chiefs, by simply fixing high port charges and

fiscal regulations for revenue purposes, would obtain from the transfer

of the people--a transfer which these people could not resist or

oppose--a much higher income than they before received from the _bona

fide_ sale of slaves; and with which income they could, and they would,

purchase European articles from European traders, to enable them to

furnish additional and future supplies.

In this way, millions after millions of Africans--for millions after

millions would most unquestionably be demanded--would certainly be

carried away. The poor creatures, unable to pay their own passage, would

no more be their own masters from the moment they got on board the

foreign ship, than if they were really slaves.

Such a traffic as this on the part of foreign nations, Great Britain

could neither denounce nor oppose while she herself resorted to a

similar course. In one way only she could reasonably resist and oppose

it; namely, by urging that she only took people from her own African

settlements, which are free, to her West Indian settlements, which are

free also; while foreign nations, such as Brazils, had no possessions of

any kind on the coast of Africa, and at the same time retained slavery

in their dominions. Great Britain could only urge this plea in

opposition to such proceedings on the part of other powers; but would

such reasoning, however proper and just, be admitted or listened to? I

do not think that it would. The consequences of the adoption of such a

course by the nation alluded to, or by any other European power which

has Tropical colonies, (France, Spain, Denmark, and Holland have,) will

prove fatal to the best interests of Great Britain.

Already the people in the Brazils have begun to moot the question--that

they ought in sincerity to put an end to the African slave trade, and in

lieu thereof to bring labourers from Africa as free people. The supply

of such that will be required, both to maintain the present numbers of

the black population and to extend cultivation in that country, will

certainly be great and lasting. The disparity of the sexes in Brazils is

undoubtedly great. In Cuba it is in the proportion of 275,000 males to

150,000 females, and, amongst the whole, the number of young persons is

small. To keep up the population only in these countries will probably

require 130,000 people from Africa yearly; while interest will lead the

agricultural capitalist in those countries to bring only effective

labourers, and these as a matter of course chiefly males; which will

tend to perpetuate the evils arising from the inequality of the sexes,

and thus continue, to a period the most remote, the demand from Africa,

and consequently a continued expense, equal perhaps to L30 each, for

every effective free labourer brought from that continent.

It is thus obvious that African immigration in any shape, and to any

nation, is a most serious matter. Unless the subject is considered in

all its bearings, with reference not only to the present but to future

times, and above all with reference to the steps which France, Portugal,

or any other European power, may take in Africa, and also with reference

to the steps which Great Britain may or may not take with regard to that

great continent--most embarrassing results must follow; while, on the

steps which may be taken by other nations, the British colonial

interests henceforward depend.

There remains but one certain and efficient way to prevent fatal evils

and destructive results, and that is the simple, and ready, and rational

course; namely, to oppose free labour _within_ Africa, and the West

Indies and the East Indies, to African labour, whether free or bond,

abstracted from her soil and carried by foreign nations to distant parts

of the globe. In Africa, where the soil, the climate, the productions

are equal and the same, _one-sixth_ part of the capital in labour would

obtain labour equally efficient, nay more efficient, because removing

Africans from their own country, either as slaves or freemen, even to

other Tropical climates, must be attended with considerable risk and

loss.

Produce, supplied cheaper from Africa than it can be obtained from the

places above alluded to, would speedily and completely terminate, not

only the foreign African slave trade, but the slave trade and slavery in

Africa itself. This is the only safe, secure, and certain way to

accomplish the great object. It is safe because it is just; it is secure

because it is profitable to all concerned, the giver as well as the

receiver of the boon.

It is neither prudent, patriotic, nor safe, to attempt to confine the

productions of colonial commodities to the present British Tropical

possessions; while the production of these in other countries and places

will be increased by the capital and industry of other nations, and even

by British capital and skill, more especially while capital cannot find

room for profitable employment in England. During the war, Great Britain

exported to the continent of Europe colonial produce to the extent of

five millions yearly; and which in every case, but especially in bad

seasons, when large supplies of continental grain were necessary for the

food of her population, always secured a large balance of trade in her

favour, and which would again be the case if she adopts the course here

pointed out.

Adopting the course recommended, Great Britain at an early day would be

able to supply, not only her own extensive markets, both home and

colonial, with sugar, coffee, cotton, and dye-stuffs, &c. &c., but, in

every other market of the world, she would come in for a large share of

the external traffic. Her ships and her seamen would carry, both to her

own and to foreign markets, the productions raised by British subjects

and British capital, instead of carrying from foreign port to foreign

port, as her ships and her seamen do at this moment, the productions

raised by foreign people, capital, and industry. Great additional wealth

would thus be drawn to this country; Tropical produce of every

description would be obtained at a reasonable, yet remunerating rate;

now, extensive, and profitable markets would be opened up to our

manufactures. They would become and remain prosperous; and all classes

of the community would be benefited and relieved. Prosperity would

increase the power of the people to consume; increased consumption would

produce increased revenue; and the government would be relieved from

unceasing applications for relief, which, under existing circumstances,

they have it not in their power to give.

The point under consideration also, important as it is, becomes still

more important when the fact is considered, that if Great Britain does

not set about the work to raise that produce in Africa, and command the

trade proceeding from it, other nations most assuredly will; when she

will lose, not only the advantages which that cultivation and trade

would give her, but that trade also which she at present holds with her

own colonies; for it is plain that the proceedings of foreign countries,

such as have been adverted to, both in Africa, America, and other

places, would cover the British colonies with poverty and ruin.

The geographical position of Africa is peculiarly favourable for

commerce with all other countries, and especially with Great Britain and

her vast and varied possessions. Africa, or rather Tropical Africa, is

equally distant from America, and Europe, and the most civilized parts

of Asia, besides her proximity to Arabia, and, by means of the Red Sea,

with Egypt and the Mediterranean. Africa, whether we look to the Cape of

Good Hope or the Red Sea, is the impregnable halfway house to India--the

quarter to make good the loss of an Indian empire. She has numerous good

harbours, many navigable rivers, a most fruitful soil, valuable

productions of every kind, known in every other quarter of the Tropical

world, besides some peculiarly her own; and a climate and a country,

take it all in all, equal, if not superior, to any other Tropical

quarter of the world in point of salubrity. Her population are indeed

ignorant and debased; but generally speaking, and especially over large

portions of her surface, they are even more active, and intelligent, and

industrious, than the Indians of America, or the people in some parts of

Asia are, or than the population of Europe was, before the arms of Rome

coerced and civilized them. Why, then, is Africa overlooked and

neglected?

Let us attend to the following facts. They are, both in a political and

commercial point of view, of great importance, as showing the progress

of the opinions and efforts of foreign nations as directed towards

Africa.

The great energies of France are, it is well known, at present strongly

directed to the more important points of Tropical Africa, for the

purpose of extending colonization, cultivation, and commerce therein, in

order that she may thereby obtain supplies of colonial produce from the

application of her own capital, and at the same time, and by this

measure, to raise up a more extensive commercial marine, and

consequently a more powerful and commanding navy.

Under such circumstances, the real question to be solved is--Shall Great

Britain secure and keep, as she may do, the superiority in Tropical

cultivation, commerce, and influence? or, Shall foreign countries be

suffered to acquire this supremacy, not only as regards themselves

specifically, but even to the extent of supplying British markets with

the produce of their fields, their labour, and their capital, to the

abandonment and destruction of her own?

This is the true state of the case; and the result is a vital question

as regards the future power and resources of Great Britain.

France is already securely placed at the mouth of the Senegal, and at

Goree, extending her influence eastward and north-eastward from both

places. She has a settlement at Albreda, on the Gambia, a short distance

above St Mary's, and which commands that river. She has just formed a

settlement close by Cape Palmas, and another at the mouth of the Gaboon,

and a third by this time near the chief mouth of the Niger, in the Bight

of Benin. She has fixed herself at Massuah and Buro, on the west shore

of the Red Sea, commanding the inlets into Abyssinia. She is

endeavouring to fix her flag at Brava and the mouth of the Jub; and she

has just taken permanent possession of the important island of Johanna,

situated in the centre of the northern outlet of the Mozambique channel,

by which she acquires the command of that important channel. Her active

agents are placed in Southern Abyssinia, and are traversing the borders

of the Great Bahr-el-Abiad; while the northern shores of Africa will

speedily be her own.

Spain has planted herself in the island of Fernando Po, which commands

all the outlets of the Niger, and the rivers from Cameroons to the

equator; and from which she can readily obtain at any time any number of

people from the adjacent coasts for her West Indian possessions, either

as slaves or freemen.

About six years ago, the government of Portugal appointed a commission

to enquire into the state and condition of her once fine and still

important colonies in Tropical Africa, and to report upon the best

course to adopt to render them beneficial to the mother country. They

have reported and wisely recommended, that Portuguese knowledge and

capital should, as far as possible, be again sent to Africa, in order to

instruct, enlighten, and cultivate these valuable possessions; and

instead of allowing, as heretofore, labour in slaves to be abstracted

from Africa, that native labourers should be retained and employed in

Africa itself; and further, that it should to the utmost be aided and

directed by European skill, capital, and labour. Thus, fourteen degrees

of latitude on the east coast, and twenty degrees of latitude on the

west coast, will, at an early day, be set free from the slave trade.

From these points the Brazil markets were chiefly supplied with slaves;

but Brazils being now separated from Portugal, the latter has and can

have no interest in allowing the former to carry on the slave trade from

her African dominions, but quite the reverse.

The discovery of the route to India by the Cape of Good Hope changed the

course of eastern commerce. The exertions of Portugal in the manner

proposed, will now, and most certainly and severely, affect Tropical

productions and commerce in every market. In this case, England ought to

encourage and support Portugal, and, by following her footsteps in other

eligible parts of Africa, share in the advantages which such a state of

things, and the cultivation and improvement of Africa, is certain to

produce.

The Iman of Muscat, the sovereign of Zanzibar, has lately put an end to

the slave trade in his dominions in Africa, extending northwards from

the Portuguese boundary eight degrees of latitude on the eastern coast.

His envoy, who was lately in England, was so delighted with the

treatment which he received, and with all that he heard and saw here,

that he has influenced his master to carry out sincerely the views and

objects recommended by England. I have in my possession a most

interesting account of the country, extending into the interior of

Africa, from the coast opposite Zanzibar all the way to the great lake

Maravi. The country is intersected with noble rivers, one especially

which issues out of the lake; is generally healthy and well cultivated,

especially as the lake is approached. The population are generally of

Arabian descent, industrious, and clothed. A wide field, therefore, for

commercial operations is open in this quarter.

The powerful sovereign of Dahomey has agreed to abolish the slave trade.

Independent of his considerable dominions, his fine country was one of

the greatest high-roads for the slave caravans from the interior. He has

received, welcomed, and encouraged the Wesleyan missionaries lately sent

to that quarter. The missionaries from this society, and also one from

the Church Missionary Society, have penetrated to Abekuta, a town

containing 40,000 inhabitants, and about 106 miles north-east of Lagos,

and north of Benin. The country, immediately after quitting the coast,

becomes most fertile, pleasant, and healthy, as all that country to the

north of the Formosa is well known to be. The population are eager for

instruction; they are comparatively industrious and civilized; they

manufacture all their necessary agricultural implements, bits for

bridles, hoes, &c., from their own iron; they tan their own leather, and

manufacture therefrom saddles, bridles, shoes, &c.

The great sovereign of Ashantee has also received with royal honours,

and welcomed, the ministers of the gospel, encouraged them, and listened

to them in the most gratifying manner. The Almamy of Teembo--a state

which commands the fine districts around the Niger in its early course,

and the roads from populous interior parts on the east to the western

coast--has lately evinced the strongest desire to extend cultivation and

commerce in lieu of the slave trade, and to have a ready communication

with Europeans, and especially with the English. In other portions of

Africa important movements are also going on, most gratifying to the

friends of humanity and religion.

The United States of America, as a nation, is about to incorporate with

her dominions the whole coast of Africa on Cape Palmas to the borders of

the Gallinas--a fertile and healthy part of that continent, and wherein

several settlements have of late years been made by the free people of

colour from those states. This effected, there will hardly remain a spot

of any consequence in Tropical Africa worth looking after for Great

Britain to plant her foot, either for the purpose of obtaining labourers

for her West Indian colonies, or to extend agriculture and commerce with

Africa. The present British Tropical African possessions have been, and

are, very badly selected for any one of the purposes alluded to, or for

extending political power and influence in Africa. Still much more may

be made of them than has ever hitherto been done.

But there is a still higher and more important consideration as regards

Africa alone--the eternal salvation of her people. This consideration is

addressed to the rulers of a Christian nation. The appeal cannot fall on

deaf ears. The debt which Great Britain owes to Africa, it is

undeniable, is incalculably great. The sooner it is put in course of

liquidation the better. To spread Christianity throughout Africa can

only atone for the past. Our duty as Christians, and our interests as

men, call on us to undertake the work. It is the cause, the safety, the

improvement, and the salvation of a large portion of the human race; it

is the cause of our country, the cause of our colonies, the cause of

truth, the cause of justice, the cause of Christianity, the cause and

the pleading of a Christian nation--and a cause like this cannot plead

in vain.

To secure these important objects no great or immediate expenditure is

necessary; nay, if properly gone about, a saving in the present African

expenditure may be effected.

JAMES MACQUEEN.

LONDON, _3d May 1844_.

FOOTNOTES:

{A} This bend is represented in a map constructed in Paris, and said to

be from information obtained in a second voyage; but no such bend is

indicated in the journal of the original voyage by Captain Selim.

{B} Under date Yaush, September 21, 1842, Dr Beke states the curious and

important fact, that the people of Enarea and Kaffa communicate with the

west coast of Africa, and that one of the articles of merchandise

brought from that coast to these places was salt.

NARRATION OF CERTAIN UNCOMMON THINGS THAT DID FORMERLY HAPPEN TO ME,

HERBERT WILLIS, B.D.

It had pleased Heaven in the year 1672, when I had finished my studies

in Magdalen College, Oxford, whereof I was a Demy, and had taken my

degree of bachelor of arts in the preceding term, to visit me with so

severe an affliction of fever, which many took at first for the

commencement of the small-pox, that I was recommended by the physicians,

when the malady had abated, to return to my father's house and recover

my strength by diet and exercise. This I was fain to do; and having

hired a small horse of Master John Nayler in the corn market, to take me

as far as to the mansion of a gentleman, an ancient friend of my

father's, who had a house near unto Reading in Berkshire, and in those

troubled times, when no man knew whereunto things might turn from day to

day, did keep himself much retired. I bade adieu to the university with

a light heart but a weakened habit of body, and turned my horse's head

to the south. I performed the journey without accident in one day; but

the exertion thereof had so exhausted my strength, that Mr Waller,

(which was the name of my father's friend, and of kin to the famous poet

Edmund Waller, Esquire, who hath been ever in such favour with our

governors and kings,) perceiving I was nigh discomfited, did press me to

go to my chamber without delay. He was otherwise very gracious in his

reception of me, and professed great amity to me, as being the son of

his fast friend and companion; but yet I marked, as it were, a cloud

that lay obscure behind his external professions, as if he was uneasy in

his mind, and was not altogether pleased with having a stranger within

his gates. Howbeit I thanked him very heartily for his hospitality, and

betook myself to the chamber that was assigned for my repose. It was a

pretty, small room, whereof I greatly admired the fashion; and the

furnishing thereof was extreme gay, for the bed hangings were of bright

crimson silk, and on a table was placed a mirror of true Venetian glass.

Also, there were chests of mahogany wood, and other luxurious devices,

which my weariness did not hinder me from observing; but finally I was

overcome by my weakness, and I threw myself on the bed without removing

my apparel, and sustained as I believe, though I have no certain

warranty thereof, an access of deliquium or fainting. When I did recover

my senses after this interval of suspended faculty, (whether proceeding

from sleep or the other cause above designated,) I lay for many minutes

revolving various circumstances in my mind. I resolved, if by any means

my bodily powers were thereunto sufficient, to depart on the morrow, and

borrow one of Mr Waller's horses to convey me on my way, for I was

uneasy to be thought an intruder; but when I had settled upon this in my

mind, a new incident occurred which altered the current of my thoughts,

for I perceived a slight noise at the door of my chamber as of one

stealthily turning the handle, and I lay, without making any motion, to

watch whereunto this proceeding would tend. The door was put gently

open, and a figure did enter the room, so disguised with fantastical

apparel, that I was much put to it to guess what the issue would be. It

was of a woman, tall and majestical, with a red turbaund round her head,

and over her shoulders a shawl much bedizened with needlework. Her gown

was of green cloth, and I was made aware by the sound, as she passed

along the floor, that the heels of her shoes were more than commonly

high. With this apparition, of which I took only a very rapid

observation through my half-closed eyelids, I was greatly astonished;

for she was an exact resemblance to those bold Egyptian queans who were

at first called Bohemians, but are nothing better than thieves and

vagabonds, if indeed they be not the chosen people of the prince of

darkness himself. She looked carefully all round the room, and after

opening one of the drawers of mahogany wood, and taking something

therefrom which I could not discern, she approached to the side of my

bed, and looked earnestly upon me as I lay. I could not keep up the

delusion any longer, and opened my eyes. She continued gazing

steadfastly upon me without alteration of her countenance or uttering

any word, whether of apology or explanation; and I was so held in by the

lustre of her large eyes, and the fixed rigidity of her features, that

for some time I was unable to give utterance to my thoughts.

"Woman," I said at last, "what want you with me?"

"Your help, if you will be gracious to poor mourners such as we."

I interrogated her much and curiously as to what service she required at

my hands; for I had a scrupulosity to promise any thing to one whose

external made me think her a disciple of Mahomet, as those gipsies are

said to be. After much hesitating, she could not conceal from me that

she was in this disguise for some special and extraordinary purpose;

nevertheless, she condescended on no particulars of her state or

condition; but when I finally promised to satisfy her demand, if it

might be done by a Christian gentleman, and a poor candidate for the

holy ministry, she cautioned me not to be startled by whatever I should

see, and beckoned me to follow her--the which I did in no easy frame of

mind. Opening a little door which I had not seen when I took observation

of the apartment, she disappeared down two or three steps, where I

pursued the slight sound of her footfall; for there was great darkness,

so that I could see nothing. We went, as I conjectured, through several

passages of some length, till finally she paused; and knocked very

gently three times at a door. The door was speedily opened; and in

answer to a question of my guide, whether godly Mr Lees was yet arrived,

a voice answered that he was there, and expecting us with impatience.

When I passed through the door, I found myself in a small chamber, dimly

lighted by one small lamp, which was placed upon a table by the side of

a bed; and when I looked more fixedly I thought I perceived the figure

of a person stretched on the bed, but lying so fixed and still, that I

marvelled whether it was alive or dead. At the foot of the bed stood a

venerable old man, in the dress of a clergyman of our holy church, with

a book open in his hand, and my strange guide led me up to where he was

standing, and whispered to him, but so that I could hear her words,

"This gentleman hath promised to assist us in this matter."

But hereupon I interposed with a few words to the same revered divine.

"Sir," I said, "I would be informed wherefore I am summoned hither, and

in what my assistance is needful?"

"He hath not then been previously informed?" he said to the Egyptian;

and receiving some sign of negation from her, he closed the book, and

leading me apart into a corner of the apartment, discovered the matter

in a very pious and edifying manner.

"It is to be godfather in the holy rite of baptism, to one whom it is

our duty, as Christian men, to rescue from the dangerous condition of

worse than unregenerate heathenism."

"The child of that Egyptian woman?" I asked; but he said, "No. She who

is now disguised in that attire is no Egyptian, but a true Samaritan,

who hath been the means of working much good in the evil times past, and

is likely to be a useful instrument in the troubled times yet to come.

If this dissolute court, and Popish heir-presumptive, do proceed in

their attempts to overthrow our pure Reformed church, depend on it,

young man, that that woman will not be found wanting in the hour of

trial. But for the matter in hand, will you be godfather to the person

now to be received into the ark?"

I told him I could not burden my conscience with so great and important

duties, without some assurance that I should be able to fulfil them.

Whereto he replied, that such scrupulosities, however praiseworthy in

calmer tines, ought now to yield to the paramount consideration of

saving a soul alive.

A faint voice, proceeding from the bed, was here heard mournfully asking

if the ceremony was now to begin, for death was near at hand.

I went up to the bed and saw the face of a pale dying woman, whose

eyes, albeit they encountered mine, had no sense of sight in them, for

the shadows of the Great King were already settled upon her countenance.

"Begin then," I said to the clergyman; and on a motion from him, the

woman who had conducted me went out, and shortly returned, leading by

the hand a child of two, or haply three years of age, exceeding

beautiful to look on, and dressed in the same style of outlandish

apparel as her conductor. I had little time to look attentively at her,

for her hand was put into mine, while the other was held by the

Egyptian, (as I still call her, notwithstanding I knew she was a devout

woman,) and another person, whom I guessed to be an attendant on the

sick lady, stationed herself near; whereupon the clergyman commenced

from our book of common prayer the form of baptism. The lady seemed to

acquire strength at the sound of his low solemn voice, and half raised

herself in the bed, and looked anxiously towards where we were; when the

name was given, which was Lucy Hesseltine, she stretched herself back on

her pillow with a faint smile. The ceremony was soon over, and the

Egyptian took the new Christian to the side of the bed, and whispered in

the lady's ear, "Jessica, the child is now one of the Christian flock;

she prays your blessing." She waited for an answer, during which time

the clergyman took me apart, and had again entered into discourse. But

the Egyptian came to us. "Hush!" she said, "the ways of God are

inscrutable; our friend is gone to her account." Hereupon she hurried me

through the same passages by which we had come, and bidding me God-speed

at the hidden door of my chamber, told me to keep what I had seen a

secret from all men, yea, if possible, to forget it myself, as there

might be danger in having it spread abroad.

Tormented with many thoughts, and uneasy at the great risk I ran of

bringing guilt on my own soul by having made sponsorial promises which I

could not execute, I rested but indifferently that night. The next day I

pursued my journey home in the manner I had proposed, and was glad to

avoid the chance of being interrogated by Mr Waller as to what had

occurred. In a short time my good constitution and home restored me to

my former strength, and the memory of that strange incident grew more

faint as other things came to pass which made deeper impressions on my

heart and mind. Among these is not to be forgotten the death of my

father, which happened on the 14th of June in the following year,

_videlicet_ 1673; and the goodness of the lord bishop of Oxford in

giving me priests' orders on my college Demyship, whereby I was enabled

to present myself to this living, and hold it, having at that time

attained the canonical age. My courtship also and marriage, which befell

in the year 1674, had great effect in obliterating past transactions. I

was married on Thursday, the 24th day of June.

* * * * *

(Here several pages are omitted as irrelevant, containing family

incidents for some years.)

Howbeit things did not prosper with us so much as we did expect; for the

payers of tithes were a stiff-necked generation, as were the Jews of

old, and withheld their offerings from the priest at the very time when

Providence sent a plentiful supply of mouths to which the offerings

would have been of use. Charles was our only son, and was now in his

third year--the two girls, Henrietta and Sophia, were six and seven--my

eldest girl was nine years past, and I had named her, in commemoration

of my father's ancient friend, by the prenomen of Waller. It hath been

remarked by many wise men of old, and also by our present good bishop,

that industry and honesty are the two Herculeses that will push the

heaviest waggon through the mire; and more particularly so, if the

waggoner aids also by putting his shoulder to the wheel. And easy was it

to see, that the wheel of the domestic plaustrum--wherein, after the

manner of that ancient Parthians, I included all my family, from the

full beauty of my excellent wife to the sun-lighted hair of my prattling

little Charles, (the which reminds me of those beautiful lines which are

contained in a translation of the _Iliad_ of Homer by Mr Hobbes,

descriptive of the young Astyanax in his mother Andromache's arm--

"And like a star upon her bosom lay

His beautiful and shining golden head")--

It was easy, I say, to see, that with such an additional number of

passengers, the domestic plaustrum would sink deeper and deeper in the

miry ways of the world. And consultations many and long did my excellent

wife and I hold over the darkening prospect of our future life. At last

she bethought her of going to take counsel of her near friend and most

kind godfather, Mr William Snowton of Wilts, which was a managing man

for many of the nobility, and much renowned for probity and skilful

discernment. He was steward on many great estates, and gave plentiful

satisfaction to his employers, without neglecting his own interest,

which is a thing that does always go with the other, namely, a care for

your master's affairs; for how shall a man pretend to devote his time

and services to another man's estate, and take no heed for himself? The

thing is contra the nature of man, and the assertion thereof is fit only

for false patriots and other evil men. It was with much weariness of

heart and anxious tribulation that I parted from that excellent woman,

even for so short a period of time; but Master George Sprowles of this

parish having it in mind to travel into the village where the said Mr

William Snowton kept his abode, I availed myself of his friendly offer

to conduct my wife thither upon a pillion; and thereupon having sent

forward her luggage two days before by a heavy waggon which journeyeth

through Sarum, I took leave of the excellent woman, commending her

heartily unto the care of Providence and Master George, which

(Providence I mean) will not let a sparrow fall to the ground, much less

the mother of a family, which moreover was riding on a strong

sure-footed horse, which also was bred in our parish, and did sometimes

pasture on the glebe. It was the first time we had been separated since

our wedding-day. I took little Charles into my room that night, and did

carefully survey the other children before I went to rest. They did all

sleep soundly, and some indeed did wear a smile upon their innocent

faces as I looked upon them, and I thought it was, perhaps, the

reflection of the prayers which their mother, I well knew, was pouring

out for them at that hour. That was on a Tuesday, and as the distance

was nearly sixty miles, I could not hear of her safe arrival till the

return of Master George, which could not be till the following Monday;

not being minded, (for he was a devout man, and had imbibed his father's

likings in his youth, which was a champion for the late Man,) and would

rather have done a murder on a Thursday than have travelled on the

Sabbath-day. "Better break heads," he was used to say, "than break the

Sabbath." I did always find him, the father I mean, a sour hand at a

bargain; and when he was used to drive me hard upon his tithes and

agistments, I could fancy he took me for one of the Amalekites, or one

of the Egyptians, whom he thought it a meritorious Christian deed to

spoil. The Monday came at last, and Master George Sprowles, before he

rode to his own home, trotted his horse up our church avenue, and

delivered into my hands a packet of writing carefully sealed with a

seal, whereof the device was a true-love knot. Great was my delight and

great my anxiety to read what was written therein, and all that evening

I pored over the manuscript, on which she had bestowed great pains, and

crossed all the t's without missing one. But it is never an easy task to

decipher a woman's meaning, particularly when not addicted to

penmanship; and although my excellent wife had attended a penman's

instructions, and had acquired the reputation, in her native place, of

being an accomplished clerk, still, since her marriage, she had applied

her genius to the making of tarts and other confections, rather than to

the parts of scholarship, and it was difficult for me to make out the

significance of her epistle in its whole extent. Howbeit, it was a

wonderful effort of calligraphy, considering she had only had two days

wherein to compose and write it, and she had been so little used to this

manner of communication, and it consisted of three whole sides of a

large sheet of paper. She said therein that Mr Snowton was a father unto

her in his affection and urbanity, and that he highly approved the

motion for us to make provision of the meat that perishes, seeing it is

indispensable for young children and also for adults; and that he had

already bethought him of a way wherein he might be serviceable to

us--viz. in procuring for me certain youth of the upper kinds, to be by

me instructed in the learned tongues, and such other branches as I had

proficiency in; and, in addition thereto, he said, that peradventure he

might obtain a similar charge for my excellent wife in superintending

the perfectionment of certain young ladies of his acquaintance in

samplers, and millinery, and cookery, and such other of the fine and

useful arts as she was known to excel in; and he subjoined thereto, that

the charges for each pupil would be so large, being only those of

consideration which he recommended unto me, that a few years would be

sufficient wherein to consolidate portions for all my children. Such,

with some misgivings touching my own interpretation, did I make out to

be the substance of my excellent wife's letter; and I rejoiced greatly

that such an opening was made for me, by the which I might attain to

such eminence of estate that I might place my Charles in the first ranks

of the law, yea, might live to see him raised to the fulness of temporal

grandeur, and sitting, as Lord High Keeper, among the peers and princes

of the land, with a crown of pure gold upon his head. But there was no

crown but a heavenly one, that fadeth not nor groweth dim, that could

have added a fresh beauty to the fair head of my Charles. But the

sweetest part of her missive was contained in the _post scriptum_.

Therein she said, and in this I could not be wrong, that Mr Snowton had

undertaken to forward her in his light wheeled cart, by reason of the

conveniency it would be of to her in the transportation of herself and

luggage, and also of Miss Alice Snowton, of Mr Snowton's kindred, a

young lady which he had adopted, (being the only child of his only

brother, Mr Richard Snowton, deceased,) and advised my wife to accept

the care of her as a beginning, and for the charges of the same he would

be answerable for fifty golden Caroluses at Ladyday and Michaelmas. A

hundred Caroluses each year! My heart bounded with joy. Great were my

preparations for the reception of my new inmate, and busy were we all

from my busy Waller down to Charles. He with much riotousness did

superintend all, and rejoiced greatly at the noise caused by the

hammering, and taking down and putting up of bed-hangings, and did in no

slight measure add thereto by strange outbreaks of riotous mirth, such

as whooping and screaming; causing confusion, at the same time, by

various demonstrations of his enjoyments, such as throwing nails against

the windows, beating on the floor with the poker, and occasionally

interrupting our operations by tumbling down stairs, and causing us for

a moment to believe him killed outright, or at least maimed for life.

But there is a special providence over happy children; and save that he

fell on one occasion into the bucket of soap and water, wherewith a

domestic was scowering the chintz room floor, and suffered some

inconvenience from the hotness thereof, he escaped in a manner truly

miraculous from any accident affecting life or limb. When the time drew

near in the which I expected the return of my excellent wife, I took all

the children to the upper part of the church field which faces the

high-road, upon which the large stones have recently been laid down, in

the manner of a causeway, but which, at that period, was left to the

natural hardness, or rather softness, of the soil, and was, in

consequence thereof, dangerous to travel on by reason of the ruts and

hollows; to that portion, I say, of the church field I conveyed all my

little ones, to give the gratulations necessary on such an occasion to

their excellent mother. The spot whereon we were stationed commanded a

view of the hill which superimpends our village, and we were therefore

gratified to think that we should have an early view of the expected

travellers; and many quarrels and soft reconcilements did take place

between my younger ones, upon the point of who would be the first to

see their approach. In the midst of these sweet contentions, whilst I

was in the undignified and scarcely clerical act of carrying little

Charles upon my shoulder, having decorated his head with my

broad-brimmed hat, in order to enable him--vain imagination, which

pleased the boy's heart--to see over and beyond the hill, there did

pass, in all her wonted state and dignity, with two outriders in the

Mallerden livery, two palfreniers at her side, and four mounted

serving-men behind, the ancient Lady Mallerden, which was so famous an

upholder of our venerated church in the evil days through which it so

happily passed; and with no little perturbation of mind, and great

confusion of face, did I see the look of astonishment, not to say

disdain, with which she regarded my position; more particularly as

little Charles, elevated, as I have said, upon my shoulders, with his

legs on each side of my neck, did lift up the professional hat, which

did entirely absorb his countenance, with great courtesy, and made a

most grave and ceremonious obeisance unto the lofty lady. She pursued

her path, returning the salutation with a kind of smile, and at the same

easy ambling pace as was her wont, proceeded up the hill. Just as she

reached the summit thereof our eyes were gladdened with the sight, so

long desired, of the light equipage on two wheels of the kind Mr

Snowton, containing my excellent wife and her young charge, and also

various boxes of uncommon size, in which were laid great store of bodily

adornment for both the ladies; as was more fully seen thereafter, on the

opening of the boxes, by reason of Mr Snowton having privily conveyed

into them various changes of apparel for the use of my excellent wife,

as also for each of the three girls. To Charles he also sent the image

of an ass, which, by touching a certain string, did open its mouth and

wave its ears in a manner most curious to behold, wherewith the infant

was infinitely delighted, as was I, without enquiring at that time into

the exquisite mechanism whereby the extraordinary demonstrations were

produced. But in the course of little more than a month he was led, by

his enquiring turn of mind, to pry into the mystery; and in the pursuit

of knowledge--laudable surely in a person of his years, and

demonstrative of astonishing sagacity and research--he did take the

animal entirely to pieces, and saw the inward parts thereof. The great

lady, with all the retinue, stopped short as she encountered with my

excellent wife at the top of the hill, and did most courteously make

tender enquiries of her state of health, and also of her plans--whereof

she seemed some little instructed--and expressed her satisfaction

therein, and did make many sweet speeches to her, and also to the pupil,

and trusted that she would be good and dutiful, and an earnest and

affectionate daughter of the Church of England. To all which my

excellent wife replied in fitting terms, and Alice Snowton--so was she

named--made promise so to do, God being her helper and I her teacher;

and thereupon the great lady bended her head with smiles, and rode on.

When they got down to where we stood in the church field, the flush of

modesty, and perhaps of pride, at being spoken to in such friendly guise

by the haughty Lady Mallerden, had not yet left the cheek of my

excellent wife, upon which I impressed a kiss of true love, and held up

little Charles as high as I could, to enable him to do likewise, which

he did, with a pretty set speech which I had taught him, in gratulation

of her return. Alice Snowton also did blush, and held out her cheek,

whereon I pressed my lip, with fervent prayers for her advance in

holiness and virtue, and also in useful learning, under my excellent

wife's instructions. She was a short girl, not much taller than my

Waller, though she seemed to be three or even four years more advanced

in age. She was a sweet engaging child of thirteen, and I loved her as

one of my flock from the moment I saw her, as in duty bound. My children

were divided between joy at seeing their excellent mother, and wonder at

the stranger. But a short period wore off both these sentiments of the

human mind, or rather the outward manifestation of them; and I will

venture to assert that the quietude of night, and the clearness of the

starry heavens, fell on no happier household on that evening than the

parsonage of Welding. And next day it was the same; and next, and next,

and a great succession of happy, useful days. Alice was a dear girl, and

we loved her as our own; and she loved Charles above all, and was his

friend, his nurse, his playfellow. Their gambols were beautiful to

behold; and, to complete the good work which was so well begun, good Mr

Snowton did send to my care, at the same remuneration, two young

gentlemen of tender years, Master Walter Mannering and Master John

Carey--the elder of them being eight and the other seven; and, as if

fortune never tired of raining down on us her golden favours, the great

Lady Mallerden herself did use her interest on my behalf, and obtained

for me the charge of a relative of her noble house--the honourable

Master Fitzoswald, of illustrious lineage in the north, of the age of

nine years. But doubtless, as the philosopher has remarked, there is no

sweet without its bitter, or, as the poet has said, "no rose without its

thorn," or, better perhaps, as another great poet of antiquity has

clothed the sentiment--

----"Medio de fonte leporum

Surgit amari aliquid;"

for it was made an express stipulation of the latter office--namely, the

charge of the honourable young gentleman, being the second son of the

noble Earl Fitzoswald, in Yorkshire--that the great Lady Mallerden

should have joint superintendence of his studies with me, and the

direction of his conduct, and also his religious education. And this was

a sore drawback to the pleasure I experienced, for I knew her to be

proud and haughty beyond most women, or even men; and also that she was

of so active and inquisitive a turn of mind, that she would endeavour to

obtain all power and authority unto herself, whereto I determined by no

means to submit. Two hundred golden guineas was the _honorarium_ per

annum for his education; and my excellent wife, who was addicted, like

the most of her sex, to dreams and omens, did very often have a vision

in the night, of the Right Hon. the Earl Fitzoswald presenting me to a

great office in the church--yea, even a seat among the right reverend

the lord bishops of the Upper House of Parliament. Nor were portents and

auguries wanting, such as this--which made an uncommon impression on my

excellent wife's mind--_videlicet_, it chanced that Alice Snowton did

make a hat of paper, to be placed on Charles's head when he was more

than usually naughty, to be called the fool's-cap out of derision; but

this same paper hat, which was of a fantastic shape, being conical and

high, the boy with scissors did dexterously mutilate and nearly destroy,

and, coming quietly behind me when I was meditating the future with my

excellent wife, he placed it on my head; and, to all our eyes, there was

no mistaking the shape into which, fortuitously, and with no view or

knowledge of such emblems, he had cut the paper-cap. It was evidently a

mitre, and nothing else! But this, and various other concurring

incidents, I pass over, having frequently rebuked my excellent wife for

thinking more highly of such matters than she ought to think.

The course pursued in our studies was the following, which I

particularly write down, having had great experience in that sort, and

considering it may be useful, if perchance this account should fall into

the hands of any who follow the honourable and noble calling of

educating the rising generation. The _Colloquies_ of Corderius, as also

the _Fables_ of AEsopus, with those also of Phaedrus his Roman

continuator....

* * * * *

(Many pages are here omitted as irrelevant.)

... And my excellent wife, after much entreaty, consented thereto.

Accordingly, on the very next Sunday, the great Lady Mallerden attended

at my house after church, and did closely question, not only the young

gentlemen on the principles of their faith, but also Alice Snowton, and

did, above all, clearly and emphatically point out to them the

iniquities of the great Popish delusion; and exhorted them, whatever

might be their future fate or condition, to hold fast by the pure

Reformed church. And so much did my eldest daughter, who was now a great

tall girl of twelve years of age, win upon the heart of the great lady,

that she invited her to come up for several days and reside with her at

Mallerden Court, which was a great honour to my daughter, invitations

not being extended to any to enter that noble mansion under the degree

of nobility. Nor did her beneficence end here; for she did ask Alice

Snowton, who was now a fine young woman of fifteen or thereby, to be her

guest at the same time. Alice was not so stout in proportion to her

years as my Waller; but there was a certain gracefulness about her when

she moved, and a sweet smile when she spoke, which was very gainful on

the affections, as Charles could testify; for he loved her, and made no

secret thereof, better than any of his sisters, and also, I really and

unfeignedly believe, better than that excellent woman his mother. And so

great was the impression made on the great lady by my Waller's

cleverness and excellent manner of conducting herself, that, on her

return at the end of three days, a letter, in the noble lady's own land,

bore testimony to her satisfaction, and a request, or rather a command,

was laid on me, to send her, under charge as she expressed it, of Alice

Snowton, to the Court for a longer period the following week. And such

was the mutual happiness of the noble lady, and of that young girl, (my

Waller, I mean,) who could now write a beautiful flowing hand, and spell

with uncommon accuracy and expedition, that erelong it was an arranged

thing, that three days in each week were spent by the two children at

Mallerden Court; and a horse at last, on every Wednesday, was in waiting

to convey them, on a double pillion, to the stately mansion.

I have not alluded to the state of public affairs, of which I was far

from cognizant, saving that the writhings and strugglings which this

tortured realm did make, shook also the little parsonage of Welding. We

heard, at remote intervals of time, rumours of dangers and difficulties

hanging over this church and nation; but were little alarmed thereat,

putting faith in the bill of exclusion, and the honour of our most

gracious and religious lord the king. Nor did I anticipate great harm

even if the Duke of York, in the absence of lawful posterity of his

brother, should get upon the throne, trusting in the truth of his royal

word, and the manifold declarations of favour and amicableness to the

church, which he from time to time put forth. But AEsopus hath it, when

bulls fight in a marsh the frogs are crushed to death. It was on the

tenth day of February, in the year of our Lord 1685, I was busy with my

dear friends, the youths under my charge, in the Campus Martius, (which

was a level space of ground in one of the glebe fields by the side of

the river, whereon we performed our exercises of running, jumping,

wrestling, and other athletic exercitations,) when we were startled by

the hearing the sound of many horses galloping up the hill above the

village; and looking over the hedge on to the road, we saw a cavalier

going very fast on a fine black horse, which had fire in its eyes and

nostrils, as the poet says, followed by a goodly train of serving-men,

all well mounted, and proceeding at the same rate. We went on with our

games for an hour or two, when all at once I was peremptorily sent for

to go to my house without delay; and accordingly I hurried homewards,

much marvelling what the summons could portend. I went into my study,

and sitting in my arm-chair I saw the great Lady Mallerden; but she was

so deep in thought, that for some minutes she kept me standing, and

waiting her commands. At last she started to herself, and ordered me to

be seated, and in her rapid glancing manner began to speak--

"I have been visited by my son, who rode post haste from London to tell

me the king was dead. He has been dead four days."

I was astonished and much saddened at the news.

"Sorry--yes--but there is no time for sorrow," said the noble lady; "we

must be up and doing. We are betrayed."

"Did your son, the noble Viscount Mallerden, tell you this?"

"He is one of the betrayers--know you not what manner of man he

is?--Then I will tell you." And here a strange light flashed from her

eyes, and her lips became compressed till all the colour

disappeared--"He is a viper that stung me once--and would sting me

again if I took him to my bosom, and laid it open for his poisonous

tooth. I tell you the Lord Mallerden is a godless, hopeless, faithless,

man--bound hand and foot to the footstool of the despotic, cruel

monster--the Jesuit who has now his foot upon the English throne. He is

a Papist, fiercer, bitterer, crueller, because he has no belief neither

in priest nor pope--but he is ambitious, reckless, base, a courtier. He

prideth himself in his shame, and says he has openly professed. It is to

please the hypocritical master he serves. And he boasts that our late

king--defender of the faith--was shrived on his deathbed by a Popish

friar."

"I cannot believe it, my lady."

"You are a good man--a good simple man, Master Willis," she said; and

although the words of her designation were above my deserts, seeing that

simplicity and goodness are the great ornaments of the Christian

character, still the tone in which she spoke did not pertake of the

nature of a compliment, and I bowed, but made no observation in reply.

"But it needs men of other minds in these awful times which I see

approaching--men of firmness, men of boldness--yea, who can shed blood

and shudder not; for great things are at stake."

"I trust not, my lady--albeit the shedding of blood"----

"I know, is generally condemned; yet be there texts which make it

imperative, and I think I foresee that the occasion for giving them

forth is at hand. All means in their power they will try; yes, though

James of York has been but four days a king, he had already made

perquisition for such as may be useful to him, not in settling the crown

upon his head, but in carrying off this people and kingdom, a bound

sacrifice to the blind idol which he worshippeth at Rome. You know not

the history of that man; no, nor of my son. Alas! that a mother's lips

should utter such words about her own flesh and blood! The one of them I

tell you is a bigot, a pursuer, a persecutor--the other a sensualist, a

Gallio, a tool. For many years he has never beheld his mother's face; he

married in his youth; he injured, deserted, yea, he killed his wife--not

with his own hand or with the dagger, but by the surer weapons of

hatred, neglect, unkindness. And she died. He has but one child; that

child was left in charge of my honoured and loving daughter, the Lady

Pevensey of Notts, and hath been brought up in a Christian manner; but

now, he--this man of Belial--wishes to get this infant in his own hands;

nay, he boldly has made a demand of her custody both on me and Pevensey,

my daughter. We will not surrender her; he is now great and powerful.

The king will back his efforts with all the weight of the crown; and we

have considered, if we could confide the persecuted dove to the hands of

some assured friend--some true son of our holy church--some steady,

firm-hearted, strong-nerved man, who in such cause would set lord and

king at defiance"----

Here she paused, and looked upon me with her eyes dilated, and her

nostrils panting with some great thought which was within her; and I

availed myself of the pause to say--

"Oh, my lady! if you did mean me for such charge, I confess my

deficiency for such a lofty office; for I do feel in me no stirrings of

an ambitious spirit. Sufficient is it for me to take care of the

innocent flock committed to my care, in the performance of which charge

I have the approbation of my own heart, and also, I make bold to hope

it, of your ladyship, seeing that I have instructed them in the true

principles both of faith and practice; and although there are

shortcomings in them all, by reason the answers in the Catechism are not

adapted to the capacities of the younger ones, especially of Charles,

(who, notwithstanding, has abilities and apprehensions above his years,)

yet are they all embued with faithful doctrine, from Alice Snowton,

which is the most advanced in stature, to the honourable Master

Fitzoswald, which is somewhat deficient in growth, being only three

inches taller than my little Charles."

The great lady looked at me while I spoke, and made no answer for long

time. At last she said with a sort of smile, which at the same time was

not hilarious or jocular in its nature--

"Perhaps 'tis better as it is. There is a providence in all things, and

our plans and proposals are all overruled for the best--for which may

God be praised! Therefore I will press you no more on the subject of the

guardianship of my grandchild. But Mallerden will move heaven and earth

to get her into his power--yes, though he has neglected her so long,

never caring to see her since her childhood; yet now, when he sees

'twill gain him the treasurership of the royal household to sell the

greatest heiress and noblest blood in England to the Papists, he will

make traffic of his own child, and marry her to some prayer-mumbler to a

wooden doll. Let us save her, good sir--but I forgot. No--I will save

her myself. I, that have steered her through so many quicksands, will

not let her make shipwreck at last. I will guard her like the apple of

my eye, and possess my soul in patience until this tyranny be overpast."

And so ended the interview, during which my heart was tossed to and fro

with the utmost agitation, and my whole frame so troubled that I various

times lost all mastery of myself, and only saw before me a great black

gulf of ruin, into which some invisible power was pushing me and all my

little ones. Great, therefore, was my delight, and sweet the relief to

my soul, when the great lady left me unconnected with her quarrels. For,

in the crash of such contending powers, there was no chance of escape

for such a weak instrument as I was; and fervent were my hopes, and deep

my prayers, that the perils and evils prognosticated by the religious

fears of my great protectress might be turned aside, and all good

subject and sincere churchmen left each under his own vine and his own

fig-tree, with nobody to make them afraid. But vain are the hopes of

men. We read in no long time in all men's looks the fate we were

condemned to; for it seemed as if a great cloud, filled with God's

wrath, was spread out over this realm of England, and the faces of all

men grew dark. We heard the name of Jeffreys whispered in corners, and

trembled as if it had been a witch's spell to make our blood into water.

The great lady kept herself much in solitude in the ancient Court, and

saw not even her favourite companion, my daughter Waller, for many

months; but did ever write affectionate letters to her, and sent

presents of rich fruits, and other delectations in which the young take

pleasure. There was much riding to and fro of couriers, but whither, or

whence, she did never tell, and it was not my province to enquire; but

at last an order came for me to send up my Waller and her friend to the

mansion. And at evening they were conveyed on horseback as before; but

on this occasion their escort was not Master Wilkinson the under butler,

but no less a person than my lady's kinsman, the senior brother of my

honourable pupil, the honourable Master Fitzoswald of Yorkshire, a

stately young cavalier as could be seen, strong and tall, and his style

and title was the Lord Viscount Lessingholm--being the eldest son and

heir to that ancient earldom. He was an amiable and pleasant gentleman,

full of courtesies and kindness, and particularly pleased with the

newfangled fashion of a handsome cap which formed the headpiece of my

excellent wife. He said also many handsome things about the brightness

of my Waller's eyes, and assured my excellent wife that he saw so

promising an outsprout of talent in my Charles, that he doubted not to

see him one of the judges of the realm, if so be he applied his

intellectuals to the bar. He was also extreme civil to Alice Snowton,

which answered his civilities in like manner; and seldom in so short a

space as half an hour has any person made so favourable an impression as

he did, particularly on his brother, by reason of his bestowing on him a

large Spanish doubloon, and promising him a delicate coloured maneged

horse immediately on his return to Yorkshire. It is a pleasant sight to

see (and reflected some credit on my ministration of the moralities in

this particular instance) the disinterested love of brethren, one

towards another, and I failed not to ascertain that the Lord Lessingholm

had been boarded in the house of an exemplary divine, to wit, Mr Savage

of Corpus Christi College, Oxford--a fact which I think it proper to

mention to the honour of that eloquent member of our church--inasmuch

as any man might be proud of having had the training up in the way he

should go, of so excellent and praiseworthy a youth.

It was many days before my young ones came back, (I would be understood

to include in this Alice Snowton, whom I looked upon with the tenderness

of a father and the pride of a teacher all in one;) and when they

returned to me, I thought I perceived that they were both more sorrowful

than of wont. Alice (and my Waller also) looked oppressed with some

secret that weight upon their hearts, and I was fearful the great lady

had made them partakers of her cares in the matter of her son and her

grandchild. Yet did I not think such a thing possible as that either of

them should have been taken into her confidence on so high and momentous

a concernment, by reason of my Waller being so young, though thoughtful

and considerate, and also fuller grown than persons much more advanced

in life; and Alice Snowton was of so playful and gentle a disposition,

that she seemed unfitted for the depository of any secret, unless those

more strictly appertaining to her youth and sex, and moreover was a

stranger to this part of the country, being of a respectable family, as

I have observed, in Wilts--namely, a brother of Mr Snowton, my kind

patron and friend. I called them into my study, after my labours were

over with the other pupils, and I said to them--

"Dear children, ill would it become me to pry into the secrets of my

honoured lady, the Lady Mallerden; yet may there arise occasions wherein

it is needful for one in my situation, (parent to the one of you, and

_in loco parentis_ to the other,) to make perquisition into matters of

weight and importance to your well-being, even at the risk of appearing

inquisitive into other peoples' affairs. Answer me, therefore, Alice, my

dear child, has the Lady Mallerden instructed you in any portion of her

family story?"

"She has in some degree, Sir," said Alice Snowton, "but not deeply."

"You know of her disagreement on certain weighty points with her son,

the Lord Viscount, and how that he is a wicked man, seeking to break

into the pasture of the Lord, and tear down the hedges and destroy the

boundaries thereof; and that in this view he is minded to get his

daughter into his power, to use her as an instrument towards his

temporal elevation?"

"Something of all this we have heard, but not much," said Alice Snowton.

"And furthermore, I must tell you that overtures were made to me to aid

and assist in the resistance to be offered to this man of sin, and I

did, for deep and wholesome reasons, refuse my assent thereto, and in

this refusal I meant you, my children, to be included; therefore,

whatever propositions may be made to you, to hear, or know, or receive,

or in any manner aid, in the concealment of the Lord Viscount's

daughter--which is at present in charge of an honourable lady in the

north--I charge you, refuse them; they may bring ruin on an unambitious

and humble household, and in no case can do good. We must fear God ever,

and honour the king while he is entrusted with the sword of power; and

family arrangements we must leave to the strong hands and able head of

the great Lady Mallerden herself. In this caution I know I fulfil the

intentions of my honoured friend, your esteemed uncle, Mr William

Snowton, which is concerned with too many noble families to desire to

get into enmity with any--and therefore be grateful for all the kindness

you experience from my honoured lady; but if perchance she brings her

grandchild to the Court, and wishes to make you of her intimates, inform

me thereof; and greatly as it would be to be regretted, I would break

off the custom of your visits to the noble house, for even that honour

may be too dearly purchased by the enmity of powerful and unscrupulous

men--if with sceptres in their hands, so much the more to be held in

awe." And I ended with AEsopus his fable of the frogs and bulls. This

discourse (whereof I had prepared the heads in the course of the

morning) I delivered with the full force of my elocution, and afterwards

I dismissed them, leaving to my excellent wife the duty of enlarging on

the same topic, and also of giving such advice to Alice, which was now

a full grown young woman, and very fair to look on, in respect of the

young cavaliers she might see at the great house, particularly the noble

lord, the Lord Lessingholm. Such advice I considered useless in regard

to my Waller, she being only about fourteen years of age, but in other

respects a fair and womanly creature to see; for her waist was nearly

twice as large as Alice Snowton's, and her shoulders also, and in weight

she would have been greatly an overmatch; and certes, putting aside all

parental fondness, which we know to be such a beautifier of one's own

kindred as to make the crow a more lovely animal than the dove, (in the

eyes of the parent crow,) I will confess that in my estimation, and also

in that of my excellent wife, there was no comparison between the two

fair maidens, either in respect of fulness of growth or redness of

complexion, the advantage being, in both these respects, on the side of

the junior. Some sentiment of this sort I saw at the time must have

possessed the honourable breast of the Viscount Lessingholm; for

although he made much profession of visiting at the parsonage for the

sake of seeing his juvenile brother, still there were certain looks and

tokens whereby I was clearly persuaded that the magnet was of a

different kind; and whereas it would have been vain and ambitious in me

to lift my eyes so high, in view of matrimonial proposals, as to nearly

the topmost branch in the peerage of England, (the Earls Fitzoswald

being known to have been barons of renown at the period of the Norman

Conquest;) still it would ill have become me to prevent my daughter from

gathering golden apples if they fell at her feet, because they had grown

on such a lofty bough of the tree; and I will therefore confess, that it

was with no little gratification I saw the unfoldings of a pure and

virtuous disposition in the honourable young nobleman. And I will

further state, that it seemed as if his presence when he came, (and that

was often, nay, sometimes twice in one day,) did make holiday in the

whole house; and Charles was by no means backward in his

friendship--receiving the fishing-rods presented unto him by the right

honourable with so winning an eagerness, and pressing Alice (his

constant friend) to go with him and the noble donor with so much zeal to

the brook, therein to try the virtues of the gift, that I found it

impossible to refuse permission; and therefore did those three often

consume valuable hours, (yet also I hope not altogether

wasted)--_videlicet_, Alice and Charles, and the honourable Viscount--in

endeavouring to catch the finny tribe, yet seldom with much success. But

whatever was the result of their industry--yea, though it was but a

minnow--it was brought and presented to my Waller by the honourable

hands of the young man, with so loving an air, that it was easy to

behold how gladly he would have consented, if she had been the companion

of their sports, if by any means Charles could have been persuaded to

have exchanged Alice Snowton for her. But the very mention of such an

idea did throw the child into such wrathful indignation, that the right

honourable was fain to bestow on him whole handfuls of sugar-plums, and

promise that Alice should not be left behind. So fared the time away;

and at last I began to hope that the fears of the great lady were

unfounded, and that nothing would occur to trouble her repose. The

manner of living had been resumed again, with the difference that, on

the days the young maidens did not visit the noble mansion, the

honourable viscount was, as it were, domiciled in the parsonage; and I

perceived that, by this arrangement, the great lady was highly pleased;

perhaps because the presence of a kinsman, a courageous gentleman, gave

her some security against the rudenesses she seemed to be afraid of on

the part of her own son--a grievous state of human affairs when the

fifth commandment is not held in honour, and reducing us below the level

of puppy-dogs and kittens, to whom that commandment, along with the rest

of the decalogue, is totally unknown. Sundry times I did observe

symptoms of alarm; and care did write a sad story of mental suffering on

the brow of the great lady, which was a person of the magnanimity of an

ancient matron, and bore up in a manner surprising to behold in one who

stood, as it were, with one hand upon her coffin, while her other

stretched backward through the shadow of fourscore years to touch her

cradle. And ever, from time to time, couriers came to the noble mansion,

while others flew in various directions on swift horses at utmost speed;

and looking up into that lofty atmosphere, we saw clouds and ominous

signs of coming storms, before we could hear the voice of the thunder.

And once a royal messenger (called a pursuivant-at-arms) came down in

person, and carried the great lady to London, and there she stayed many

days, and was threatened with many things and great punishments, yea,

even to be tried by the Lord Jeffreys for high treason, in resisting the

king's order to deliver up her grandchild to its natural guardian--which

was its father, the Viscount Mallerden, now created by royal favour

Marquis of Danfield. But even this last danger she scorned; and after

months of confinement near the royal court, her enemies gave up

persecuting her for that season, and at last she came back to Mallerden

Court. In the meanwhile, we went on in a quiet and comfortable manner in

the parsonage--the Viscount Lessingholm frequently with us, (almost as

if he were a pupil of the house;) and on one or two occasions we had a

visit for an evening from my honoured friend, Mr William Snowton of

Wilts. He was pleased to use great commendations, both of my excellent

wife and me, for the mode in which we attended to the mind and manners

of his niece, the culinary and other accomplishments, and the rational

education wherein he saw her advanced. He never stayed later than

day-dawn on the following morning, and kept himself reserved, as one

used to the intimacy of the great, and not liking to make his news

patent to humble people such as we; and he would on no account open his

mouth on the quarrels of our great lady and her son, the new Marquis of

Danfield, but kept the conversation in equable channels of everyday

matters, and expounded how my glebe lands might be made to yield a

greater store of provision by newer modes of cultivation--the which I

considered, however, a tampering with Providence, which gives to every

field its increase, and no more. But by this time my glebe was not the

only land on which I could plant my foot and say, Lo, thou art mine! for

I had so prospered in the five years during which I had held a ladder

for my pupils to the tree of knowledge, that much golden fruit had

fallen to my share, (being kicked down, as it were, by their climbing

among the branches;) so that I had purchased the fee simple of the

estate of my friend, Master George Sprowles, who had taken some alarm at

the state of public affairs, and gone away over the seas to the

plantation called, I think, Massachusets, in the great American

continent.

It was in the beginning of October 1688, that another call was made on

the great lady to make her appearance within a month from that time in

the city of London, to give a final answer for her contumacy in refusing

obedience to the King and the lord high Treasurer. I felt in hopes the

object of their search (namely, the young maiden his daughter, for it

was bruited they rummaged to find her out in all directions) was safe

with some foreign friends which the great lady possessed in the republic

of Holland, where the Prince of Orange was then the chief magistrate;

but of this I had no certain assurance. For some days no preparations

were made at the noble mansion for so momentous a journey; but at length

there were great signs of something being in prospect. First of all, the

Viscount Lessingholm rode up from Yorkshire, whither he had been gone

three weeks, attended by near a score of fine dressed serving-men, and

took up his abode at Mallerden Court; then came sundry others of the

great lady's kinsfolk, attended also by their servants in stately

liveries; and we did expect that the proud imperial-minded lady was to

go up with such great escort as should impress the king with a just

estimate of her power and dignity. With this expectation we kept to

ourselves ready to see the noble procession when it should start on its

way; but far other things were in store for me, and an instrument called

a pea-spitter, wherewith Charles had provided himself for the purpose

of saluting various of the serving-men as they passed, was rendered

useless. It was on the first day of November that the Lord Viscount

Lessingholm, (who had conveyed the young maidens, _videlicet_ Alice

Snowton and my Waller, to the Court on the previous day,) did ride post

haste up to my door, making his large grey horse jump over the gate at

the end of the walk, as if he had been Perseus flying on his winged

steed to the rescue of Andromede, (as the same is so elegantly described

in the ancient poet,) and did summon me to go that moment to the noble

mansion on matter of the highest import. Much marvelling, and greatly

out of breath, I followed the noble gentleman's motions as rapidly as

was beseeming one of my responsible situation, in regard to the

spiritual ministrations in the parish, while in sight of any of my

flock; for nothing detracts more from the dignity of the apostolical

character than rapid motions--such as running, or jumping, or an

unordered style of apparel, without hatband or cassock. When out of the

village street, I put (as the vulgar phrase expresses it) my best foot

foremost, and enacted the part of a running serving-man in the track of

my noble conductor; and finally I arrived, in such state as may be

conceived, at the entrance-hall of the noble mansion. In the court-yard

were numerous serving-men mounted in silent gravity, and ranged around

the wall. Each man was wrapped up in a dark-coloured cloak; and

underneath it I saw, depending from each, the clear polished extremity

of a steel sword-sheath. They did bear their reins tightened, and their

heels ornamented with spurs, as if ready to spring forth at a word, and

great tribulation came over my soul. Howbeit I mounted the grand

staircase, and, following the western corridor, I opened the door of the

green-damask withdrawing-room, and found myself in the middle of a large

and silent company. There were, perhaps, a dozen persons there

assembled--motionless in their chairs; and at the further end of the

apartment sat the great lady in whispered conversation with a tall dark

gentleman of mature years, say fifty or thereabouts, and with a wave of

her hand, having instructed me to be seated, she pursued her colloquies

in the same under tones as before. When I had placed myself in a chair,

and was in somewhat recovering my breath, which much hurrying and the

surprising scene I saw had greatly impaired, a hand was laid upon my

shoulder, and I turned round, and, sitting in the next chair to me, I

beheld my honoured friend Mr William Snowton of Wilts.

"Good Master Willis," he said, "you little expected to see me here, I do

well believe; but it was but lately I was summoned."

"And know you wherefore we are here assembled?" I enquired.

"Somewhat I know, but not all. The persons here be men of great power,

some of them being those by whom I am employed in managing their worldly

affairs, and shortly we shall hear what is determined on."

"On what subject do they mean to consult us? I shall be ready," said I,

"to give what advice may be needed, if peradventure it suits with my

sacred calling."

"I fear they will hardly consult a person of your holy profession," said

Mr Snowton with a sober kind of smile. "It is of life or death we are

now to take our choice."

A great fear fell upon me, as a great shadow falls upon the earth before

a thunder storm. "What mean ye?" I whispered. "There is no shedding of

blood."

"There will be _much_ shedding of blood, good Master Willis; yea, the

rivers in England will run red with the same, unless some higher power

interferes to deliver us."

"And wherefore am I summoned to such fearful conference? I am no man of

blood. I meddle not with lofty matters. I"----

But here I was interrupted by Mr Snowton in a low grave tone. "Then you

have not heard that the wicked man of sin, the false Papist, the Marquis

of Danfield, hath discovered his child?"

"No, I have not been informed thereof. And hath he gained possession of

her?"

"No, nor shall not!" and hereupon he frowned a great frown, and let his

sword-sheath strike heavily upon the floor. All the company looked

sharply round; but seeing it was by hazard, they took no notice of what

occurred.

"And where, then, is the maiden bestowed?" I demanded.

"In this house; you shall see her soon."

"And what have I to do with these matters? They are above my

concernment!" I exclaimed, in great anguish of mind.

"You have to unite her in the holy bands of wedlock."

"Nay, that is clearly impossible! Where, I pray thee, is the license?"

"All that has been cared for by means of a true bishop of our church.

There can be no scruple on canonical grounds; and if there be hesitation

in obeying the Lady Mallerden's orders, (provided she finally takes up

her mind to deliver the same,) I would not answer for the recusant's

life, no, not for an hour."

"But wherefore in such secrecy, with such haste?" I said, in dreadful

sort.

"Because we know that the father slept at Oxford last night with store

of troops, and that he will be here this night with a royal warrant to

enforce his right to the bestowal of his child; and he hath already

promised her to the leader of the malignant Papists."

"And are we here to resist the king's soldiers and the mandate of the

king?"

"Yea, to the death!" he said, and sank into gloomy thoughts and said no

more.

I looked around among the assembly, and recognized no other faces that I

knew, and in a short space the great lady, having finished her colloquy

with her next neighbour, rose up and said--"My lords, I believe ye be

all of kin to this house, and the other gentlemen be its friends--a

falling house, as represented by a feeble woman of fourscore years and

five. Yet in the greatness of the cause, may we securely expect a gift

of strength even to so frail an instrument as I am. I have consulted

with you all, and finally have taken counsel with my kind cousin and

sweet friend, the Earl of Fitzoswald, now at my side, and he hath agreed

to what I have proposed. It now, then, but remains to carry our project

into effect; and for that purpose I have summoned hither a good man and

excellent divine, Master Willis of this neighbourhood, to be efficacious

in that behalf."

I started up, and said in great agitation--"Oh, my lady!"--but had not

proceeded further when I was broken in upon by a voice of thunder--

"Silence, I say! What, is it for the frailness of a reed like you that

such noble enterprise must perish? Make no remonstrance, sir, but do

what is needed, or"----

Although the great lady did not finish her words, I felt an assurance

steal like ice over my soul that my hours were numbered if I hesitated,

and I bowed low, while Mr William Snowton did privily pull me down into

my seat by the hinder parts of my cassock.

"You--you, Master Willis, of all men, should least oppose this godly

step. For the noise thereof will sound unto the ends of the earth, and

make the old Antichrist on his seven hills quake and tremble, and shake

the pitiful spirit of the apostate of Whitehall. Say I not well, my

lords?"

"You say well," ran round the room in a murmur of consent.

"And you--you, Master Willis," she went on, "least of all, should object

to keep a lamb within the true fold--yea, a lamb which you did see with

your own eyes introduced into the same. Remember you nought of godly

Master Waller's in Berkshire, or of the scene you saw in a certain

chamber, where the baptismal waters were poured forth, and murmured like

a pleasant fountain in the dying ears of a devout Christian woman?"

I was so held back with awe that I said not a word, and she went on--

"Oh, if good Master Lees had yet been spared, we should not have asked

for the ministry of trembling and unwilling hands like yours! And now,

my lords--and you, kind gentlemen, my plan as arranged with good Lord

Fitzoswald is this:--I give my grandchild's hand where her heart has

long been bestowed; I then go with her through lanes and byways; under

good escort, to the city of Exeter, where erelong we shall cast in our

lot with certain friends. The bridegroom shall see nought of his bride

till happier days arrive, except at this altar; and you shall go

directly to your respective stations, and be ready at the first blowing

of the horns before which the walls of this Jericho are to fall. In the

next chamber I have made preparation for the ceremony, and in a few

minutes, when I have arranged me for the journey, I will summon you."

Something of this I heard--the sense namely forced its way into my

brain; but I was confused and panic-stricken. The whole sad scene

enacted so many years before, at the house of good Master Waller, on my

way home from Oxford, came back upon my heart, and I marvelled at the

method whereby the great lady had acquired a knowledge of the secret. I

was deep sunk in these cogitations when the door of the inner library

was at last thrown open, and such light flashed upon us from the

multitude of candles, which were illuminated in all parts of the

chamber, that my eyes were for some time dazzled. When I came to myself

I looked, and at a table under the eastern window, on which was spread

out a golden-clasped prayer-book, opened at the form of solemnization of

matrimony, I saw, along with two young men of about his own age, (all

girt with swords, and booted and spurred,) the right honourable the

Viscount Lessingholm, which I at once concluded was acting as

bridegroom's man to one of the other youths. The company, which had been

assembled in the withdrawing-room, placed themselves gravely, as if some

solemn matter was in hand, at the side of the table; and I took my place

by a motion from the Earl Fitzoswald, and laid my hand upon the

prayer-book, as ready to begin. The door at the other end of the room,

which leadeth to the outer staircase, was opened, and there came

noiselessly in a tall woman, dressed in the same fantastical apparel,

like the apparel of the Bohemians or gipsies, which I remembered so well

on the fatal night of the christening; and, when she cast her eyes on

me, I could not have thought an hour had passed since that time, and I

recognised in her, with awe and wonderment, the features of the great

lady, the Lady Mallerden herself. In each hand she led a young person,

in her left my daughter Waller, and I will not deny that at the sight my

heart leapt up with strange but not unpleasing emotion, as, remembering

the habitudes of the noble Viscount Lessingholm, I thought there was a

possibility of a double wedding; and in her other hand, dressed as for a

journey, with close fitting riding-coat, and a round hat with sable

feathers upon her head, she conducted Alice Snowton, the which looked

uncommon lovely, though by no means so healthy or stout-looking as her

other companion--_videlicet_, my Waller. They walked up to the place

whereat we stood, and the Lord Viscount springing forward, did give his

hand to Alice Snowton, and did not let it go for some time; but looked

upon her with such soft endearing looks that she held down her head, and

a red blush appeared upon her cheek, as if thereupon there had been

reflected the shadow of a rose. For it was not of the deep tinge which

formed the ornament of the complexion of my Waller.

"This is no time for useless dalliance," said the great lady; "let us to

work. By no other means can we root out for ever the hopes of our

enemies."

"Where then, madam," I said, "is the bride?--and who, I pray you, is the

bridegroom?"

"The bridegroom is the Viscount Lessingholm. This maiden is the bride."

"But Alice Snowton, my lady. I did think it was your honourable

grandchild who was to be united to this noble gentleman."

"And so it is--and so it is! She is Alice Snowton no longer. Our good

friend, Master Snowton, the steward on my daughter Pevensey's Wiltshire

manor, was good enough to adopt her as his niece; and for her better

concealment we placed her in the charge of a person whose character for

meekness and simplicity was too notorious to raise suspicion of his

being concerned in such a plot. Even to herself, till lately, her

parentage was unknown, as Master Snowton kept well the secret."

"And one other question," I said; "the child to whom I became bound as

godfather?"

"'Tis the same. This is the poor Lucy Hesseltine, whose orphanship you

witnessed in that lone and yet comfortable death."

The lady Lucy Hesseltine, or rather Alice Snowton, for by that name I

loved her best, did throw her arms about my neck, and kissed my cheek,

and said I had been a kind godfather to her, yea, had been a father to

her, and my excellent wife a mother. At this my heart was much moved,

and I saw tears come to the eyes of several of the bystanders, but no

tear came to the eyes of the great lady herself.

"Let this be enough," she said. "Let us finish what we have yet to do."

And thereupon, all being ready and in their due places, I began; but

when I came to the question--"Lucy Hesseltine, wilt thou have this man

to be thy lawful husband?"--a sudden noise in the court-yard under the

window made me pause; but the great lady commanded me with a frown to go

on, and I concluded the question, and received in reply a sweet but

audible "yes." But the noise was again repeated, and the assistants

sprang to their feet, for it was the sound of the sharp shooting off of

pistols.

"Stir not for your lives till the ceremony is over!" cried the great

lady; and I hurried with trembling lips over the remainder of the

service. A loud voice in the yard was heard amid the trampling of much

horse. "In the king's name, surrender!" the voice said. "We have a

warrant here, and soldiers!"

"For as much as Frederick and Lucy Hesseltine," (I said as calmly as I

could, though with my heart quaking within me) "have consented together

in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this

company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other,

and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by

joining of hands--I pronounce that they be man and wife together!"

"Now then, my lords and gentlemen," cried the great lady, springing to

her feet, "to the defence! We are witnesses of this marriage, and

clashing swords must play the wedding peel. If need be, fear not in such

quarrel to do your best; yea, to the shedding of blood! Though the blood

were my son's, it were well shed in such a holy cause. Now then, Lucy,

come! Guard the front entrance but an hour, and we shall be beyond

pursuit."

And so saying she glided rapidly, with the nearly fainting bride,

towards the hidden stairs, while Viscount Lessingholm rushed rapidly

with drawn sword down the grand flight, and sprang on his grey horse. In

the confusion my Waller had disappeared, and in great agonies of fear I

slipped into the court-yard. Oh, what a sight met my eyes! There were

several men lying dead, which had been shot or otherwise killed, and

their horses were galloping hither and thither with loose reins and

stirrups flapping; other men were groaning, and writhing in great pains,

tearing the ground with bleeding hands, and dragging themselves, if such

were possible, away from the _melee_. Meanwhile, horsemen drawn up on

either side were doing battle with sword and pistol; and the trampling

and noise of the shouting, the groans and deep execrations, all

resounding at once in that atmosphere of smoke and approaching night,

were fearful to listen to, and I bethought me of some way of escape. I

slipped within the piazza of the servants' court, and made my way

towards the gate; but here the battle raged the fiercest, the noble

Viscount Lessingholm being determined to keep it closed, and the furious

Marquis resolute to force it open, whereby an accession of men might

come to him which were shut out on the other side--the warder of the

door having only admitted the marquis himself, and about fifty of the

king's dragoons. The retainers which I had seen on my entrance amounted

to seventy or more; and seeing they had most of them been soldiers, yea,

some which had grizzled locks, having been among the shouters at Dunbar,

and on many fields besides, under the cruel eye of the ferocious Oliver

himself, they did cry "Ha, ha! at the spear of the rider, and smelt the

battle afar off." The Marquis of Danfield did spur his black war-horse,

with his sword poised high in air towards the noble Viscount of

Lessingholm, and with fierce cries the noble viscount raised also his

sword, and was in act to strike the undefended head of his assailant.

"Stop, Frederick!" cried a voice, which proceeded from the Earl

Fitzoswald; "it is Danfield himself!" whereupon the young gentleman did

ward off the blow aimed at him by the marquis, and passed on. All this I

saw ere I gave up hopes of getting out by the gate; but seeing this was

hopeless, I pursued my way back again, with intent to get out by one of

the postern windows, and hurry homeward across the fields; and having

opened a window near unto the buttery, I hung by my hands, and then

shutting my eyes and commending my soul to Heaven, I let go, and dropt

safely down upon the greensward. But ere I could recover myself

sufficiently, I was set upon as if I had been an armed enemy, by a large

number of mounted men, which were of the company of the marquis, whereby

I saw that the house was surrounded, and feared the great lady and Alice

(I would say the Viscountess Lessingholm) were intercepted in their

retreat. Howbeit, I gave myself up prisoner, by reason of various blows

with the flats of sabres, and sundry monitions to surrender or die. I

was led in great fear to the front of the court, and brought before a

proud, fierce-browed commander, which interrogated me "of all that was

going on, and whether the Lady Lucy Mallerden was in the Court?" Whereto

I answered, that I was so overcome with terror that I knew little of

what I had seen, and, with regard to the noble lady, I was persuaded she

was not within the walls. "If you answer me," he said, "truly, and tell

me what road she has taken, I will send you away in safety, and secure

you his majesty's pardon for any thing you may have done against his

crown and dignity; but if you refuse, I will assuredly hang you on the

court-yard gate the moment we gain possession thereof. Now, say which

way went they?" I was sore put to it, for it was like betraying innocent

blood to tell these savage men the course my godchild pursued in her

escape; and yet to tell an untruth was repugnant to my nature, and I

said to the captain, "It is a hard matter for me to point out where my

friends are fleeing unto."

"Then you'll be hung as high as Haman at daybreak; so you can take your

choice," said he.

"If I direct you unto the place whereunto she is gone," I said, "it will

be a hard matter to find her."

"That's our business, not yours. Tell us where it is."

"For, suppose she were in hiding in a city, a large busy place like

Bristol, and waited for a conveyance to a foreign land"----

"In Bristol! Oho, say no more! Ensign Morley, take ten of the best

mounted of the troop and scour the northern roads towards Bristol. You

will overtake them ere they are far advanced."

"I pray you, captain," I said, "to observe--I have not told you she is

gone towards Bristol."

"I know you haven't," he said smiling, "I will bear witness you have

kept her secret well; but here we are about to enter the Court, for the

firing is finished. The rebels will be on gibbets within twenty-four

hours, every one."

But there was no sign of the gate being opened. Contrariwise there did

appear, in the dimness of the evening-sky, certain dark caps above the

outside wall, which I did recognize as being worn by the serving-men of

the great lady's friends; and while we were yet talking a flight of

bullets passed close over our heads, and three or four of the troopers

fell off dead men, leaving their saddles empty and their horses

masterless.

"Draw close my men," cried the captain, "right wheel;" and setting his

men an example, he did gallop with what speed he might from the

propinquity of the wall. As for myself, I was in some sort relieved by

the knowledge that the noble mansion still continued in possession of

the Viscount Lessingholm; and comforting myself with the assurance that

no evil could befall my daughter Waller while under his protection, I

did contrive to seize by the bridle one of the dragoons' horses, (a

stout black horse, which, being never claimed, did do my farming work

for fifteen years,) and, climbing up into the saddle, betook me home to

inform my excellent wife of all these dreadful events. All next day, and

all the next--yea, for three whole days--I stayed in my quiet home,

receiving information quietly by means of a note brought to me by my

servants, that the mansion still held out, that Waller was quite safe,

and that, provided no artillery was brought to bear against them, that

they could hold out _till the time came_. What was the meaning of the

latter phraseology, I did not know; but considering it desirable at that

period to cut down certain trees on my recently purchased estate, I

proceeded with Thomas Hodge the carpenter, and various other artificers

of my parishioners, (all being friends and dependents of the great

lady,) and with saws and other instruments did level the whole row of

very large oaks and elm trees which bordered the only high-road from

Oxford; and, by some strange accident, all the trees did fall exactly

across the same, and made it utterly impossible to move thereupon with

cart or waggon; so that it was much to be suspected that the guns, which

we heard were ordered to come up from Wallingford, could by no means get

over the obstruction. It is also to be observed that Master George

Railsworth, the mason, who had contracted to repair the strong bridge

over our stream, did take this opportunity of taking down two of the

arches of the same, and could find no sufficient assistance to enable

him to restore them, which made the road impassable for horse or man. On

the following day, namely, the fifth day of November, we heard that all

the king's soldiers were suddenly ordered from all parts up to London,

and that the Marquis of Danfield had been left to his imprisonment in

Mallerden Court. Whereupon I bethought me it would be safe to venture up

once more, and bring my daughter Waller to the securer custody of my

excellent wife. Next morning, at early dawn, I accordingly did go up,

and was admitted, after a short parley, by the gate-keeper, which had a

helmet on his head and a sword in his hand. Speedily I was in the arms

of my daughter Waller, who looked as happy as if none of these scenes

had been transacted before her eyes; and moreover did refuse, in very

positive terms, to leave the Court till her dear friend Alice--I would

say the Lady Lucy--returned. I reasoned with her, and reprimanded her,

and showed her in what a fearful state of danger we all were, by reason

of the rebellion we had been guilty of against his majesty the king.

Whereupon the child did only laugh, and told me, "Here she would abide

until the time came." And with this enigmatical expression I was fain to

be content; for she would vouchsafe me no other. And, corroborative of

all which, she said, she relied on the assurances made unto her to that

effect by Sir Walter Ouseley, one of the young gentlemen which had acted

as bridegroom's man to the noble Viscount Lessingholm, and was now in

the Court as his lieutenant in the defence of the same. A goodly young

gentleman he was, and fair to look upon, and extraordinary kind to me,

soothing my fears, and encouraging me to hope for better things than

those my terrors made me anticipate. I enquired of the behavings of the

Marquis of Danfield, and learned to my surprise that it was expected

that before this day was over, if he did receive a courier, as was

thought, from the Lord Churchill, one of the king's favourite officers,

he would withdraw all his objections to the marriage, and rather be an

encourager and advocate of the same. In these discourses the time passed

away, and about three of the clock, after we had dined in the great

hall, we were looking out from the battlements and saw a dust on the

western road.

"It is Churchill's letter," said the noble Viscount Lessingholm, "and he

has kept his promise for once."

"There is too much dust for only one courier's heels--there be twenty in

company at least," replied Sir Walter Ouseley, which had the arm of my

Waller closely locked in his.

"There may be a surprise intended," cried the noble viscount. "Hoist the

flag, man the walls, treble the watchers, and sound for the men into the

yard."

We of the peaceful professions--_videlicet_, my daughter Waller and

I--did descend from the bartizan, and betook ourselves to the great

withdrawing room, to wait for the result of the approach. We had not

waited long when the door opened, and no other than the great lady

herself, and my loved and lovely godchild, the Viscountess Lessingholm,

came into the apartment. The great lady was now appareled as became her

rank, having discarded those Bohemian habiliments which were her

disguise in times of danger. Oh! it was a great sight to behold, the

meeting between the Lady Lucy and my daughter Waller; but when hurried

steps sounded on the stairs, and the door opened, and the noble viscount

rushed into her arms, it was impossible to keep from tears. My feeble

pen can venture on no such lofty flights of description, and therefore I

will not attempt it. Meanwhile, in the outer court, great shouting was

heard. Sir Walter Ouseley came up to us, and announced that the Marquis

of Danfield "presented his respects to his noble mother, and

congratulated her on the glorious news."

"I knew how it would be," she said, "with base natures such as his and

Churchill's. We accept their assistance, but despise the instrument. He

will now be fierce against his benefactor, (who, though a bad king, was

tender to his friends,) and bitterer against his faith than if he had

never been either a courtier or a bigot. I receive his congratulations,

Sir Walter Ouseley, but I decline an interview for some time to come."

"He desired me also, my lady," said Sir Walter, "to convey his blessing

to the bride, and his tender love to his new son, the Viscount

Lessingholm."

"Well, let them not reject it. The blessing even of such a father has

its value. But we must now make preparation, for the celebration of the

happy nuptials, in a style fitting the rank of the parties. The prince

is pleased with what we have done"----

The young man, Sir Walter Ouseley, who had been whispering in my ear,

here broke in on the great lady's speech.

"If it would please you, madam, at the same time, to permit two others

to be happy, I have obtained Master Willis's consent thereto, and also

the consent of this fair maiden."

The viscountess took Waller in her arms, and kissed her cheek, and the

great lady smiled.

"I knew not, Sir Walter Ouseley, that you were so perfect a soldier as

to sustain an attack and lay siege at the same time; but since in both

you have been successful, I give you my hearty good wishes. And so, dear

friends and true supporters, let us be thankful for the great

deliverance wrought for this land and nation, as well as for ourselves.

Our defender, the noble William, landed three days ago at Torbay, and is

now in Hampton Court. The king has taken flight, never to be restored.

Therefore, God save the Prince of Orange and the Lady Mary, the props

and ornaments of a true Protestant throne!"

BEAU BRUMMELL.{A}

All things change; ours is the age of masses and classes, the last was

the age of individuals. Half a dozen remarkable men then represented the

London world, in politics, poetry, bon-mots, dining out, and gaming.

Pitt and Fox, the Dukes of Queensberry and Norfolk, Sheridan and General

Scott, were the substitutes for mankind in the great metropolis. George

Brummell was the last of the beaus. The flame of beauism was expiring;

but it flamed in its socket brighter than ever, and Beau Brummell made a

more conspicuous figure in the supreme _bon-ton_ of elegant absurdity,

than any or all his predecessors. The only permanent beau on earth is

the American savage. The Indians, who have been lately exhibiting their

back-wood deformities in our island at shilling a-head, were prodigious

dressers; Greek taste might probably have dissented from their

principles of costume, but there could be no doubt of the study of their

decoration. Their _coiffeur_ might not altogether supersede either the

Titus or the Brutus in the eye of a Parisian, but it had evidently been

twisted on system; and if their drapery in general might startle Baron

Stulz, it evidently cost as dexterous cutting out, and as ambitious

tailoring, as the most _recherche_ suit that ever turned a "middling

man" into a figure for Bond Street.

But the charm which is the very soul of European fashion, is scorned by

the Indian. Change--the "Cynthia of the minute," the morning thought and

midnight dream of the dilettanti in human drapery--has no captivation

for the red man. He may like variety in his scalps or his squaws; but

not a feather, not a stripe of yellow on one cheek, or of green on

another, exhibits a sign of the common mutabilities of man. He struts in

the plumes which his fathers wore, is attired in the same nether

garments, exhibits the same head-gear, and decorates his physiognomy

with the sane proportion of white-wash, red-lead, bear's-grease, and

Prussian blue.

Beauism, in England, scarcely goes farther back than the days of Charles

II. It may be said that Elizabeth had her beaux; but the true beau being

an existence of which no man living can discover the use, and which is,

in fact, wholly useless except to his tailor and the caricaturists, the

chevaliers of the time of Queen Bess are not entitled to the honour of

the name. Raleigh, no doubt, was a good dresser; but then he could write

and fight, and was good for something. Leicester is recorded as a superb

dresser; but then he dabbled in statesmanship, war, and love-making, and

of course had not much time on his hands. The Sedleys, Rochesters, and

their compeers, had too much actual occupation, good and bad, to be

fairly ranked among those gossamery ornaments of mankind; they were idle

enough in their hearts for the purpose, but their lives were _not_

shadows, their sole object was _not_ self. They were more nice about

swords than snuff-boxes and, if they were spendthrifts, their profusion

was not limited to a diamond ring or a Perigord pie. They loved, hated,

read, wrote, frolicked and fought; they could frown as well as smile,

and see the eccentricity of their own follies as well as enjoy them. But

the true beau is a _beau-ideal_, an abstraction substantialized only by

the scissors, a concentrated essence of frivolity, infinitely sensitive

to his own indulgence, chill as the poles to the indulgence of all

others; prodigal to his own appetites, never suffering a shilling to

escape for the behoof of others; magnanimously mean, ridiculously wise,

and contemptibly clever; selfishness is the secret, the spring, and the

principle of, _par excellence_, the beau.

In the brief introduction prefixed to the "Life," some of those

individuals who approached closest to perfection of old times are

mentioned. One of those was Sir George Hewitt, on whom Etheridge, the

comic writer, sketched his Sir Fopling Flutter. This beau found a place

in poetry as well as in prose,

"Had it not better been than thus to roam,

To stay, and tie the cravat-string at home?

To strut, look big, strike pantaloon, and swear

With Hewitt--D----me, There's no action here?"

Wilson followed. He was a personage who first established the fashion of

living by one's wits. Returning from the army in Flanders with forty

shillings in his pocket, he suddenly started into high life in the most

dashing style, eclipsed every body by his equipage, stud, table, and

dress. As he was not known at the gaming-table, conjecture was busy on

the subject of his finances; and he was charitably supposed to have

commenced his career by robbing a Dutch mail of a package of diamonds.

Still he glittered, until involved in a duel with Mississippi Law; the

latter financier, probably jealous of so eminent a rival, ran a rapier

through his body.

The next on the list is Beau Fielding. He was intended for the bar, but

intending himself for nothing, his pursuit was fashion. He set up a

showy equipage, went to court, and led the life of "a man about town."

He was remarkably handsome, attracted the notice of Charles II., and

reigned as the monarch of beauism. He was rapidly ruined, but repaired

his fortune by marrying an heiress. She died; and the beau was duped by

an Englishwoman, whom he married under the idea that she was a Madame

Delaune, a widow of great wealth. Finding out the deception, he cast her

off, and married the Duchess of Cleveland, though in her sixty-first

year. For this marriage he was prosecuted, and found guilty of bigamy.

He then became reconciled to his former wife, and died, in 1712, at the

age of sixty-one. He was the Orlando of the _Tatler_.

Beau Edgeworth lives only in the record of Steele, in the 246th number

of the _Tatler_, as a "very handsome youth who frequented the

coffeehouses about Charing-Cross, and wore a very pretty ribbon with a

cross of jewels on his breast." Beau Nash completes the list of the

ancient heroes, dying in 1761, at the age of eighty-eight--a man of

singular success in his frivolous style; made for a master of the

ceremonies, the model of all sovereigns of water-drinking places; absurd

and ingenious, silly and shrewd, avaricious and extravagant. He

_created_ Bath; he taught decency to "bucks," civility to card-players,

care to prodigals, and caution to Irishmen! Bath has never seen his like

again. In English high life, birth is every thing or nothing. Men of the

lowest extraction generally start up, and range the streets arm-in-arm

with the highest. Middle life alone is prohibited to make its approach;

the line of demarcation there is like the gulf of Curtius, not to be

filled up, and is growing wider and wider every day. The line of George

Brummell is like that of the Gothic kings--without a pedigree; like that

of the Indian rajahs--is lost in the clouds of antiquity; and like that

of Romulus--puzzles the sagacious with rumours of original irregularity

of descent. But the most probable existing conjecture is, that his

grandfather was a confectioner in Bury Street, St James's. We care not a

straw about the matter, though the biographer is evidently uneasy on the

subject, doubts the trade, and seems to think that he has thrown a shade

of suspicion, a sort of exculpatory veil over this fatal rumour, by

proving that this grandfather and his wife were both buried, as is shown

by a stone, still to be seen by the curious, in St James's church-yard.

We were not before aware that Christian burial was forbidden to

confectioners. The biographer further adds the convincing evidence of

gentility, that this grandfather was buried within a few feet of the

well-known ribald, Tom Durfey. Scepticism must now hang down its head,

and fly the field.

We come to a less misty and remote period. In the house of this

ancestor, who (_proh dedecus!_) let lodgings, lived Charles Jenkinson,

then holding some nondescript office under government. We still want a

history of that singularly dexterous, shy, silent, and successful man;

who, like Jupiter in Homer, did more by a nod than others by a

harangue--made more as a scene-shifter than any actor on the stage of

Westminster--continually crept on, while whole generations of highfliers

dropped and died; and at length, like a worm at the bottom of a pool,

started up to the surface, put on wings, and fluttered in the sunshine,

Earl of Liverpool! The loss of such a biography is a positive injury to

all students of the art of rising. Jenkinson was struck by the neatness

of the autograph in which "Apartments to be Let" was displayed on the

door; and probably, conscious that the "art of letting" was the true

test of talents, made the young writer his amanuensis, and finally

obtained for him a clerkship in the treasury. He was next in connexion

with Lord North for the twelve years of that witty and blundering

nobleman's unhappy administration, and enjoyed no less than _three

offices_, by which he netted L.2500 a-year. He was abused a good deal by

the party-ink of his time; but the salary enabled him to bear spattering

to any amount, and probably only increased Lord North's sympathy for his

fellow-sufferer, until that noble lord was suffocated in the public

mire.

But after the crush of the minister, the man felt that his day was done;

and he retired to "domestic virtue" as it is termed, took a good house

in the country, enjoyed himself, and in 1794 died, leaving two sons and

a daughter, and L.65,000 among them.

George Bryan Brummell, the second son, was born in June 1778. The

biographer observes characteristically, that the beau avoided the topic

of his genealogical tree with a sacred mystery. It appears that he

avoided with equal caution all mention of the startling fact, that one

of his Christian names was _Bryan_. It never escaped his lips; it never

slipped into his signature; it was never suffered to "come between the

wind and his nobility." If it had by any unhappy chance transpired, he

must have fainted on the spot, have fled from society, and hid his

discomfiture in

"Deserts where no men abide."

Brummell was a dandy by instinct, a good dresser by the force of

original genius; a first-rate tyer of cravats on the _in_voluntary

principle. When a boy at Eton, in 1790, he acquired his first

distinction not by "longs and shorts," but by the singular nicety of his

stock with a gold buckle, the smart cut of his coat, and his finished

study of manners. Others might see glory only through hexameters and

pentameters; renown might await others only through boating or cricket;

with him the colour of his coat and the cut of his waistcoat were the

materials of fame. Fellows and provosts of Eton might seem to others the

"magnificoes" of mankind--the colossal figures which overtopped the age

by their elevation, or eclipsed it by their splendour--the "dii majorum

gentium," who sat on the pinnacle of the modern Olympus; but Brummell

saw nothing great but his tailor--nothing worthy of respect among the

human arts but the art of cutting out a coat--and nothing fit to ensure

human fame with posterity but the power to create and to bequeath a new

fashion.

But the name of dandy was of later date; the age had not attained

sufficient elegance for so polished a title; it was still buck or

macaroni; the latter having been the legacy of the semi-barbarian age

which preceded the eighteenth century. Brummell was called Buck Brummell

when an urchin at Eton--a preliminary evidence of the honours which

awaited him in a generation fitter to reward his skill and acknowledge

his superiority. Dandy was a thing yet to come, but which, in his

instance, was sure to come.

"The force of title could no further go--

The 'dandy was the heirloom of the beau.'"

Yet even in boyhood the sly and subtle style, the Brummellism of his

after years, began to exhibit itself. A party of the boys having

quarreled with the boatmen of the Thames, had fallen on one who had

rendered himself obnoxious, and were about to throw him into the river.

Brummell, who never took part in those affrays, but happened to pass by

at the time, said, "My good fellows, don't throw him into the river;

for, as the man is in a high state of perspiration, it amounts to a

certainty that he will catch cold." The boys burst into laughter, and

let their enemy run for his life.

At Eton, however, he was a general favourite for his pleasantry, the

gentleness of his manner, and the smartness of his repartee. He had

attained tolerable scholarship, was in the fifth form in 1793, the year

in which he left Eton, and wrote good Latin verses, an accomplishment

which he partially retained to his last days. From Eton he went to

Oriel, and there commenced that cutting system of which he so soon

became the acknowledged master. He cut an old Eton acquaintance simply

because he had entered at an inferior college, and discontinued visiting

another because he had invited him to meet two students of a hall which

he was pleased to consider obnoxious. In his studies he affected to

despise college distinctions, but yet wrote for the Newdigate prize, and

produced the second best poem. But his violation of college rules was

systematic and contemptuous. He always ordered his horse at hall time,

was the author of half the squibs, turned a tame jack-daw with a band on

into the quadrangle to burlesque the master, and treated all proctors'

and other penalties with contempt. Such, at least, is the character

given him by Mr Lister in Granby.

But he was now to commence a new career. In 1794 he was gazetted to a

cornetcy in the Tenth Hussars, the gift of its colonel the Prince of

Wales. Brummell's own account of this origin of his court connexions is,

that when a boy at Eton he had been presented to the Prince, and that

his subsequent intimacy grew out of the Prince's notice on that

occasion. But a friend of his told the biographer that the Prince,

hearing of the young Etonian as a second Selwyn, had asked him to his

table, and given him the commission to attach him to his service. This

was a remarkable distinction, and in any other hands would have been a

card of fortune. He was then but sixteen; he was introduced at once into

the highest society of fashion; and he was the favourite companion of a

prince who required to be amused, delighted in originality, and was fond

of having the handsomest and pleasantest men of the age in his regiment.

Brummell, though an elegant appendage to the corps, was too much about

the person of the Prince to be a diligent officer. The result was, that

he was often late on parade, and did not always know his own troop.

However, he evaded the latter difficulty in general, by a contrivance

peculiarly his own. One of his men had a large blue-tinged nose.

Whenever Brummell arrived late, he galloped between the squadrons till

he saw the blue nose. There he reined up, and felt secure. Once,

however, it happened unfortunately that during his absence there was

some change made in the squadrons, and the place of the blue nose was

shifted. Brummel, on coming up late as usual, galloped in search of his

beacon, and having found his old friend he reined up. "Mr Brummell,"

cried the colonel, "you are with the wrong troop." "No, no," said

Brummell, confirming himself by the sight of the blue nose, and adding

in a lower tone--"I know better than that; a pretty thing, indeed, if I

did not know my own troop!"

His promotion was rapid; for he obtained a troop within three years,

being captain in 1796. Yet within two years he threw up his commission.

The ground of this singular absurdity is scarcely worth enquiring into.

He was evidently too idle for any thing which required any degree of

regularity. The command of a troop requires some degree of attention

from the idlest. He had the prospect of competence from his father's

wealth; and his absolute abhorrence of all exertion was probably his

chief prompter in throwing away the remarkable advantages of his

position--a position from which the exertion of a moderate degree of

intellectual vigour, or even of physical activity, might have raised him

to high rank in either the state or the army.

Of course, various readings of his resignation have been given; some

referred it to his being obliged to wear hair-powder, which was then

ceasing to be fashionable; others, more probably, to an original love

for doing nothing. The reason which he himself assigned, was comic and

characteristic. It was his disgust at the idea of being quartered, for

however short a time, in a manufacturing town. An order arrived one

evening for the hussars to move to Manchester. Next morning early he

waited on the Prince, who, expressing surprise at a visit at such an

hour from him, was answered--"The fact is, your royal highness, I have

heard that we are ordered to Manchester. Now, you must be aware how

disagreeable this would be to _me_; I really could not go. _Think!

Manchester!_ Besides, you would not be there. I have therefore, with

your permission, determined to sell out."--"Oh, by all means, Brummell!"

said the Prince; "do as you please." And thus he stripped himself of the

highest opportunity in the most showy of all professions before he was

twenty-one.

He now commenced what is called the bachelor life of England; he took a

house in Chesterfield Street, May Fair; gave small but exquisite

dinners; invited men of rank, and even the Prince, to his table; and

avoiding extravagance--for he seldom played, and kept only a pair of

horses--established himself as a refined voluptuary.

Yet for this condition his means, though considerable, if aided by a

profession, were obviously inadequate. His fortune amounted only to

L.30,000, though to this something must be added for the sale of his

troop. His only resources thenceforth must be play, or an opulent

marriage.

Nature and art had been favourable to him; his exterior, though not

distinguished, was graceful, and his countenance, though not handsome,

was intelligent. He possessed in a certain degree the general

accomplishments, and exactly in the degree, which produce a flattering

reception in society. He was a tolerable musician, he used his pencil

with tolerable skill, and he wrote tolerable verses; more would have

been worse than useless. He dressed admirably, and, as his _cheval de

battaile_, he talked with a keenness of observation and a dexterity of

language, scarcely less rare than wit, and still more exciting among the

exhausted minds, and in the vapid phraseology, of fashion.

His person was well formed, and his dress was a matter of extreme study.

But it is rather libellous on the memory of this man of taste to

suppose, that he at all resembled in this important matter the strutting

display which we have seen in later times, and which irresistibly

strikes the beholder with surprise, that any man capable of seeing

himself in the glass could exhibit so strong a temptation to laughter;

while to the more knowing in the affairs of costume, it betrays

instantly the secret that the exhibitor is simply a walking placard for

a tailor struggling for employment, and supplying the performer on the

occasion with a wardrobe for the purpose. Brummell's dress was finished

with perfect skill, but without the slightest attempt at exaggeration.

Plain Hessian boots and pantaloons, or top boots and buckskins, which

were then more the fashion than they are now; a blue coat, and a buff

coloured waistcoat--for he somewhat leaned to Foxite politics for

form's-sake, however he despised all politics as unworthy of a man born

to give the tone to fashion--was his morning dress. In the evening, he

appeared in a blue coat and white waistcoat, black pantaloons closely

fitting, and buttoning tight to the ankle, striped silk stockings, and

opera hat. We may thus observe how much Brummell went _before_ his age;

for while he thus originated a dress which no modern refinement has yet

exceeded, and which contained all that is _de bon ton_ in modern

equipment, he was living in the midst of a generation almost studiously

barbarian--the Foxite imitators of the French republicans--where every

man's principle was measured by the closeness of his approach to

savagery; and nothing but the War interposed to prevent the

_sans-culottism_ alike of the body and the mind.

Brummell, though not possessing the patronage of a secretary of state,

had the power of making men's fortunes. His principal tailors were

Schweitzer and Davidson of Cork street, Weston, and Meyer of Conduit

street. Those names have since disappeared, but their memory is dear to

dandyism; and many a superannuated man of elegance will give "the

passing tribute of a sigh" to the incomparable neatness of their "fit,"

and the unrivaled taste of their scissors. Schweitzer and Meyer worked

for the Prince, and the latter was in some degree a royal favourite, and

one of the household. He was a man of genius at his needle; an inventor,

who even occasionally disputed the palm of originality with Brummell

himself. The point is not yet settled to whom was due the happy

conception of the trouser opening at the ankle and closed by buttons.

Brummell laid his claim openly, at least to its improvement; while

Meyer, admitting the elegance given to it by the tact of Brummell,

persisted in asserting his right to the invention. Yet if, as was said

of gunpowder and printing, the true inventor is the man who first brings

the discovery into renown, the honour is here Brummell's, for he was the

first who _established_ the trouser in the Bond street world.

The Prince, at this period, cultivated dress with an ardour which

threatened to dethrone Brummell himself, and his wardrobe was calculated

to have cost L.100,000. But his royal highness had one obstacle to

encounter which ultimately drove him from the field, and restricted all

his future chances of distinction to wigs; he began to grow corpulent. A

scarcely less formidable evil arose in his quarreling with Brummell. In

the course of hostilities, the Prince pronounced the beau a tailor's

block, fit for nothing but to hang clothes on; while the retaliation

came in the shape of a caricature, in which a pair of leather breeches

is exhibited lashed up between the bed-posts, and an enormously fat man,

lifted up to them, is making a desperate struggle to get his limbs

properly seated in their capacity: another operation of a still more

difficult nature, the making the waistband meet, still threatening to

defy all exertion.

Brummell's style was in fact simplicity, but simplicity of the most

studied kind. Lord Byron defined it, "a certain exquisite propriety of

dress." "_No_ perfumes," the Beau used to say, "but fine linen, plenty

of it, and _country_ washing." His opinion on this subject, however,

changed considerably in after time; for he used perfumes, and attributed

a characteristic importance to their use. Meeting a gentleman at a ball

with whom he conversed for a while, some of the party enquired the

stranger's name. "Can't possibly tell," was the Beau's answer. "But he

is evidently a gentleman--his perfumes are good." He objected to country

gentlemen being introduced into Watier's, on the ground "that their

boots always smelt of horse-dung and bad blacking."

His taste in matters of _virtu_ was one of the sources of his profusion;

but it always had a reference to himself. He evidently preferred a

snuff-box which he could display in his hand, to a Raphael which he

could exhibit only on his wall. His snuff-boxes were numerous and

costly. But even in taking snuff he had his style: he always opened the

box with _one_ hand, the left. The Prince imitated him in this _tour de

grace_.

A fashion always becomes more fashionable as it becomes more ridiculous.

People cling to it as they pet a monkey, for its deformity. The high

head-dresses of France, which must have been a burden, made the tour of

Europe, and endured through a century. The high heels, which almost

wholly precluded safe walking, lasted their century. The use of powder

was universal until it was driven out of France by republicanism, and

out of England by famine. The flour used by the British army alone for

whitening their heads was calculated to amount to the annual provision

for 50,000 people. Snuff had been universally in use from the middle of

the seventeenth century; and the sums spent on this filthy and foolish

indulgence, the time wasted on it, and the injury done to health, if

they could all have been thrown into the common form of money, would

have paid the national debt of England. The common people have their

full share in this general absurdity. The gin drunk in England and Wales

annually amounts to nearly twenty millions of pounds sterling; a sum

which would pay all the poor rates three times over, and, turned to any

public purpose, might cover the land with great institutions--the

principal result of this enormous expenditure now being to fill the

population with vice, misery, and madness.

In the matter of coats Brummell had but one rival, the Prince, whose

rank of course gave him a general advantage, yet whose taste was clearly

held as inferior by the royal _artistes_ themselves. A baronet, who went

to Schweitzer's to get himself equipped in the first style, asked him

what cloth he recommended. "Why, sir," was the answer, "the Prince wears

superfine, and Mr Brummell the Bath coating. Suppose, sir, we say Bath

coating; I think Mr Brummell has a trifle the preference." Brummell's

connexion with the Prince, his former rank in the hussars, and his own

agreeable manners, introduced him to the intercourse of the principal

nobility. In the intervals of his visits to the Prince at Brighton, he

visited Belvoir, Chatsworth, Woburn, &c. But he was absolutely _once_ in

town in the month of November, as is proved by the following note from

Woburn:--

MY DEAR BRUMMELL,--By some accident, which I am unable to account

for, your letter of Wednesday did not reach me till Wednesday. I

make it a rule never to lend my box; but you have the _entree

libre_ whenever you wish to go there, as I informed the boxkeeper

last year. I hope Beauvais and you will do great execution at

Up-Park. I shall probably be there shortly after you.--Ever yours

sincerely,

"BEDFORD."

At Belvoir he was _l'ami de la famille_, and at Cheveley, another seat

of the Duke of Rutland's, his rooms were as sacred as the Duke of

York's, who was a frequent visitor there. On the Duke of Rutland's

coming of age, in 1799, great rejoicings took place at Belvoir, and

Brummell was one of the distinguished party there, among whom were the

Prince of Wales, the late Duke of Argyll, the Marquis of Lorn, and the

other chief fashionable people of the day. This _fete_ was memorable,

for it was said to have cost L.60,000. Brummell was not altogether

effeminate; he could both shoot and ride, but he liked neither: he was

never a Melton man. He said that he could not bear to have his tops and

leathers splashed by the greasy galloping farmers. The Duke of Rutland

raised a corps of volunteers on the renewal of the war in 1803; and as

Brummell had been a soldier the duke gave him a majority. In the course

of the general inspections of the volunteer corps, an officer was sent

from the Horse Guards to review the duke's regiment, the major being in

command. On the day of the inspection every one was on parade except the

major-commandant. Where is Major Brummell, was the indignant enquiry? He

was not to be found. The inspection went on. When it was near its close,

Brummell was soon coming full gallop across the country in the uniform

of the Belvoir Hunt, terribly splashed. He apologized for himself by

saying, that having left Belvoir quite early, he had expected to be on

the parade in time, the meet being close at hand. However, his favourite

hunter had landed him in a ditch, where, having been dreadfully shaken

by the fall, he had been lying for an hour. But the general was

inexorable, and Brummell used to give the worthy officer's speech in the

following style--"Sir, this conduct is wholly inexcusable. If I remember

right, sir, you once had the honour of holding a captain's commission

under his royal highness the Prince of Wales, the heir-apparent himself,

sir! Now, sir, I tell you; I tell you sir, that I should be wanting in a

proper zeal for the honour of the service; I should be wanting, sir, if

I did not this very evening report this disgraceful neglect of orders to

the commander-in-chief, as well as the state in which you present

yourself in front of your regiment; and this shall be done, sir. You may

retire, sir."

All this was very solemn and astounding; but Brummell's presence of mind

was not often astounded. He had scarcely walked his horse a few paces

from the spot, when he returned, and said in a subdued tone--"Excuse me,

general; but, in my anxiety to explain this most unfortunate business, I

forgot to deliver a message from the Duke of Rutland. It was to request

the honour of your company at dinner." The culprit and the

disciplinarian grinned together; the general coughed, and cleared his

throat sufficiently to express his thanks in these words--"Ah! why,

really I feel and am very much obliged to his grace. Pray, Major

Brummell, tell the duke I shall be most happy;" and melodiously raising

his voice, (for the Beau had turned his horse once more towards

Belvoir,) "Major Brummell, as to this little affair, I am sure no man

can regret it more than you do. Assure his grace that I shall have great

pleasure in accepting his very kind invitation;" and they parted amid a

shower of smiles. But Brummell had yet but half completed his

performance; for the invitation was extempore, and he must gallop to

Belvoir to acquaint the duke of the guest he was to receive on that day.

Brummell always appeared at the cover side, admirably dressed in a white

cravat and white tops, which latter either he, or Robinson his valet,

introduced, and which eventually superseded the brown ones. The subtlety

of Brummell's sneers, which made him so highly amusing to the first rank

of society, made him an object of alarm if not of respect to others. "Do

you see that gentleman near the door?" said a woman of rank to her

daughter, who had been brought for the first time to Almack's. "Yes! Who

is he?" replied the young lady. "A person, my dear, who will probably

come and speak to us; and if he enters into conversation, be careful to

give him a favourable impression of you, for he is the celebrated Mr

Brummell." The _debutante_ was the daughter of a duke. It has been said

that Madame de Stael considered herself as having failed to attract his

approval, and that she spoke of it as the greatest _malheur_ which had

occurred to her during her stay in London, the next in point of calamity

being that the Prince had not called on her in person. The Beau

perfectly knew his own value. In reply to a nobleman who charged him

with involving his son in a gaming transaction, he said--"Really I did

my best for the young man; I gave him my arm all the way from White's to

Watier's." However, there can be no doubt that he was very often

intolerably impudent; and, as impudence is always vulgar, he was guilty

of vulgarity. Dining at a gentleman's house in Hampshire, where the

champagne did not happen to suit his taste, he refused his glass when

the servant came to help him a second time, with--"No, thank you, I

don't drink cider!" The following anecdote is rather better known.

"Where were you yesterday, Brummell?" said one of his club friends. "I

think," said he, "I dined in the city." "What! you dined in the city?"

said his friend. "Yes, the man wished me to bring him into notice, and I

desired him to give a dinner, to which I invited Alvanley, Mills,

Pierrepoint, and some others." "All went off well, of course?" said the

friend. "Oh yes! perfectly, except one _mal-a-apropos_: the fellow who

gave the dinner had actually the assurance to seat himself at the

table."

Dining at a large party at the house of an opulent but young member of

London society, he asked the loan of his carriage to take him to Lady

Jersey's that evening. "I am going there," said his entertainer, "and

will be happy to take you." "Still, there is a difficulty," said

Brummell in his most delicate tone. "You do not mean to get up behind,

that would not be quite right in your own carriage; and yet, how would

it do for me to be seen in the same carriage with you?" Brummell's

manner probably laughed off impertinences of this order; for, given

without their colouring from nature, they would have justified an angry

reply. But he seems never to have involved himself in personal quarrel.

He was intact and intangible. Yet he, too, had his mortifications. One

night, in going to Lady Dungannon's, he was actually obliged to make use

of a hackney coach. He got out of it at an unobserved distance from the

door, and made his way up her ladyship's crowded staircase, conceiving

that he had escaped all evidence of his humiliation; however, this was

not to be. As he was entering the drawing-room a servant touched his

arm, and to his amazement and horror whispered--"Beg pardon, sir,

perhaps you are not aware of it, that there is a straw sticking to your

shoe." His style found imitations in the public prints, and one

sufficiently characteristic thus set forth the merits of a new patent

carriage step:--"There is an art in every thing; and whatever is worthy

of being learned, cannot be unworthy of a teacher." Such was the logical

argument of the professor of the art of stepping in and out of a

carriage, who represented himself as much patronised by the sublime

Beau Brummell, whose deprecation of those horrid coach steps he would

repeat with great delight:--

"Mr Brummell," he used to say, "considered the sedan was the only

vehicle for a gentleman, it having no steps; and he invariably had

his own chair, which was lined with white satin quilted, had down

squabs, and a white sheepskin rug at the bottom, brought to the

door of his dressing-room, on that account always on the

ground-floor, from whence it was transferred with its owner to the

foot of the staircase of the house that he condescended to visit.

Mr Brummell has told me," continued the professor, "that to enter a

coach was torture to him. 'Conceive,' said he, 'the horror of

sitting in a carriage with an iron apparatus, afflicted with the

dreadful thought, the cruel apprehension, of having one's leg

crushed by the machinery. Why are not the steps made to fold

_outside_? The only detraction from the luxury of a _vis a vis_, is

the double distress! for _both_ legs--excruciating idea!'"

Brummell's first reform was the neckcloth. Even his reform has passed

away; such is the transitory nature of all human achievements. But the

art of neckcloths was once more than a dubious title to renown in the

world of Bond Street. The politics of the time were disorderly; and the

dress of politicians had become as disorderly as their principles. The

fortunes of Whiggism, too, had run low; and the velvet coat and

embroidered waistcoat, the costly buckles and gold buttons of better

days, were heavier drains on the decreasing revenues of the party than

could be long sustained with impunity. Fox had already assumed the

sloven--the whole faction followed; and the ghosts of the old

oppositionists, in their tie wigs and silver-laced coats, would have

been horrified by the sight of the shock-headed, leather-breeched, and

booted generation who howled and harangued on the left side of the

Speaker's chair from 1789 to 1806. All was _canaille_. Fox could

scarcely have been more shabby, had he been the representative of a

population of bankrupts. The remainder of the party might have been

supposed, without any remarkable stretch of imagination, to have emerged

from the workhouse. All was sincere squalidness, patriotic

pauperism--the _un_washing principle. One of the cleverest caricatures

of that cleverest of caricaturists, the Scotchman Gilray, was his sketch

of the Whigs preparing for their first levee after the Foxite accession

on the death of Pitt. The title was, "_Making decent!_" The whole of the

new ministry were exhibited in all the confusion of throwing off their

rags, and putting on their new clothing. There stood Sheridan,

half-smothered in the novel attempt to put on a clean shirt. In another

corner Fox, Grey, and Lord Moira, straining to peep into the same

shaving-glass, were all three making awkward efforts to use the

long-forgotten razor. Others were gazing at themselves in a sort of

savage wonder at the strangeness of new washed faces. Some _sans

culottes_ were struggling to get into breeches; and others, whose feet

were accustomed to the ventilation of shoes which let their toes

through, were pondering over the embarrassment of shoes impervious to

the air. The minor apparatus of court costume scattered round on the

chairs, the bags and swords, the buckles and gloves, were stared at by

the groups with the wonder and perplexity of an American Indian.

Into this irregular state of things Brummell made his first stride in

the spirit of a renovator. The prevailing cravat of the time was

certainly deplorable. Let us give it in the words of history:--"It was

without stiffening of any kind, and bagged out in front, _rucking_ up to

the front in a roll." (We do not precisely comprehend this expression,

whose _precision_, however, we by no means venture to doubt.) Brummell

boldly met this calamity, by slightly starching the too flexible

material--a change in which, as his biographer with due seriousness and

truth observes--"a reasoning mind must acknowledge there is not much

objectionable."

Imitators, of course, always exceed their model, and the cravat adopted

by the dandies soon became _excessively_ starched; the test being that

of raising three parts of their length by one corner without bending.

Yet Brummell, though he adhered to the happy medium, and was moderate in

his starch, was rigorous in his tie. If his cravat did not correspond to

his wishes in its first arrangement, it was instantly cast aside. His

valet was seen one morning leaving his chamber with an armful of tumbled

cravats, and on being asked the cause, solemnly replied, "These are our

_failures_."

Perfection is slow in all instances; but talent and diligence are sure

to advance. Brummell's "tie" became speedily the admiration of the _beau

monde_. The manner in which this dexterous operation was accomplished

was perfectly his own, and deserves to be recorded for the benefit of

posterity.

The collar, which was always fixed to his shirt, was so large, that,

before being folded down, it completely hid his head and face, and the

neckcloth was at least a foot in height. The first _coup d'archet_ was

made with the shirt-collar, which he folded down to its proper size; but

the delicate part of the performance was still to come. Brummell

"standing before the glass, with his chin raised towards the ceiling,

now, by the gentle and gradual declension of his lower jaw, creased the

cravat to reasonable dimensions; the form of each succeeding crease

being perfected with the shirt which he had just discarded." We were not

aware of the nicety which was demanded to complete the folds of this

superior swathing; but, after this development, who shall pronounce a

dandy idle?

Brummell was as critical on the dress of others as he was _recherche_ in

his own, and this care he extended to all ranks. He was once walking up

St James's Street, arm-in-arm with a young nobleman whom he condescended

to patronize. The Beau suddenly asked him, "what he called _those

things_ on his feet."--"Why, shoes."--"Shoes are they?" said Brummell

doubtfully, and stooping to look at them; "I thought they were

slippers?"

The late Duke of Bedford asked him his opinion of a new coat. "Turn

round," said Mr Beau. When the examination was concluded in front and

rear, the Beau, feeling the lapel delicately with his finger and thumb,

asked in a most pathetic manner, "Bedford, do you call this _thing_ a

coat?"

Somebody told him, among a knot of loungers at White's, "Brummell, your

brother William is in town. Is he not coming here?"--"Yes," was the

reply, "in a day or two; but I have recommended him to walk the _back

streets_ till his new clothes come home."

Practical jokes are essentially vulgar, and apt to be hazardous besides;

two reasons which should have prevented their performance by an

individual whose object was to be the standard of elegance, and whose

object at no time was to expose himself to the rougher remonstrances of

mankind; but the following piece of sportiveness was at least amusing.

Meeting an old _emigre_ marquis at the seat of some noble friend, and

probably finding the Frenchman a bore, he revenged himself by mixing

some finely powdered sugar in his hair-powder. On the old Frenchman's

coming into the breakfast-room next morning, highly powdered as usual,

the flies, attracted by the scent of the sugar, instantly gathered round

him. He had scarcely begun his breakfast, when every fly in the room was

busy on his head. The unfortunate marquis was forced to lay down his

knife and fork, and take out his pocket-handkerchief to repel these

troublesome assailants, but they came thicker and thicker. The victim

now rose from his seat and changed his position; but all was in

vain--the flies followed in fresh clusters. In despair he hurried to the

window; but every fly lingering there was instantly buzzing and

tickling. The marquis, feverish with vexation and surprise, threw up the

window. This unlucky measure produced only a general invasion by all the

host of flies sunning themselves on the lawn. The astonishment and

amusement of the guests were excessive. Brummell alone never smiled. At

last M. le Marquis gave way in agony, and, clapping his hands on his

head, and followed by a cloud of flies, rushed out of the room. The

secret was then divulged, and all was laughter.

"Poodle B--g," so well known in the world of fashion, owed his

_soubriquet_ to Brummell. B--g was fond of letting his hair, which was

light-coloured, curl round his forehead. He was one day driving in his

curricle, with a poodle by his side. The Beau hailed him with--"Ah,

B--g, how do you do?--A _family_ vehicle, I see."

Some of those oddities of expression are almost too well known now for

effect; but they must have sparkled prodigiously among the exhausted

circles of his West-end day.

"You seem to have caught cold, Brummell," said a lounging visitor on

hearing him cough. "Yes--I got out of my carriage yesterday, coming from

the Pavilion, and the wretch of an innkeeper put me into the coffee-room

with a damp stranger."

In a stormy August--"Brummell, did any one ever see such a summer

day?"--"Yes, _I_ did, last winter."

On returning from a country mansion, of which he happened to disapprove,

he defined it "An exceedingly good house for stopping a _single_ night

in."

On the whole, the biographer has given a tolerable selection of

Brummell's _hits_, some of which, however, were so intolerably

impertinent, that he must have either thoroughly "known his man," or he

must have smoothed down their severity by some remarkable tone of voice

or pleasantry of visage. Without those palliations, it is not easy to

comprehend his occasional rudeness even to friends. One day, standing

and speaking at the carriage-door of a lady, she expressed her surprise

at his throwing away his time on so quiet and unfashionable a

person.--"My dear friend, don't mention it: there is _no one to see

us_."

But his admiration for the sex must have often brought him close on the

edge of serious inconvenience. Once, at the house of a nobleman, he

requested a moment's interview in the library, and then and there

communicated the formidable intelligence, "that he must immediately

leave the house--on that day."

"Why, you intended to stay a month," said his hospitable entertainer.

"True--but I must be gone--I feel I am in love with your countess."

"Well, my dear sir, I can't help that. I was in love with her myself

twenty years ago," said the good-humoured husband. "But is she in love

with you?"

The Beau cast down his eyes, and, in all the modesty of impudence, said

faintly, "I believe she is."

"Oh! that alters the case. I shall send for your post-horses. Good

morning."

His life was flirtation, a matter which could not be indulged in

matrimony, and he therefore never married. Yet once he went so far as to

elope with a young person of rank from a ball: the pair were, however,

immediately overtaken. The affair was, of course, the talk of the clubs.

But Brummell had his own way of wearing the willow. "On the whole," said

he, "I consider I have reason to congratulate myself. I lately heard

from her favourite maid that her ladyship had been seen--_to drink

beer_!"

Some of the Beau's letters at this period are given; but they are not

fortunate specimens of his taste: even in writing to women they are

quaint, affected, and approaching to that unpardonable crime, dulness.

His letters written in his wane of life, and under the realities of

suffering, are much more striking, contain some pathetic and even some

powerful language, and show that fashion and his own follies had

obscured a mind of natural talent, if not of original tenderness.

The following letter we look upon as quite sufficient to have excluded

him from the recollections of any Lady Jane on earth, if she happened to

know the difference between coxcombry and common feeling:--

"MY DEAR LADY JANE,--With the miniature, it seems, I am not to be

trusted even for two _pitiful_ hours. My own memory must be then my

only _disconsolate_ expedient to obtain a resemblance.

"As I am unwilling to merit the imputation of committing myself by

too flagrant a liberty in retaining your glove, which you

charitably sent at my head yesterday, as you would have extended an

_eleemosynary sixpence_ to the _supplicating hat_ of a mendicant, I

restore it to you. And, allow me to assure you, that I have too

much regard and respect for you, and too little practical vanity

myself, (whatever appearances may be against me,) to have

entertained, for one _treacherous_ instant, the impertinent

intention to defraud you of it. You are angry, perhaps irreparably

incensed against me for this _petty larceny_. I have no defence to

offer in mitigation but that of _frenzy_. But you know that you are

an _angel_ visiting these sublunary spheres, and therefore your

first quality should be that of mercy. Yet you are sometimes

wayward and volatile in your _seraphic_ disposition. Though you

have no wings yet you have weapons, and those are resentment and

estrangement from me.--With sentiments of the deepest

_compunction_, I am always your _miserable slave_,

"GEORGE BRUMMELL."

We have not a doubt that he perused this toilsome performance a dozen

times before he folded it up, advanced to his mirror to see how so

brilliant a correspondent must look after so astonishing a production,

moved round the room in a minuet step; and, when he sent it away at

last, followed it with a sigh at the burial of so much renown in a

woman's escritoire, and a regret that it could not be stereotyped to

make its progress round the world. And yet, as it appeared that the lady

had thrown the glove at him, and even lent him her miniature, it would

be difficult to discover any ground for her wrath or his compunction.

Both were evidently equally imaginary.

The Beau always regarded the city as a _terra incognita_. A merchant

once asked him to dine there. Brummell gave him a look of intense

enquiry. The merchant pressed him. "Well," said the Beau, (who probably

had excellent reasons for non-resistance to the man of money;) "well, if

it _must_ be--but you must first promise faithfully _never_ to say a

word on the subject."

A visitor, full of the importance of a tour in the north of England,

asked him which of the lakes he preferred. "I can't possibly remember,"

was the reply; "they are a great way from St James's Street, and I don't

think they are spoken of in the clubs." The visitor urged the question.

"Robinson," said the Beau, turning in obvious distress to his valet,

"Robinson, pray tell this gentleman which of the lakes I

preferred."--"Windermere, sir, I think it was," said the valet. "Well,"

added Brummell, "probably you are in the right, Robinson. It may have

been. Pray, sir, will Windermere do?"

"I wonder, Brummell, you take the trouble of driving to the barracks of

the 10th with four horses. It certainly looks rather superb," said one

of the officers. "Why, I dare say it does; but that is not _the_ point.

What could I do, when my French valet, the best dresser of hair in the

universe, gave me warning that he must leave me to myself, unless I gave

up the vulgarity of posting with _two_?"

We come, in the course of this goodly history, to the second great event

of the Beau's life--the first being his introduction to Carlton House.

The second was his being turned out of it. Brummell always denied, and

with some indignation, the story of "Wales, ring the bell!"--a version

which he justly declared to be "positively vulgar," and therefore, with

due respect for his own sense of elegance, absolutely impossible for

_him_. He gave the more rational explanation, that he had taken the part

of lady who was presumed to be the rival of Mrs Fitzherbert, and had

been rash enough even to make some remarks on Mrs Fitzherbert's _en bon

point_, a matter of course never to be forgiven by a belle. This

extended to a "declining love" between him and the Prince, whose foible

was a horror of growing corpulent, and whom Brummell therefore

denominated "Big Ben," the nickname of a gigantic porter at Carlton

House; adding the sting of calling Mrs Fitzherbert Benina. Moore, in one

of his satires on the Prince's letter of February the 13th, 1812, to the

Duke of York, in which he _cut_ the Whigs, thus parodies that celebrated

"sentence of banishment:"--

"Neither have I resentments, nor wish there should come ill

To mortal, except, now I think on't, Beau Brummell,

Who threaten'd, last year, in a super-fine passion,

To cut _me_, and bring the old king into fashion."

Brummell now, since the sword was drawn, resolved to throw away the

sheath, and his hits were keen and "damaging," as those things are now

termed. In this style he said to little Colonel M'Mahon, the Prince's

secretary--"I made him, and I shall unmake him."

The "fat friend" hit was more pungent in reality than in its usual form.

The Prince, walking down St James's Street with Lord Moira, and seeing

Brummell approaching arm-in-arm with a man of rank, determined to show

the openness of the quarrel, stopped and spoke to the noble lord with an

apparent unconsciousness of ever having seen the Beau before. The

moment he was turning away, Brummell asked, in his most distinct voice,

"Pray, _who_ is your _fat_ friend?" Nothing could be more dexterously

impudent; for it repaid the Prince's pretended want of recognition

precisely in his own coin, and besides stung him in the very spot where

he was known to be most thin-skinned.

It is sufficiently remarkable, that the alienation of the Prince from

Brummell scarcely affected his popularity with the patrician world, or

his reception by the Duke and Duchess of York. He was a frequent guest

at Oatlands, and seems to have amused the duke by his pleasantry, and

cultivated the taste of the duchess by writing her epigrams, and making

her presents of little dogs. The Duke of York, though not much gifted

with the faculty of making jests, greatly enjoyed them in others. He was

a good-humoured, easy-mannered man, wholly without affectation of any

kind; well-intentioned, with some sagacity--mingled, however, with a

good deal of that abruptness which belonged to all the Brunswicks; and

though unfortunate in his domestic conduct, a matter on which it would

do no service to the reader to enlarge, yet a brave soldier, and a

zealous and most useful commander-in-chief at the Horse Guards. He, too,

could say good things now and then. One day at Oatlands, as he was

mounting his horse to ride to town, seeing a poor woman driven from the

door, he asked the servant what she was. "A beggar, your royal highness:

nothing but a soldier's wife."--"Nothing but a soldier's wife! And pray,

sir, what is your mistress?" Of course, the poor woman was called back

and relieved.

Still Brummell continued in high life, and was one of the four who gave

the memorable _fete_ at the Argyll Rooms in July 1813, in consequence of

having won a considerable sum at hazard. The other three were, Sir Henry

Mildmay, Pierrepoint, and Lord Alvanley. The difficulty was, whether or

not to invite the Prince, who had quarrelled with Mildmay as well as

with Brummell. In this solemn affair Pierrepoint sounded the Prince, and

ascertained that he would accept the invitation if it were proposed to

him. When the Prince arrived, and was of course received by the four

givers of the _fete_, he shook hands with Alvanley and Pierrepoint, but

took no notice whatever of the others. Brummell was indignant, and, at

the close of the night, would not attend the Prince to his carriage.

This was observed, and the Prince's remark on it next day was--"Had

Brummell taken the cut I gave him last night good-humouredly, I should

have renewed my intimacy with him." How that was to be done, however,

without lying down to be kicked, it would be difficult to discover.

Brummell however, on this occasion, was undoubtedly as much in the right

as the Prince was in the wrong.

Brummell, in conformity to the habits of the time, and the proprieties

of his caste, was of course a gambler, and of course was rapidly ruined;

but we have no knowledge that he went through the whole career, and

turned swindler. One night he was playing with Combe, who united the

three characters of a lover of play, a brewer, and an alderman. It was

at Brookes's, and in the year of his mayoralty. "Come, Mash Tub, what do

you set?" said the Beau. "Twenty-five guineas," was the answer. The Beau

won, and won the same sum twelve times running. Then, putting the cash

in his pocket, said with a low bow, "Thank you, alderman; for this, I'll

always patronize your porter."--"Very well, sir," said Combe dryly, "I

only wish every other blackguard in London would do the same."

At this time play ran high at the clubs. A baronet now living was said

to have lost at Watier's L.10,000 at one sitting, at _ecarte_. In 1814,

Brummell lost not only all his winnings, but "an unfortunate L.10,000,"

as he expressed it, the last that he had at his bankers. Brummell was

now ruined; and, to prevent the possibility of his recovery at any

future period, he raised money at ruinous interest, and finally made his

escape to Calais. Still, when every thing else forsook him, his odd way

of telling his own story remained. "He said," observed one of his

friends at Caen, when talking about his altered circumstances, "that, up

to a particular period of his life, every thing prospered with him, and

that he attributed this good luck to the possession of a silver sixpence

with a hole in it, which somebody had given him some years before, with

an injunction to take good care of it, as every thing would go well with

him so long as he kept it, and everything the contrary if he happened to

lose it." And so it turned out; for having at length, in an evil hour,

given it by mistake to a hackney coachman, a complete reverse of his

affairs took place, and one misfortune followed another until he was

obliged to fly. On his being asked why he did not advertise a reward for

it, he answered--"I did; and twenty people came with sixpences with

holes in them for the reward, but not _my_ sixpence." "And you never

heard any more of it?" "No," he replied; "no doubt that rascal

Rothschild, or some of that set, have got hold of it." But the Beau's

retreat from London was still to be characteristic. As it had become

expedient that he must make his escape without _eclat_, on the day of

his intended retreat he dined coolly at his club, and finished his

London performances by sending from the table a note to his friend

Scrope Davies, couched in the following prompt and expressive form:--

"MY DEAR SCROPE,--Lend me two hundred pounds: the banks are shut,

and all my money is in the 3 per cents. It shall be repaid

to-morrow morning.--Yours, GEORGE BRUMMELL."

The answer was equally prompt and expressive--

"MY DEAR GEORGE,--It is very unfortunate, but all _my_ money is in

the 3 per cents.--Yours, S. DAVIES."

Such is the story;

"I cannot tell how the truth may be,

I tell the tale as 'twas told to me."

Nothing daunted, the Beau went to the opera, allowed himself to be seen

about the house, then quickly retiring, stepped into a friend's chaise

and met his own carriage, which waited for him a short distance from

town. Travelling all night with four horses, he reached Dover by

morning, hired a vessel to carry him over, and soon left England and his

creditors behind. He was instantly pursued; but the chase stopped on

reaching the sea. Debtors could not then be followed to France, and

Brummell was secure.

The little, rude, and thoroughly comfortless town of Calais was now to

be the place of residence, for nearly the rest of his life, to a man

accustomed to the highest luxuries of London life, trained to the

keenest sensibility of London enjoyment, and utterly absorbed in London

objects of every kind. Ovid's banishment among the Thracians could

scarcely be a more formidable change of position. Yet Brummell's

pleasantry did not desert him even in Calais. On some passing friend's

remark on the annoyance of living in such a place--"Pray," said the

Beau, "is it not a general opinion that a gentleman might manage to

spend his time pleasantly enough _between_ London and Paris?"

At Calais he took apartments at the house of one Leleux, an old

bookseller, which he fitted up to his own taste; and on which, as if

adversity had no power to teach him common prudence, he expended the

greater part of the 25,000 francs which, by some still problematical

means, he had contrived to carry away with him. This was little short of

madness; but it was a madness which he had been practising for the last

dozen years, and habit had now rendered ruin familiar to him. At length

a little gleam of hope shone across his fortunes. George IV. arrived at

Calais on his way to Hanover. The Duke d'Angouleme came from Paris to

receive his Majesty, and Calais was all in a tumult of loyalty. The

reports of Brummell's conduct on this important arrival, of the King's

notice of him, and of the royal liberality in consequence, were of every

shape and shade of invention. But all of them, except the mere

circumstance of the King's pronouncing his name, seem to have been

utterly false. Brummell, mingling in the crowd which cheered his Majesty

in his progress, was observed by the King, who audibly said, "Good

heavens, Brummell!" But the recognition proceeded no further. The Beau

sent his valet, who was a renowned maker of punch, to exhibit his talent

in that art at the royal entertainment, and also sent a present of some

excellent maraschino. But no result followed. The King was said to have

transmitted to him a hundred pound note; but even this is unluckily

apocryphal. Leleux, his landlord, thus gives the version. The English

consul at Calais came to Mr Brummell late one evening, and intimated

that the King was out of snuff, saying, as he took up one of the boxes

lying on his table, "Give me one of yours."--"With all my heart," was

the reply; "but not that box, for if the King saw it I should never have

it again"--implying that there was some story attached to it. On

reaching the theatre the consul presented the snuff, and the King

turning, said, "Why, sir, where did you get your snuff? There is only

one person that I know that can mix snuff in this way!"--"It is some of

Mr Brummell's, your Majesty," replied the consul. The next day the King

left Calais; and, as he seated himself in the carriage, he said to Sir

Arthur Paget, who commanded the yacht that brought him over, "I leave

Calais, and have not seen Brummell." From this his biographer infers

that he had received neither money nor message, and his landlord is of

the same opinion. But slight as those circumstances are, it seems

obvious that George IV. had a forgiving heart towards the Beau

notwithstanding all his impertinences, that he would have been glad to

forgive him, and that he would, in all probability, have made some

provision for his old favourite if Brummell had exhibited any signs of

repentance. On the other hand, Brummell was a man of spirit, and no man

ought to put himself in the way of being treated contemptuously even by

royalty; but it seems strange that, with all his adroitness, he should

not have hit upon a middle way. There could have been no great

difficulty in ascertaining whether the King would receive him, in

sending a respectful message, in offering his loyal congratulations on

the King's arrival, or even in expressing his regret at his long

alienation from a Prince to whom he had been once indebted for so many

favours, and who certainly never harboured resentment against man.

Brummell evidently repented his tardiness on this occasion; for he made

up his mind to make a more direct experiment when the King should visit

the town-hall on his return. But opportunities once thrown away are

seldom regained. The king on his return did not visit the town-hall, but

hurried on board, and the last chance of reconciliation was gone.

Yet during his long residence in Calais, the liberality of his own

connexions in England enabled him to show a good face to poverty. He

paid his bills punctually whenever the remittance came, and was

charitable to the mendicants who, probably for the last thousand years,

have made Calais their headquarters. The general name for him was the

_Roi de Calais_. An anecdote of his pleasantry in almsgiving reached the

public ear. A French beggar asked him for a two-sous piece. "I don't

know the coin," said Brummell, "never having had one; but I suppose you

mean a franc. There, take it." His former celebrity had also spread far

and wide among the population. A couple of English workmen in one of the

factories of the town, one day followed a gentleman who had a

considerable resemblance to Brummell. He heard one of them say to the

other, "Now, I'll bet you a pot that's him." Shortly after, one of them

strolled up to him, with, "Beg pardon, sir--hope no offence, but we two

have got a bet--now, a'n't you George Ring the Bell?" Brummell's habits

of flirtation did not desert him in France; and in one instance he paid

such marked attention to a young English lady, that a friend was deputed

to enquire his purposes. Here Brummell's knowledge of every body did him

good service. The deputy on this occasion having once figured as the

head of a veterinary hospital, or some such thing, but being then in the

commissariat,--"Why, Vulcan!" exclaimed Brummell, "what a humbug you

must be to come and lecture me on such a subject! You, who were for two

years at hide-and-seek to save yourself from being shot by Sir T. S. for

running off with one of his daughters." "Dear me," said the astonished

friend, "you have touched a painful chord; I will have no more to do

with this business." The business died a natural death.

His dressing-table was _recherche_. Its _batterie de toilette_ was

curious, complete, and of silver; one part of it being a spitting-dish,

he always declaring that "it was impossible to _spit in clay_." His

"making up" every morning occupied two hours. When he first arrived in

Caen he carried a cane, but often exchanged it for a brown silk

umbrella, which was always protected by a silk case of remarkable

accuracy of fit--the handle surmounted by an ivory head of George the

Fourth, in well-curled wig and gracious smile. In the street he _never_

took off his hat to any one, not even to a lady; for it would have been

difficult to replace it in the same position, it having been put on with

peculiar care. We finish by stating, that he always had the _soles_ of

his boots blackened as well as the upper leathers; his reason for this

being, that, in the usual negligence of human nature, he never could be

sure that the polish on the _edge_ of the sole would be accurately

produced, unless the whole underwent the operation. He occasionally

polished a single boot himself, to show how perfection on this point was

to be obtained. Clogs, so indispensable in the dirt of an unpaved French

street, he always abhorred; yet, under cover of night, he _could_, now

and then, condescend to wear them. "Theft," as the biographer observes,

"in Sparta was a crime--but only when it was _discovered_."

But after this life of fantasy and frivolity, on which so much

cleverness was thrown away, the unfortunate Beau finished his career

miserably. On his application to the Foreign Office, representing his

wish to be removed to any other consulate where he might serve more

effectually, and of course with a better income; the former part of his

letter was made the ground of abolishing the consulate, while the latter

received no answer. We say nothing of this measure, any further than

that it had the effect of utter ruin on poor Brummell. The total loss of

his intellect followed; he was reduced to absolute beggary, and finally

spent his last miserable hours in an hospital for lunatic mendicants.

Surely it could not have been difficult, in the enormous patronage of

office, to have found some relief for the necessities of a man whose

official character was unimpeached; who had been expressly put into

government employ by ministers for the sake of preserving him from

penury; who had been the companion, the _friend_ of princes and nobles;

and whose faults were not an atom more flagrant than those of every man

of fashion in his time. But he was now utterly ruined and wretched. Some

strong applications were made to his former friends by a Mr Armstrong, a

merchant of Caen, who seems to have constantly acted a most humane part

to him, and occasional donations were sent. A couple of hundred pounds

were even remitted from the Foreign Office; and, by the exertions of

Lord Alvanley and the present Duke of Beaufort, who never deserted him,

and this is much to the honour of both, a kind of small annuity was paid

to him. But he was already overwhelmed with debt, for his income from

the consulate netted him but L.80 a-year, the other L.320 being in the

hands of the banker, his creditor; and it seems probable that his

destitution deprived him of his senses after a period of wretchedness

and even of rags. Broken-hearted and in despair, concluding with

hopeless imbecility, this man of taste and talent, for he possessed both

in no common degree, was left to die in the hands of strangers--no

slight reproach to the cruel insensibility of those who, wallowing in

wealth, and fluttering from year to year through the round of fashion,

suffered their former associate, nay their envied example, to perish in

his living charnel. He was buried in the Protestant cemetery of Caen,

under a stone with this inscription:--

In

Memory of

GEORGE BRUMMELL, ESQ.,

who departed this life

On the 29th of March 1840.

Aged 62 years.

Mr Jesse deserves credit for his two volumes. There is a good deal in

them which has no direct reference to Brummell; but he has collected

probably all that could be known. The books are _very_ readable, the

anecdotes pleasantly told, the style is lively, and frequently shows

that the biographer could adopt the thought as well as the language of

his hero. At all events he has given us the detail of a character of

whom every body had heard something, and every body wished to hear more.

FOOTNOTES:

{A} _The Life of George Brummell, Esq._ By Captain Jesse. 2 volumes.

THE ACTUAL CONDITION OF THE GREEK STATE.

"Say why

That ancient story of Prometheus chain'd?

The vulture--the inexhaustible repast

Drawn from his vitals? Say what meant the woes

By Tantalus entail'd upon his race,

And the dark sorrows of the line of Thebes?

Fictions in form, but in their substance truths--

Tremendous truths!--familiar to the men

Of long past times; nor obsolete in ours."--_Excursion._

In an article on the bankruptcy of the Greek kingdom, (No. CCCXXXV.,

September 1843,) we gave an account of the financial condition of the

new state; and we ventured to suggest that a revolution was unavoidable.

That revolution occurred even sooner than we expected; for our number

had hardly reached Athens ere King Otho was compelled to summon a

national assembly to aid him in framing the long promised constitution.

As our former number explained the immediate causes of the discontent in

Greece, we shall now furnish our readers with a description of the

revolution, of its results, and of the great difficulties which still

oppose serious barriers to the formation of an independent _kingdom_ in

Greece. The late revolution was distinguished by an open rebellion of

the army; and as a rebellion, in which the troops have been covered with

decorations, and have received a gratification of some months' pay, is

not the era from which we should wish to date the civil liberty and

national prosperity of a monarchy founded by Great Britain, France, and

Russia, we shall use great delicacy in describing the movement, and

record no fact which we cannot substantiate by legal or documentary

evidence.

It is not to be supposed when we in Edinburgh were informed of the

approaching storm in Greece, that the people of the country were without

anxiety. The _Morning Post_, (23d September 1843,) which has generally

contained very accurate information from Athens, published a letter

written from that city on the 5th September. This Athenian correspondent

declared "that the Greeks have so fully made up their minds to put an

end to the Bavarian dynasty, as to be resolved not even to accept a

constitution at the hands of the king. They declare that they will

abstain from all outrage and personal violence; and that they only

desire the embarkation of King Otho and his German followers, who shall

be free to leave the country without the slightest injury."

We solicit the attention of her majesty's ministers to these memorable

words, written before the revolution.

The danger, in short, was visible to every body but King Otho, his

German camarilla, and his renegade Greek ministers. At this time Kalergy

was inspector of the cavalry. He had always expressed his

dissatisfaction with the system of Bavarian favouritism in the army; and

his gallant and disinterested conduct during the war against the Turks,

rendered him universally popular. Infinitely more of a gentleman and a

man of the world than any of the court faction, it is said that he was

viewed with feelings of personal as well as political aversion. It

happened that, about a week before the revolution, the king reviewed the

garrison of Athens, and in the order of the day which followed this

review, General Kalergy was noticed in such a way that he felt himself

deeply insulted. A Bavarian, Captain Hess, then marshal of the palace,

was supposed to be the author of this document. As the attack on Kalergy

was evidently caused by his political conduct, the whole Greek army took

his part, and the cry was raised that the Bavarians must be driven out

of Greece.

The prominent part which General Kalergy has taken in the late

revolution, and the romantic incidents of his life, induce us to offer

our readers a short sketch of his earlier career. We have known him in

circumstances when intercourse ensures intimacy; for we have sat

together round the same watch-fires, on the mountains of Argolis and

Attica. To parody the words of Anastasius, we saw him achieve his first

deed of prowess, and we were present when he heard his first praises.

Hastings's lips have long been silenced by death, but the music of his

applause still rings in our ears.

Demetrius Kalergy is descended from a Cretan family, whose name is

famous in the annals of Candia. He was born in Russia, and was studying

in Germany when the Greeks took up arms against the Turks. His elder

brothers, Nicolas and Manolis, having resolved to join the cause of

their countrymen, repaired to Marseilles, where, with the assistance of

their uncle, a man of great wealth in Russia, they freighted a vessel,

and purchased a small train of artillery, consisting of sixteen guns,

and a considerable supply of muskets and ammunition. Demetrius, though

then only fifteen years of age, could not be restrained from joining

them, and the three brothers arrived in Greece together. The young

Kalergy soon gave proofs of courage and military talents. His second

brother, Manolis, was killed during the siege of Athens; but the eldest,

Nicolas, a man who unites the accomplishments of a court to the

sincerest feelings of patriotism, still resides in Greece, universally

respected. During the Bavarian sway he took no part in political

affairs; but he was elected a member of the national assembly, which has

just terminated its labours in preparing the constitution.

Demetrius Kalergy was first entrusted with an independent command in

1824, when the Peloponnesian chiefs and primates, Kolokotroni, Londos,

Notaras, Deliyani, Zaimi, and Sessini, endeavoured to divide the Morea

into a number of small principalities, of which they expected to secure

the revenues for themselves. In spite of Kalergy's youth, he was ordered

to take the field against the first corps of the rebels that had acted

in open hostility to the existing government. With his usual promptitude

and decision, he attacked Panos Kolokotroni, the son of the old Klepht,

and Staikos, a Moreote captain of some reputation, in the plain of

Tripolitza, where they were posted for the despicable purpose of

intercepting the trains of mules laden with merchandise for the supply

of the shops of Tripolitza, then the great market of all the central

parts of the Morea.

The affair was really brilliant. The rebels were encamped on a low hill,

and, not expecting that Kalergy would depart from the usual practice of

carrying on a long series of skirmishes, they had paid no attention to

their position. The attack opened in the usual way by a fierce fire at a

very long distance; but Kalergy, on perceiving the careless arrangements

of his enemy, soon induced his troops to creep up pretty close to the

Moreotes, when he suddenly jumped up, and shouted to his followers, "The

shortest way is the best. Follow me!" and rushed forward. His whole band

was within the hostile lines in an instant. The manoeuvre was so

unexpected, that few of the rebels fired; many were loading their

muskets, and none had time to draw their swords or yatagans. About 170

were slain, and, if report may be trusted, one of the rebel chiefs was

struck down by Kalergy, and the other taken prisoner after receiving a

wound in personal combat with the young hero. The faction of the Moreote

barons, as these greedy plunderers of the Greek shopkeepers would fain

have been called, was dissolved by this unexpected victory. Many laid

down their arms, and made peace with the government.

General Kalergy was afterwards present in the town of Navarin when it

was besieged by Ibrahim Pasha, and marched out with his band when the

place capitulated. This defeat, though he had only held a subordinate

command, afflicted him greatly, and he looked round for some means of

avenging his country's loss on the Turks. He resolved at last to

endeavour to make a diversion by recommencing the war in Crete; but

without a strong fortress to secure the ammunition and supplies

necessary for prosecuting a series of irregular attacks, it was evident

that nothing important could be effected. In this difficulty, Kalergy

determined to attack the impregnable island-fortress of Grabusa, as it

was known that the strength of the place had induced the Turks to leave

it with a very small garrison. Kalergy having learned that the greater

part of this garrison was absent during the day, disguised a few of his

men in Turkish dresses, and appeared on the beach at the point from

which the soldiers of the garrison crossed to this island Gibraltar. The

commander of Grabusa ordered the boat to transport them over as usual,

and the Greeks entered the fort before the mistake was discovered. The

place was in vain attacked by all the forces of Mohammed Ali; the Greeks

kept possession of it to the end of the war. The sagacity and courage

displayed by Kalergy in this affair placed him in the rank of the ablest

of the Greek chiefs.

When General Gordon (whose excellent history of the Greek revolution we

recommend to our readers{A}) attempted to relieve Athens, then besieged

by Kutayhi, (Reschid Pasha,) Kalergy and Makriyani commanded divisions

of the troops which occupied the Piraeus. Subsequently, when Lord

Cochrane and General Church endeavoured to force the Turkish lines,

Kalergy was one of the officers who commanded the advanced division. In

the engagement which ensued, his adventures afford an illustration of

the singular vicissitudes of Eastern warfare. The Greek troops landed at

Cape Kolias during the night, and pushed forward to within a mile and a

half of the Turkish lines, where they formed a slight intrenchment on

some undulating hills. They threw up some ill-constructed tambouria, (as

the redoubts used in Turkish warfare are termed,) and of these some

remains are still visible. A ravine descending from the lower slopes of

Hymettus ran in front of this position, deep enough to shelter the

Turkish cavalry, and enable them to approach without exposing themselves

to the Greek artillery. This movement of the Turks was distinctly seen

from the Greek camp at the Piraeus, and the approaching attack on the

advanced posts of the army was waited for in breathless anxiety. The map

of the plain of Athens is sufficiently familiar to most of our readers

to enable then to picture to themselves the scene which ensued with

perfect accuracy.

The Greek troops destined for the relief of Athens amounted to about

3000 men, and of these about 600 were posted far in advance of their

companions, in three small redoubts. The main body drawn up in a long

line remained inactive with the artillery, and a smaller corps as a

rear-guard seemed destined to communicate with the fleet of Lord

Cochrane at Cape Kolias. At the Piraeus, about 700 men were scattered

about in all the disorder of an Eastern encampment, without making the

slightest attempt to distract the attention of the Turkish troops. The

French General Gueheneuc and the Bavarian General Heideck, both

witnessed the battle.

The Turkish cavalry, to the number of about 700, having formed in the

ravine, rode slowly up towards the brow of the hill on which the

tambouria of the Cretans, the Suliots, and the regular regiment were

placed. As soon as their appearance on the crest of the ridge exposed

them to the fire of the Greeks, they galloped forward. The fire of the

Greeks, however, seemed almost without effect, yet the Turks turned and

galloped down the hill into the shelter of the ravine. In a short time

they repeated their attack with a determination, which showed that the

preceding attempt had been only a feint to enable them to examine the

ground. As they approached this time very near the intrenchments, the

fire of the Greeks proved more effectual than on the former occasion,

and several of the Delhis, horse and man, rolled on the ground. Again

the Turks fled to conceal themselves in the ravine, and prepared for

another attack by dividing their force into three divisions, one of

which ascended and another descended the ravine, while the third

prepared to renew the assault in the old direction. The vizier Kutayhi

himself moved forward to encourage his troops, and it became evident

that a desperate struggle would now be made to carry the Greek

position, where the few troops who held it were left unsupported.

The Turkish cavalry soon rushed on the Greeks, assailing their position

in front and flanks; and, in spite of their fire, forced the horses over

the low intrenchments into the midst of the enemy.{B} For the space of

hardly three minutes pistol shots and sabre cuts fell so thick, that

friends and foes were in equal danger. Of the Greeks engaged not one had

turned to flee, and but few were taken alive. The loss of the Turks was,

however, but trifling--about a dozen men and from fifteen to twenty

horses.

The centre of the Greek army, on beholding the destruction of the

advanced guard, showed little determination; it wavered for a minute,

and then turned and fled towards the shore in utter confusion,

abandoning all its artillery to the Turks. The Delhis soon overtook

their flying enemies, and riding amongst them, coolly shot down and

sabred those whose splendid arms and dresses excited their cupidity. The

artillery itself was turned on the fugitives, who had left the

ammunition undestroyed as well as the guns unspiked. But our concern

with the battle of the 6th May 1827, is at present confined to following

the fortunes of Kalergy. He was one of the prisoners. His leg had been

broken by a rifle-ball as the Turks entered the tambouri of the Cretans,

and as he received an additional sabre cut on the arm, he lay helpless

on the ground, where his youthful appearance and splendid arms caught

the eye of an Albanian bey, who ordered him to be secured and taken care

of as his own prisoner.

On the morning after the battle, the prisoners were all brought out

before the tent of Kutayhi, who was encamped at Patissia, very near the

site of the house subsequently built by Sir Pulteney Malcolm. George

Drakos, a Suliot chief, had killed himself during the night; and the

Pasha, in consequence, ordered all the survivors to be beheaded,

wishing, probably, to afford Europe a specimen of Ottoman economy and

humanity, by thus saving the lives of these Greeks from themselves. Two

hundred and fifty were executed, when Kalergy, unable to walk, was

carried into the circle of Turkish officers witnessing the execution, on

the back of a sturdy Albanian baker. Kutayhi calmly ordered his instant

execution; but the prisoner having informed his captor that he would pay

100,000 piastres for his ransom; the Albanian bey stepped forward and

maintained his right to his prisoner so stoutly, that the Pasha, whose

army was in arrears, and whose military chest was empty, found himself

compelled to yield. As a memento of their meeting, however, he ordered

one of Kalergy's ears to be cut off. The ransom was quickly paid, and

Kalergy returned to Poros, where it was some time before he recovered

from his wounds.

Capodistrias on his arrival in Greece named Kalergy his aide-de-camp,

and as he was much attached to the president, he was entrusted with the

command of the cavalry sent against Poros and Nisi, when those places

took up arms against the arbitrary and tyrannical conduct of

Capodistrias. We are not inclined to apologize for the disorders which

the Greek cavalry then committed; they were unpardonable even during the

excitement of a civil war.

The marriage of Kalergy was as romantic as the rest of his career. Two

chiefs, both of the family of Notaras, (one of the few Greek families

which can boast of territorial influence dating from the times of the

Byzantine empire,) had involved the province of Corinth in civil war, in

order to secure the hand of a young heiress. The lady, however, having

escaped from the scene of action, conferred her hand on Kalergy, whose

fame as a soldier far eclipsed that of the two rivals.

As soon as the Bavarians arrived in Greece, they commenced persecuting

Kalergy. An unfounded charge of treason was brought against him; but he

was honourably acquitted by a court-martial, of which our country-man,

General Gordon of Cairness, was the president; and from that period

down to the publication of the order of the day, last September, he has

been constantly an object of Bavarian hatred.

About twenty-four hours before the revolution of the 15th of September

broke out, the court of Greece received some information concerning the

extent and nature of the plot, and orders were given by King Otho to

hold a council of his trusted advisers. The Bavarians Hess and Graff,

and the Greeks Rizos, Privilegios, Dzinos, and John the son of Philip,

(for one of the courtly councillors of the house of Wittelspach rejoices

in this primitive cognomen,) met, and decided on the establishment of a

court-martial to try and shoot every man taken in arms. Orders were

immediately prepared for the arrest of upwards of forty persons.

A good deal has been said about the revolution as having been a mere

military movement. This, however, is not a correct view of the matter,

either with reference to the state of parties, or to the intensity of

the national feeling at the time. Sir Robert Inglis most justly observed

in Parliament--"That revolution in Greece had been prepared during years

of intolerable despotism, and the soldiery merely shared in, and did not

by any means lead, the proceedings of the great body of the nation." The

fact is, that a plot for seizing the king and sending him to Trieste,

had been formed by the Philorthodox or Russian party, in the early part

of 1843; but the party, from some distrust of its own strength, and from

the increasing unpopularity of King Otho, was induced to admit a few of

the most determined of the constitutionalists into the plot, without

intending to entrust them with the whole of the plan. The rising was at

last fixed for the month of September. This occurred in consequence of

the universal outcry raised by the Greeks, on finding that the

representations of Great Britain in favour of the long-promised

constitution, and the warnings which Sir Robert Peel threw out on the

discussion of Greek affairs on Mr Cochrane's motion, were utterly

neglected by King Otho. This indignation was reduced to despair when it

was known that Mr Tricoupis, on his recall from London, had assured the

king that the English cabinet was so determined to maintain the _statu

quo_, that the constitutional party would meet with no countenance from

England. Every party in Greece then prepared for action, and entered

into negotiations, in which the opinions of the constitutionalists

prevailed, because they were actively supported by the great body of the

people.

In order to prevent the country from becoming a scene of anarchy, in

case a civil war proved unavoidable, it was necessary to employ all the

regular authorities who could be induced to join the national cause, in

their actual functions, without any reference to party feelings. This

was done; and the fact that it was so, proves the intenseness of the

public feeling. The constitutional party decided that the recognition of

Greece as a constitutional state, and the immediate convocation of a

national assembly, were to be the demands made on King Otho. The Russian

party allowed these two questions to be first mooted in the firm

persuasion that the king would be induced by his own pride, his despotic

principles, and the mistaken views of several of the foreign ministers

at Athens, to refuse these demands; and, in that case, the throne would

infallibly have been declared vacant.

About midnight, on the 14th of September, the _gendarmes_ were ordered

to surround the house of General Makriyani, an officer of irregulars on

half-pay, and to arrest him on a charge of treason. On approaching the

house they were warned off; but pressing forward they were fired on, and

one _gendarme_ was killed and one or two wounded. In consequence of the

alarm given by the minister of war, for the purpose of supporting the

arrests to be made, the garrison was all in readiness. In the mean time

the greater part of the officers had been admitted into the secret, that

a general movement of all Greece was to be made that night, and that

their duty would be to maintain the strictest order and enforce the

severest discipline.

Kalergy, therefore, as soon as he was informed that the movement had

been made to arrest Makriyani, assembled all the officers, and, in a few

words, declared to them that the moment for saving their country from

the Bavarian yoke had arrived; and that they must now, if they wished to

be free, call on the king to adopt a constitutional system of

government. The importance of this step, which Kalergy adopted with his

usual decision, can only be understood when it is recollected, that

there existed a strong party determined to avail itself of every

opportunity of driving King Otho from the throne. Had Kalergy,

therefore, delayed pledging the officers and the army to the

constitution, or allowed them to march out of their barracks before

making the constitution the rallying word of the revolution, there can

be no doubt that the agents of the Russian and Philorthodox parties

would have raised the cry of "Death to the Bavarians! down with the

tyrant!" Kalergy, however, put the garrison in motion amidst shouts of

_Long live the constitution_; and as the cavalry moved from their

barracks, these shouts were echoed enthusiastically by the citizens who

were waiting anxiously without.

As soon as Kalergy had taken the command he marched all the troops to

the square before the palace. Two squadrons of cavalry, two battalions

of infantry, a company of Greek irregulars, and a number of half-pay

officers and pensioners, were soon drawn up under King Otho's windows.

His monstrous palace had begun to produce its effects. Strong patrols

were detached to preserve order in the town, and to compel the

_gendarmes_ to retire to their quarters. Makriyani, on being relieved

from his blockade, repaired to the square, collecting on the way as

large a body of armed citizens as he was able.

The king had been waiting at one of the windows of the palace in great

anxiety to witness the arrest of Makriyani; and on seeing the shots

fired from the house, and the suspension of the attack by the

_gendarmes_, he had dispatched a Bavarian aide-de-camp, named

Steinsdorff, to order the artillery to the palace. The young and

inexperienced Bavarian returned without the guns; but assured his

Majesty that they would soon arrive. In the mean time, the whole

garrison appeared in the square, and was ranged opposite the palace: the

king, however, expected that the arrival of the artillery would change

their disposition. In a short time, the guns came galloping up; but to

the utter dismay of King Otho, they were ranged in battery against the

palace, while the artillerymen, as soon as the manoeuvre was executed,

gave a loud shout of "long live the constitution."

His Majesty, after a long period of profound silence, appeared at a

window of the lower story of the palace, attended by the Bavarian

captain, Hess--the most unpopular man in Greece, unless Dzinos, the

agent in the celebrated cases of judicial torture, could dispute with

him that "bad eminence." One of the servants of the court called for

General Kalergy in a loud voice; and when he approached the window the

king asked--"What is the meaning of this disturbance? What am I to

understand by this parade of the garrison?" To this Kalergy replied, in

a loud and clear voice, "The people of Greece and the army desire that

your Majesty will redeem the promise that the country should be governed

constitutionally." King Otho then said, "Retire to your quarters; I

shall consult with my ministers, with the council of state, and the

ambassadors of the three protecting powers, and inform you of my

determination." This appeared to the audience to be acting the absolute

sovereign rather too strongly under the circumstances, and a slight

movement of the officers, who overheard the king's words, was conveyed

like lightning to the troops, so that the king received a distinct reply

from the whole army in a sudden clang of sabres and noise of arms.

Kalergy, however, immediately replied in the same distinct tone in which

he had before spoken--"Sire, neither the garrison of Athens, nor the

people will quit this spot, until your Majesty's decisions on the

proposals of the council of state, which will be immediately laid before

you, is known." At this moment Captain Hess put himself forward beside

the king, and said--"Colonel Kalergy; that is not the way in which it

becomes you to speak to his Majesty." But to this ill-timed lesson in

politeness Kalergy replied sharply--"Draw your head back, sir: you and

such as you have brought the king and the country into their present

unfortunate circumstances. You ought to be ashamed of your conduct." The

Bavarian hero at these words disappeared; and this was the last occasion

in which this champion of Bavarianism appeared in a public character.

At this time, Count Metaxas, Lieutenant-General Sir Richard Church, and

Major-General Londos, members of the council of state, who had been in

the square with the troops, were engaged preparing the council for its

share in the revolution. At the meeting which took place, Spiro Milios,

the commandant of the military school, and an active member of the

Russian party, was present as a representative of the army. It was

evident that the council of state comprised three parties. One was

willing to support King Otho and the actual system. This party included

Kondouriotis, the president; Tricoupis, the late minister in London; and

a German Greek named Theocharis. Another party was eager to drive King

Otho from the throne, in order to proceed to the nomination of a regency

preparatory to the choice of an orthodox prince. We are not sure that

any individual is now anxious to identify his name with this party. The

third party made the demand for a constitution their primary object; and

as this party was led by Metaxas, Londos, Church, Palamidhis, and

Mansolas, it was soon joined by the majority.

The meeting was long, and it is said that the conduct of the members was

much more disorderly than that of the people and the troops in the

square; but at last, a proclamation and an oath were drawn up, by which

the council of state, the army, and the people, all pledged themselves

to support the constitution. A committee consisting of Metaxas, Londos,

and Palamidhis, was also charged to prepare an address to the king,

recommending his majesty to convoke a national assembly, in order to

prepare a constitution for the state; at the same time they invited his

majesty to appoint new ministers, and in the list presented they of

course took care to insert their own names. As soon as this business was

terminated, the council dispatched a deputation to wait on his majesty,

consisting of the president and five members, who were to obtain the

king's consent.

The conduct of King Otho on receiving this deputation was neither wise

nor firm. He delayed returning any answer for two hours, and attempted

to open a negotiation with the council of state, by means of one of the

members of the camarilla. The delay excited some distrust even among the

best disposed in the square, and the report was spread that the king was

endeavouring to communicate with the _corps diplomatique_, in order to

create a diversion. At this very time a train of carriages suddenly

appeared at the gates of the palace, and the ministers of the three

protecting powers--Sir Edmund Lyons, Mr Katakazy, and Mr Piscatory,

accompanied by General Prokesch d'Osten, and Mr Brassier de St Simon,

the representatives of Austria and Prussia--requested to be admitted to

see the king. General Kalergy, however, declared that he had orders to

refuse all entry to the palace, until his majesty had terminated his

conference with the deputation of the council of state; and repeated, in

the presence of the ministers of Austria and Prussia, the assurance he

had given at an early hour of the morning to Sir Edmund Lyons, Mr

Katakazy, and Mr Piscatory, that the greatest respect would be shown to

the person of his majesty. Mr Katakazy, the _doyen_ of the _corps

diplomatique_, satisfied that any parade of foreign interference could

only increase the difficulties of the king's position, accepted the

answer of Kalergy and began to withdraw. The representatives of the

powers which had never protected Greece, deemed the moment favourable

for a display of a little independent diplomacy, and accordingly the

Prussian minister asked Kalergy in a tone, neither mild nor low, if he

durst refuse to admit him to see his majesty. To this Kalergy, who was

extremely anxious to avoid any dispute with the foreign ministers at

such a moment, politely replied that he was compelled to refuse even

the minister of Prussia. Mr Brassier, however, returned to the charge

aided by his Austrian colleague; but as the Greeks place all Germans in

the category of Bavarians, they gave some manifestations of their

dislike to any German interference, which could not be otherwise than

displeasing to the Prussian, who addressed Kalergy in a very rough tone.

His words were lost to the spectators, but they were supported by

General Prokesch d'Osten with a good deal of gesticulation. The patience

of Kalergy gave way under these repeated attacks, and he turned to Mr

Brassier, saying--"Monsieur le ministre, you are generally unlucky in

your advice, and I am afraid his majesty has heard too much of it

lately."

The thrust was a home one, and the Prussian minister, rather

discomposed, addressed himself to Sir Edmund Lyons, who, while waiting

till his carriage drew up, had been quietly contemplating the scene, and

said--"Colonel Kalergy is insolent; but he only repeats what he has

heard in the drawing-rooms of Athens." Sir Edmund Lyons replied--"I do

not see, Mr Brassier, how that makes your case better," and withdrew to

his carriage, leaving Austria and Prussia to battle out their dispute

with Greece in the presence of the mob. The spectators considered the

scene a very amusing one, for they laughed heartily as the _corps

diplomatique_ retired; but, if all the reports current in diplomatic

circles be true, Mr Katakazy, the _doyen_ of the Athenian diplomatists,

was made to suffer severely for his prudent conduct; for it is said that

his recall took place because he did not support with energy the foolish

attempt of his enterprising colleagues. It is certain that any very

violent support given to any feeling, in direct hostility to the