Lilies are fair in show, but foul in smell,
The sweetest looks by age are soon defaced,
Then choose thy wife by wit and loving well.
Who brings thee wealth, and many faults withal,
Presents thee honey mix'd with bitter gall.
D. LODGE.
* * * * *
PRIDE.
Pride is the root of ill in every state,
The source of sin, the very fiend's fee:
The bead of hell, the bough, the branch, the tree;
From which do spring and sprout such fleshly seeds,
As nothing else but moans and mischief breeds.
G. GASCOIGNE.
* * * * *
SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.
* * * * *
NOTES FROM THE LONDON REVIEW,
NO. 1.
ANCIENT AND MODERN LUXURIES.
As a learned doctor, a passionate admirer of the Nicotian plant, was not
long since regaling himself with a pinch of snuff, in the study of an old
college friend, his classical recollections suddenly mixed with his
present sensation, and suggested the following question:--"If a Greek or
a Roman were to rise from the grave, how would you explain to him the
three successive enjoyments which we have had to-day after dinner,--tea,
coffee, and snuff? By what perception or sensation familiar to them,
would you account for the modern use of the three vulgar elements, which
we see notified on every huckster's stall?--or paint the more refined
beatitude of a young barrister comfortably niched in one of our London
divans, concentrating his ruminations over a new Quarterly, by the aid of
a highly-flavoured Havannah?" The doctor's friend, whose ingenuity is not
easily taken at fault, answered, "By friction, which was performed so
consummately in their baths. It is no new propensity of animal nature, to
find pleasure from the combination of a _stimulant_, and a _sedative_.
The ancients chafed their skins, and we chafe our stomachs, exactly for
that same double purpose of excitement and repose (let physiologists
explain their union) which these vegetable substances procure now so
extensively to mankind. In a word, I would tell the ancient Greeks or
Romans, that the dealer in tea, coffee, tobacco, and snuff, is to us what
the experienced practioner of the _strigil_ was to them; with this
difference, however, that while we spare our skins, our stomachs are in
danger of being tanned into leather."
* * * * *
THE STAGE.
We may compare _tragedy_ to a martyrdom by one of the old masters; which,
whatever be its merit, represents persons, emotions, and events so remote
from the experience of the spectator, that he feels the grounds of his
approbation and blame to be in a great measure conjectural. The
_romance_, such as we generally have seen it, resembles a Gothic
window-piece, where monarchs and bishops exhibit the symbols of their
dignity, and saints hold out their palm branches, and grotesque monsters
in blue and gold pursue one another through the intricacies of a
never-ending scroll, splendid in colouring, but childish in composition,
and imitating nothing in nature but a mass of drapery and jewels thrown
over the commonest outlines of the human figure. The works of the
_comedian_, in their least interesting forms, are Dutch paintings and
caricatures: in their best, they are like Wilkie's earlier pictures,
accurate imitations of pleasing, but familiar objects--admirable as works
of art, but addressed rather to the judgment than to the imagination.
* * * * *
ENGLISH WOMEN.
Nothing could be more easy than to prove, in the reflected light of our
literature, that from the period of our Revolution to the present time,
the education of women has improved among us, as much, at least, as that
of men. Unquestionably that advancement has been greater within the last
fifty years, than during any previous period of equal length; and it may
even be doubted whether the modern rage of our fair countrywomen for
universal acquirement has not already been carried to a height injurious
to the attainment of excellence in the more important branches of
literary information.
But in every age since that of Charles II, Englishwomen have been better
educated than their mothers. For much of this progress we are indebted to
Addison. Since the Spectator set the example, a great part of our lighter
literature, unlike that of the preceding age, has been addressed to the
sexes in common: whatever language could shock the ear of woman, whatever
sentiment could sully her purity of thought, has been gradually expunged
from the far greater and better portion of our works of imagination and
taste; and it is this growing refinement and delicacy of expression,
throughout the last century, which prove, as much as any thing, the
increasing number of female readers, and the increasing homage which has
been paid to the better feelings of their sex.
* * * * *
Mr. Lee, the high-constable of Westminster, in the _Police Report_, says,
"I have known the time when I have seen the regular thieves watching
Drummonds' house, looking out for persons coming out: and the widening of
the pavement of the streets has, I think, done a great deal of good. With
respect to pick-pocketing, there is not a chance of their doing now as
they used to do. If a man attempts to pick a pocket, it is ten to one if
he is not seen, which was not the case formerly."
* * * * *
CRIME IN PARIS.
Vidocq, in his Memoires, relates, that in 1817, with twelve agents or
subordinate officers, he effected in Paris the number of arrests which
he thus enumerates:--
Assassins or murderers 15
Robbers or burglars 5
Ditto with false keys 108
Ditto in furnished houses 12
Highwaymen 126
Pickpockets and cutpurses 73
Shoplifters 17
Receivers of stolen property 38
Fugitives from the prisons 14
Tried galley-slaves, having left their exile 43
Forgers, cheats, swindlers, &c. 46
Vagabonds, robbers returned to Paris 229
By mandates from his excellency 46
Captures and seizures of stolen property 39
----
811
* * * * *
WITNESSES.
The protracted proceedings of our criminal courts are productive of one
serious evil, which we have never seen noticed. Domestic servants, and
others who appear as witnesses, must frequently wait, day after day, in
the court-yard and avenues, or in the adjacent public-houses, until the
cases on which they have been subpoenaed are called for trial. During
these intervals they converse and become acquainted with others in
attendance, a large proportion of whom are generally friends or
associates of the prisoners. It is thus that the most dangerous
intimacies have been formed; and many instances have occurred where
servants, who have been seen in the courts as witnesses for a
prosecution, have soon afterwards appeared there as prisoners.
* * * * *
YOU'LL COME TO OUR BALL.
"Comment! c'est lui?--que je le regarde encore!--c'est que vraiment il
est bien changé; n'est pas, mon papa?"--_Les premiers Amours_.
You'll come to our Ball--since we parted,
I've thought of you, more than I'll say;
Indeed, I was half broken-hearted,
For a week, when they took you away.
Fond Fancy brought back to my slumbers
Our walks on the Ness and the Den,
And echoed the musical numbers
Which you used to sing to me then.
I know the romance, since it's over,
'Twere idle, or worse, to recall:--
I know you're a terrible rover:
But, Clarence,--you'll come to our Ball!
It's only a year, since at College
You put on your cap and your gown;
But, Clarence, you're grown out of knowledge,
And chang'd from the spur to the crown:
The voice that was best when it faltered
Is fuller and firmer in tone;
And the smile that should never have altered,--
Dear Clarence,--it is not your own:
Your cravat was badly selected,
Your coat don't become you at all;
And why is your hair so neglected?
You _must_ have it curled for our Ball.
I've often been out upon Haldon,
To look for a covey with Pup:
I've often been over to Shaldon,
To see how your boat is laid up:
In spite of the terrors of Aunty,
I've ridden the filly you broke;
And I've studied your sweet, little Dante,
In the shade of your favourite oak:
When I sat in July to Sir Lawrence,
I sat in your love of a shawl;
And I'll wear what you brought me from Florence,
Perhaps, if you'll come to our Ball.
You'll find us all changed since you vanished:
We've set up a National School,
And waltzing is utterly banished--
And Ellen has married a fool--
The Major is going to travel--
Miss Hyacinth threatens a rout--
The walk is laid down with fresh gravel--
Papa is laid up with the gout:
And Jane has gone on with her easels,
And Anne has gone off with Sir Paul;
And Fanny is sick of the measles,--
And I'll tell you the rest at the Ball.
You'll meet all your Beauties;--the Lily,
And the Fairy of Willowbrook Farm,
And Lucy, who made me so silly
At Dawlish, by taking your arm--
Miss Manners, who always abused you,
For talking so much about Hock--
And her sister who often amused you,
By raving of rebels and Rock;
And something which surely would answer,
A heiress, quite fresh from Bengal--
So, though you were seldom a dancer,
You'll dance, just for once, at our Ball.
But out on the world!--from the flowers
It shuts out the sunshine of truth;
It blights the green leaves in the bowers,
It makes an old age of our youth:
And the flow of our feeling, once in it,
Like a streamlet beginning to freeze,
Though it cannot turn ice in a minute,
Grows harder by sullen degrees--
Time treads o'er the grave of Affection;
Sweet honey is turned into gall.
Perhaps you have no recollection
That ever you danced at our Ball.
You once could be pleased with our ballads--
To-day you have critical ears:
You once could be charmed with our salads--
Alas! you've been dining with Peers--
You trifled and flirted with many---
You've forgotten the when and the how--
There was _one_ you liked better than any--
Perhaps you've forgotten _her_ now.
But of those you remember most newly,
Of those who delight or enthrall,
None love you a quarter so truly
As some you will find at our Ball.
They tell me you've many who flatter,
Because of your wit and your song--
They tell me (and what does it matter?)
You like to be praised by the throng--
They tell me you're shadowed with laurel,
They tell me you're loved by a Blue--
They tell me you're sadly immoral,
Dear Clarence, _that_ cannot be true!
But to me you are still what I found you
Before you grew clever and tall--
And you'll think of the spell that once bound you--
And you'll come--_won't_ you come?--to our Ball!
_London Magazine._
* * * * *
PARTY.
Two dogs cannot worry one another in the streets without instantly
forming each his party among the crowd; much more then does the principle
apply to higher contests.
* * * * *
THE ANECDOTE GALLERY.
* * * * *
MOLIERE.
At the town of Pezénas they still show an elbow-chair of Molière's (as at
Montpelier they show the gown of Rabelais,) in which the poet, it is
said, ensconced in a corner of a barber's shop, would sit for the hour
together, silently watching the air, gestures, and grimaces of the
village politicians, who, in those days, before coffee-houses were
introduced into France, used to congregate in this place of resort. The
fruits of this study may be easily discerned in those original draughts
of character from the middling and lower classes with which his pieces
everywhere abound.
Molière's celebrated farce of _Les Précieuses Ridicules_; a piece in only
one act, but which, by its inimitable satire, effected such a revolution
in the literary taste of his countrymen, as has been accomplished by few
works of a more imposing form--may be considered as the basis of the
dramatic glory of Molière, and the dawn of good comedy in France. The
satire aimed at a coterie of wits who set themselves up as arbiters of
taste and fashion, and was welcomed with enthusiastic applause, most of
them being present at the first exhibition, to behold the fine fabric,
which they had been so painfully constructing, brought to the ground by a
single blow. "And these follies," said Ménage to Chapelin, "which you and
I see so finely criticised here, are what we have been so long admiring.
We must go home and burn our idols." "Courage, Molière," cried an old man
from the pit; "this is genuine comedy." The price of the seats was
doubled from the time of the second representation. Nor were the effects
of the satire merely transitory. It converted an epithet of praise into
one of reproach; and a _femme precieuse_, a _style precieux_, a _ton
precieux_, once so much admired, have ever since been used only to
signify the most ridiculous affectation. There was, in truth, however,
quite as much luck as merit, in this success of Molière; whose production
exhibits no finer raillery, or better sustained dialogue, than are to be
found in many of his subsequent pieces. It assured him, however, of his
own strength, and disclosed to him the mode in which he should best hit
the popular taste. "I have no occasion to study Plautus or Terence any
longer," said he, "I must henceforth, study the world." The world
accordingly was his study; and the exquisite models of character which it
furnished him, will last as long as it shall endure.
Though an habitual valetudinarian, Molière relied almost wholly on the
temperance of his diet for the reestablishment of his health. "What use
do you make of your physician?" said the king to him one day. "We chat
together, Sire," said the poet. "He gives me his prescriptions; I never
follow them; and so I get well."
In Molière's time, the profession of a comedian was but lightly esteemed
in France at this period. Molière experienced the inconveniences
resulting from this circumstance, even after his splendid literary career
had given him undoubted claims to consideration. Most of our readers no
doubt, are acquainted with the anecdote of Belloc, an agreeable poet of
the court, who, on hearing one of the servants in the royal household
refuse to aid the author of the _Tartuffe_ in making the king's bed,
courteously requested "the poet to accept his services for that purpose."
Madame Campan's anecdote of a similar courtesy, on the part of Louis the
Fourteenth, is also well known; who, when several of these functionaries
refused to sit at table with the comedian, kindly invited him to sit down
with him, and, calling in some of his principal courtiers, remarked that
"he had requested the pleasure of Molière's company at his own table, as
it was not thought quite good enough for his officers." This rebuke had
the desired effect.
Molière died in 1673, he had been long affected by a pulmonary complaint,
and it was only by severe temperance that he was enabled to preserve even
a moderate degree of health. At the commencement of the year, his malady
sensibly increased. At this very season, he composed his _Malade
Imaginaire_; the most whimsical, and perhaps the most amusing of the
compositions, in which he has indulged his raillery against the faculty.
On the 17th of February, being the day appointed for its fourth
representation, his friends would have dissuaded him from appearing, in
consequence of his increasing indisposition. But he persisted in his
design, alleging "that more than fifty poor individuals depended for
their daily bread on its performance." His life fell a sacrifice to his
benevolence. The exertions which he was compelled to make in playing the
principal part of _Argan_ aggravated his distemper, and as he was
repeating the word _juro_, in the concluding ceremony, he fell into a
convulsion, which he vainly endeavoured to disguise from the spectators
under a forced smile. He was immediately carried to his house, in the
_Rue de Richelieu_, now No. 34. A violent fit of coughing, on his
arrival, occasioned the rupture of a blood-vessel; and seeing his end
approaching, he sent for two ecclesiastics of the parish of St. Eustace,
to which he belonged, to administer to him the last offices of religion.
But these worthy persons having refused their assistance, before a third,
who had been sent for, could arrive, Molière, suffocated with the
effusion of blood, had expired in the arms of his family.
Molière died soon after entering upon his fifty-second year. He is
represented to have been somewhat above the middle stature, and well
proportioned; his features large, his complexion dark, and his black,
bushy eye-brows so flexible, as to admit of his giving an infinitely
comic expression to his physiognomy. He was the best actor of his own
generation, and by his counsels, formed the celebrated Baron, the best of
the succeeding. He played all the range of his own characters, from
_Alceste_ to _Sganarelle_; though he seems to have been peculiarly fitted
for broad comedy.
He produced all his pieces, amounting to thirty, in the short space of
fifteen years. He was in the habit of reading these to an old female
domestic, by the name of La Forêt; on whose unsophisticated judgment he
greatly relied. On one occasion when he attempted to impose upon her the
production of a brother author, she plainly told him that he had never
written it. Sir Walter Scott may have had this habit of Molière's in his
mind, when he introduced a similar expedient into his "Chronicles of the
Canongate." For the same reason, our poet used to request the comedians
to bring their children with them, when he recited to them a new play.
The peculiar advantage of this humble criticism, in dramatic
compositions, is obvious. Alfieri himself, as he informs us, did not
disdain to resort to it.
Molière was naturally of a reserved and taciturn temper; insomuch that
his friend Boileau used to call him the _Contemplateur_. Strangers who
had expected to recognise in his conversation the sallies of wit which
distinguished his dramas, went away disappointed. The same thing is
related of La Fontaine. The truth is, that Molière went into society as a
spectator, not as an actor; he found there the studies for the
characters, which he was to transport upon the stage; and he occupied
himself with observing them. The dreamer, La Fontaine, lived too in a
world of his own creation. His friend, Madame de la Sablière, paid to him
this untranslateable compliment; "En vérité, mon cher La Fontaine, vous
seriez bien bête, si vous n'aviez pas tant d'esprit." These unseasonable
reveries brought him, it may be imagined, into many whimsical adventures.
The great Corneille, too, was distinguished by the same apathy. A
gentleman dined at the same table with him for six months, without
suspecting the author of the "Cid."
Molière enjoyed the closest intimacy with the great Condé, the most
distinguished ornament of the court of Louis the Fourteenth; to such an
extent indeed, that the latter directed, that the poet should never be
refused admission to him, at whatever hour he might choose to pay his
visit. His regard for his friend was testified by his remark, rather more
candid than courteous, to an Abbé of his acquaintance, who had brought
him an epitaph, of his own writing, upon the deceased poet. "Would to
heaven," said the prince, "that he were in a condition to bring me
yours."
* * * * *
DOMESTIC HABITS OF NAPOLEON.
At nine o'clock the emperor came out of his sleeping apartments, dressed
for the whole day. First the officers on duty were admitted, and received
their orders for the day. Then the _grandes entrees_ and the officers of
the household not on duty were introduced; and if any one had any
particular communication to make, he staid till the public audience was
concluded. At half after nine o'clock Napoleon breakfasted, on a small
mahogany table with one leg, and covered with a napkin. The prefect of
the palace stood close by this table, with his hat under his arm. The
breakfast rarely lasted beyond eight minutes. Sometimes, however, men of
science or literature, or distinguished artists, were admitted at this
time, with whom Napoleon is represented to have conversed in an easy and
lively style. Amongst these were M. Monge, Costaz, Denon, Bertholet,
Corvisart, David, Gerard, Isabey, Talma, and Fontaine. Dinner was served
at six o'clock; the emperor and the empress dined alone on the common
days of the week, but on Sunday all the imperial family attended, upon
which occasion Napoleon, the empress, and Madame Mère had arm-chairs, and
the rest chairs without arms. There was only one course. The emperor
drank no wine but Chambertin, and that usually mixed with water. Dinner
lasted in general from fifteen to twenty minutes. All this time the
prefect of the palace had to superintend the affair _en grand_, and to
answer any questions put to him. In the drawing-room a page presented to
the emperor a waiter with a cup and a sugar-stand. Le chef d'office
poured out the coffee; the empress took the cup from the emperor; the
page and the chef d'office retired; the prefect waited till the empress
had poured the coffee into the saucer and given it to Napoleon. After
this the emperor went to his papers again, and the empress played at
cards. Sometimes he would come and talk a little while with the people of
the household in the apartments of the empress, but not often, and he
never staid long. Upon his retiring, the officers on duty attended the
audience _du coucher_, and received their orders for the morrow. This was
the ordinary economy of the emperor's time, when not with the army.
Napoleon read the English newspapers every day in French, and M. de
Bausset says the translation was rigorously exact. One day in January,
1811, the emperor gave some of these extracts to de B., and ordered him
to read them aloud during dinner. The prefect got on pretty well, till he
stumbled at some uncouth epithets, with which he was puzzled how to deal,
especially in the presence of the empress, and a room full of domestics.
He blew his nose, and skipped the words--"No!" said Napoleon, "read out!
you will find many more." "I should be wanting--" "Read, I tell you,"
repeated the emperor, "read every thing!" At last de B. ran upon "tyrant
or despot," which he commuted for "emperor." Napoleon caught the paper
out of his hands, read the real phrase aloud, and then ordered M. de B.
to continue. These translations used to be made by Maret, Duke of
Bassano.
* * * * *
THE GATHERER.
"A snapper-up of unconsidered trifles."
SHAKSPEARE.
* * * * *
RETENTIVE MEMORY.
The historian, Fuller, in 1607, had a most retentive memory; he could
repeat 500 strange, unconnected words, after twice hearing them; and a
sermon verbatim, after reading it once. He undertook, after passing from
Temple Bar to the farthest part of Cheapside and back again, to mention
all the signs over the shops on both sides of the streets, repeated them
backwards and forwards, and performed the task with great exactness.
J.T.S.
* * * * *
EVE'S TOMB.
About two miles northward of Djidda is shown the tomb of Howa (Eve), the
mother of mankind; it is, as I was informed, a rude structure of stone,
about four feet in length, two or three feet in height, and as many in
breadth; thus resembling the tomb of Noah, seen in the valley of Bekaa,
in Syria--_Burckhardt's Travels in Arabia_.
* * * * *
ACROSTIC ON THE EYES.
E nchanting features! how thy beauties charm;
Y e magic orbs, in which for ever dwell
E ach varying passion, from the bosom warm,
S ilently ye express what language ne'er, can tell.
C.J.T.
* * * * *
VOLTAIRE.
When Voltaire was once ridiculing our immortal author of "Paradise Lost,"
in the presence of Dr. Young, it is said the latter delivered the
following extempore:
"Thou art so witty, profligate, and thin,
Thou seem'st a Milton, with his Death and Sin."
R.Y.
* * * * *
VENTILATION.
Garrick told Cibber, "that his pieces were the best ventilators to his
theatre at Drury Lane; for as soon as any of them were played, the
audience directly left the house."
* * * * *
ACROSTIC TO BRAHAM.
B ear not away ye gales that sound!
R apture be mute, nor breathe one sigh!
A ttentive angels hover round--
H eaven listens to his melody;
A nd all the spheres' harmonious strings
M ove in celestial strains when Braham sings!
G.J.T.
* * * * *
This day is published, price 5s. with a Frontispiece, and thirty other
Engravings, the
ARCANA OF SCIENCE, AND ANNUAL REGISTER OF THE USEFUL ARTS, FOR 1829.
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