wife of Henry VI. and her father Renè, King of Sicily and Jerusalem,
that it is related of him, that when the news of the loss of one of
his kingdoms was brought to him, while he was engaged in painting a
partridge from nature, he paid no attention to the communication, nor
would he see the messenger till he had given the finishing strokes
to his design. Renè’s compositions in music, are at this very time
the delight of his native country, and indeed of Europe. He was the
inventor of the Opera ballet; and the drama of _La Tentation_, lately
revived with so much splendour at Paris in 1832, was originally
composed by this Prince. The wild story is his own, and the delightful
melodies his composition, which have been merely tamed and regulated by
modern art. This Prince, adored for his beneficence by his people, who
named him the “_Good_,” was scorned by the destructive nobles of his
era as _fainéant_ and feeble-minded. After the death of his first wife,
Isabella of Lorraine, he married Jeanne de Lovel. She was of so grave
a character, that she was never known to laugh but once, at a pageant
devised by her royal husband--namely, a boat filled with water-pipes,
which played on every side, and completely drenched the spectators
that did not use some agility in getting out of the way.
Margaret’s elder sister, Yolente, survived her two years; she had a
beautiful daughter called Margaret of Anjou the younger. Maria Louisa,
Napoleon’s Empress, possessed the breviary of this Princess, in which
there is one sentence supposed to have been written by the once
beautiful, powerful, and admired Margaret, Queen of England, her aunt:
“Vanité des vanités, tout est vanité.”
❦
_To Julia._
Sweet, be not proud of those fair eyes,
Which star-like sparkle in their skies;
Be ye not proud of that rich hair,
Which wantons in the love-sick air,
Nor be you proud because you see
All hearts your captives, yours yet free.
When as that jewel which you wear
Sunk from the tip of your soft ear,
Will last to be a precious stone,
When all your world of beauty’s gone.
❦
[Sidenote: Good Nature.]
Good nature must be a qualification peculiar to the English, as it is
remarkable that there is no term for it in any other language.
❦
Among the most beautiful of the Welsh Melodies still exists the well
known air of “Sweet Richard.” Tradition declares this melody was
composed by Owen Glendower, as a tribute of regret to his Prince, it
was afterwards sung and played in the many risings in favour of Richard
II. with the same powerful effect that the celebrated Jacobite airs had
on the partisans of the house of Stuart.
❦
The following touching lines, which have been attributed to Henry VI.
were probably written during his long imprisonment in the Tower.
“Kingdoms are but cares,
State is devoid of stay;
Riches are ready snares,
And hasten to decay.
Who meaneth to remove the rock
Out of his slimy mud,
Shall mire himself, and hardly ’scape
The swelling of the flood.”
❦
[Sidenote: Manner.]
There is no policy like politeness; and a good manner is the best thing
in the world, either to get a good name or to supply the want of it.
❦
_Found in Sir Walter Raleigh’s Bible in the Gate House at Westminster._
Even such is time, that takes on trust
Our youth, our joys, our all we have,
And pays us but with age and dust;
Who in the dark and silent grave,
When we have wandered all our ways,
Shuts up the story of our days!
But from this earth, this grave, this dust,
The Lord shall raise me up, I trust.
❦
_Speech of a Shawanese Chief to Lord Dunmore._
“I appeal to any white man to-day, if ever he entered Logan’s cabin
hungry, and he gave him not meat; if he ever came cold or naked, and
he gave him not clothing. During the last long and bloody war, Logan
remained idle, ignominious in his cabin, an advocate for peace. Such
was my love of the Whites, that those of my own country pointed at me
as I went by, and said, Logan is the friend of white men! I had even
thought to live with you, but the iniquities of one among you did away
that thought, and dragged me from my cabin of peace. Colonel Cressop
the last spring, in cold blood, cut off all the relations of Logan,
sparing neither woman nor child. There runs not a drop of the blood
of Logan in the veins of any human creature. This called on me for
revenge; I have sought it; I have killed many; revenge has been fully
glutted.
“For my country, I rejoice at the beams of peace; but harbour not
the thought, that mine is the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear; he
will not turn his heel to save his life. Who is there to mourn for
Logan?--not one.”
❦
[Sidenote: Costume of a Greek Woman.]
Over the petticoat a loose jacket of white cloth, reaching to the knee,
and open in front; its edges and sleeves wrought very tastefully with
red cord. The head dress was composed entirely of money. A fillet of
gold sequins was first put, _à la feronière_, around the forehead, and
a close cap, with a throat piece like the gorget of a helmet, fitted
the skull exactly, stitched with coins of all values, folded over each
other according to their sizes, like scales. The hair was then braided,
and fell down the back, loaded also with money. The greater proportion
of pieces are _paras_, a small and thin Turkish coin of small value.
Among the larger pieces are dollars and coins of all nations. This head
dress often constitutes the marriage portion of the wearer.
❦
_On a Rose which was growing in a Skull._
Bella flor donde naciste?
Que temprana fué tu suerte!
Que al primer paso que diste,
Encontraste con la muerte
Dejarte es cosa triste,
Llevarte es cosa fuerte,
Dejarte donde naciste,
Es dejarte con la muerte.
_Translation by Gen. Carrol._
Beauteous flower! where hast thou grown?
How early is thy doom!
Thy scented blossoms scarce are blown,
When destined to the tomb!
’Tis hard to pluck thee at thy birth,
’Tis sad to leave thee in this bed;
To leave thee in thy native earth,
Is but to leave thee with the dead.
❦
[Sidenote: A fearful Witness.]
In the commission of evill, feare no man so much as thy own selfe.
Another is but one witnesse against thee; thou art a thousand. Another
thou may’st avoid, but thyself thou can’st not. Wickedness is its own
punishment.
❦
[Sidenote: Thirteenth Century.]
Long toed shoes were invented by Fulk, Count of Anjou, to hide an
excrescence on one of his feet. These toes were so long as to be
fastened to the knees with gold chains, and carved at the extreme point
with the representation of a church window, a bird, or some fantastic
device.
❦
The game of Cassino is thus played in some parts of Germany:--
Great Cassino takes sixteen.
Little Cassino--fifteen.
Every Ace--fourteen.
King--thirteen.
Queen--twelve.
Knave--eleven.
❦
[Sidenote: Local Associations.]
Particular places become dear to the heart of man more generally by
the associations attached to them, than by their beauty, convenience,
or fertility. Nor is this the case only as affecting individuals, for
attachment founded on memories or traditions binds tribes and nations
likewise to certain spots, and this is carried so far occasionally that
the mere name of a distant country will call from the bosom feelings of
affection and devotion, joy, pride, and hope.
❦
[Sidenote: On the Choice of a Wife.]
Enough of beauty to secure affection,
Enough of sprightliness to shun dejection,
Of modest diffidence to claim protection;
A docile mind subservient to correction,
Yet stored with sense, with reason, and reflection,
And every passion held in due subjection;
Just faults enough to keep her from perfection.
When such I find, I’ll make her my election.
❦
[Sidenote: Henry IV.]
On the night of the twentieth of January, 1608, the historian Pierre
Mathieu relates, that he was present at the levee of Henry IV. of
France, when that monarch said, that such had been the intense frost on
that night, “his whiskers had been frozen when in bed by the side of
the queen.”
❦
The following Latin prayer was composed by Mary, Queen of Scots, and
repeated by her immediately before her execution.
“O Domine Deus, speravi in te;
O care Jesu, nunc libera me;
In durâ catenâ, in miserâ pœnâ, desidero te.
Languendo, gemendo, et genuflectendo,
A pœnâ desidero te;
Adoro, imploro, ut liberes me.”
❦
In the year 1429, the same year Margaret of Anjou was born, Jargeau
was taken by the Maid of Orleans. The Duke of Suffolk was the governor
of the town, and when great part of the garrison was slain, being hard
pressed to surrender by William Renaud, the following colloquy passed
between them in the breach: “Are you a gentleman?” demanded Suffolk,
finding it impossible to escape. “I am,” replied Renaud. “But are you
a knight?” rejoined the Earl. “I am not,” answered Renaud. “Kneel
down, then,” said Suffolk, “that I may make you one, for I cannot
otherwise yield to you.” This was accordingly done, and affords a rich
characteristic of the age of chivalry.
❦
_To the Memory of the gallant Sir Thomas Picton._
“My arm a nobler victory never gained.”
Weep for the brave! yet wherefore weep?
On honour’s bed he laid him down,
Distinguish’d ’mid the mighty heap,
Encircled with the hero’s crown.
Weep for the brave! the tear shall tell
Beyond the sculptor’s proudest art;
Though Picton, gallant Picton fell,
He lives enshrin’d in England’s heart.
❦
[Sidenote: True Magnanimity.]
Hath any wronged thee? be bravely revenged: slight it, and the work
is begun; forgive it, and ’tis finished. He is below himself, that is
not above an injury. Was it not Plato who said, that when an injurious
speech was offered to him, he placed himself so high that it could not
reach him?
❦
_On a Music Master who after gaining Credit of many, ran away in every
one’s Debt._
His _time_ was short, his touch was neat,
Our gold he freely finger’d;
Alert alike with hands and feet,
His movements have not linger’d.
Where lies the wonder of the case?
A moment’s thought detects it;
His practice has been _Thoro-base_,
A chord will be his exit!
Yet while we blame his hasty flight
Our censure may be rash;
A traveller is surely right
To change his _notes_ for _cash_.
❦
[Sidenote: The Emperor and the Opera Dancer.]
The insurrection and popular tumult which took place during the first
days of the reign of the present Emperor of Russia, Nicolas, are facts
well known; yet it may not be uninteresting to relate some of the
circumstances attending the substitution of the Grand Duke Nicolas
Paulowitsch in place of his brother the Grand Duke Constantine, who
had abdicated, as was declared, and renounced his right to the crown
in consequence of the marriage which had been in opposition, it was
stated, to the opinions of his family, and by them averred, with his
own abdication of his rights in favour of his brother Nicolas. After
the, to say the least, awfully mysterious death of Alexander, the
Archduke Constantine’s abdication was thus explained.
It was towards the end of 1825 that St. Petersburg was the scene
of the struggle between the subjects and the sovereign; marked, in
the first instance, by the fearless and intrepid exposure of his
own royal person, and in the latter, by the terrible vengeance and
inflictions with which many of the agents of this revolt were made to
suffer by the merciless decree of the new Emperor. Even where life
was spared, scarcely preferable to death were the punishments awarded
indiscriminately, and without mitigation to age, youth, or sex.
Amongst the nobler victims of the Autocrat’s implacable revenge, was
the Prince Troubeitzkoi, a young colonel, but lately married to the
daughter of one of the most distinguished members of the diplomacy at
St. Petersburg. This unfortunate man had sought a refuge in the house
of his father in law; but his retreat being discovered to Nicolas,
he was pursued, and with the trembling ambassador carried before the
Emperor. The Prince Troubeitzkoi, throwing himself on his knees,
implored his clemency, and in tears the wretched parent pleaded his
youth and the sincerity of his repentance. Disdaining to reply to the
prostrate nobleman, Nicolas turned to the ambassador, saying that, in
consideration for him, the life of his son in law was granted, but that
his name would be added to those who were sentenced to the _second_
degree of punishment.
“To lay their head on the block whilst reeking with the blood of their
accomplices, and afterwards to hard labour for life, in exile: that
exile, Siberia!”
Before relating the fate of any of the other conspirators, we will
add to the sad story of this young couple, that the wife sued for and
obtained leave to follow her husband into banishment; she nobly shared
his trials, his privations, and his labours in the mines. Her devotion
had no limit; and it was by the trifling produce of her industry that
she sustained her family. Five times, in these desolate regions, she
became a mother. In the year 1838, she gave her husband a fresh proof
of her sublime and unwearying affection. She quitted Siberia, and alone
crossing the dreadful country, after a journey of _sixteen hundred
leagues_, she threw herself at the feet of the Emperor, and implored
his pardon for her husband.
The autocrat was inflexible, and forbade the name of the individual
who had dared to conspire against his person, to be mentioned in his
presence.
The wretched wife withdrew, and again retrod the desert path to exile
and her husband.
Four years subsequently, this hapless victim again resolved to
undertake this dreadful journey, and to make another effort to soften
the iron will of her sovereign. And this time she succeeded, through
the influence of--_an opera dancer!_
* * * * *
Marie Taglioni had by her talent, and her good qualities, acquired the
favour and indulgence of the Emperor and the Empress. Whilst none dared
to speak in behalf of the miserable exiles, or to utter the suppliant’s
cry for mercy, it was suggested, that probably Marie Taglioni would
venture to lay the petition at the Sovereign’s feet; she did so,
and, aided by the noble intercession of the Empress, the pardon was
obtained; and after sixteen years banishment the Prince Troubeitzkoï
was released, but on the condition of never approaching the Russian
territory.
❦
A reflection is attributed to the illustrious historian Edward Gibbon,
which those who are capable of giving it just value ought more
frequently to apply.
“My lot,” he says, “might have been that of a peasant, a slave, or a
savage; nor can I reflect without pleasure on the bounty of nature,
which cast my birth in a free and civilized country, in an age of
science and philosophy, in a family of honourable rank, and decently
endowed with the gifts of fortune.”
❦
Lady Wortley Montague says of the Hervey family, “They were a clever
but eccentric race, and of whom it was observed, that the world
consisted of men, women, and Herveys.”
❦
[Sidenote: Coquetry.]
Tacitus remarks of Poppea, the Queen of Nero, that she concealed a part
of her face: to the end, that the imagination having fuller play by
irritating curiosity, they might think more highly of her beauty than
if the whole of her face had been exposed.
❦
[Sidenote: Charles V.]
Charles V. spoke five languages: the Flemish, the German, the Spanish,
the French, and the Italian. He used to say, that to employ the vulgar
languages according to the use for which they were most proper, he
would speak Italian to the ladies, French to men, German to horses,
and Spanish to God. He used also to say, the Portuguese appeared to be
madmen, and were so; the Spaniards appeared to be wise, and were not
so; the Italians appeared to be wise, and were so; the French appeared
to be madmen, and were not such. That the Germans spoke like carmen,
the English like simpletons, the Italians like lovers, the French like
masters, and the Spaniards like kings.
❦
[Sidenote: Family MSS.]
To the Right Honourable the Earl of Leycester, Extraordinary
Embassador for his Majesty of Great Britain with the King of France.
My Lord,
I have received a great honour and favour from your Lordship, that you
would think upon a servant so far off, which I can but acknowledge,
being unable to requite. For news (which is the Embassador’s
philosophie), I have so many employments of my vocation, and now so
little means to enquire near at hand, as I am utterly ignorant of
any thing worth writing; but that I hear your Lordship hath given his
Majesty very good satisfaction in his business, and planted in him a
great opinion of your abilities. I heartily wish your Lordship may
likewise find a proportionable compensation for both at your return. No
man, shall be more glad to see your Lordship in the right place of your
merit than
Your Lordship’s humble and
faithful servant,
BEN. RUDYARD.
St. James’s Lodge,
20 June, 1637.
❦
[Sidenote: Man was made to mourn.]
When chill November’s surly blast
Made fields and forests bare,
One evening as I wandered forth
Along the banks of Ayr,
I spied a man whose aged steps
Seem’d weary worn with care,
His face was furrow’d o’er with age,
And hoary was his hair.
Young stranger, whither wand’rest thou?
Began the rev’rend sage;
Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain,
Or youthful pleasures rage?
Or haply prest with cares and woes,
Too soon thou hast begun
To wander forth with me to mourn
The miseries of man!
The sun that overhangs yon moors
Outspreading far and wide,
Where hundreds labour to support
A haughty Lordship’s pride;
I’ve seen yon weary winter sun
Twice forty years return,
And every time has added proof
That man was made to mourn!
Oh man! while in thy early years,
How prodigal of time,
Misspending all thy precious hours,
Thy glorious youthful prime;
Alternate follies take the sway,
Licentious passions burn,
Which tenfold force gives nature’s law,
That man was made to mourn!
Look not alone on youthful prime,
On manhood’s active might;
Man then is useful to his kind,
Supported is his right:
But see him on the edge of life,
With cares and sorrows worn,
Then age and want--oh, ill-match’d pair!
Show man was made to mourn!
A few seem favourites of fate,
In pleasure’s lap carest,
Yet think not all the rich and great
Are likewise truly blest:
But oh, what crowds in every land
Are wretched and forlorn!
Through weary life this lesson learn,
That man was made to mourn!
Many and sharp the num’rous ills
Inwoven with our frame,
More pointed still we make ourselves,
Regret, remorse, and shame!
And man, whose heaven-erected face
The smiles of love adorn,
Man’s inhumanity to man,
Makes countless thousands mourn!
See yonder poor o’er-labour’d wight,
So abject, mean, and vile,
Who begs a brother of the earth
To give him leave to toil;
And see his lordly fellow worm
The poor petition spurn,
Unmindful though a weeping wife
And helpless offspring mourn!
If I’m design’d yon lordling’s slave,
By nature’s law design’d,
Why was an independent wish
E’er planted in my mind?
If not, why am I subject to
His cruelty or scorn?
Or why has man the will and power
To make his fellow mourn?
Yet let not this too much, my son,
Disturb thy youthful breast;
This partial view of human kind
Is surely not the best!
The poor, oppressed, honest man
Had surely ne’er been born,
Had there not been some recompense
To comfort those that mourn!
Oh Death! the poor man’s dearest friend,
The kindest and the best,
Welcome the hour my aged limbs
Are laid with thee at rest;
The great, the wealthy fear thy blow,
From pomp and pleasure torn,
But oh! a blest relief to those
Who weary laden mourn!
❦
Two opposite opinions should not lie on the same bolster.
❦
Afflictions are sent us by Providence to teach us to recollect our
ways.
❦
[Sidenote: Sir Thomas More.]
Quod mihi dixisti,
De corpore Christi,
Crede quod edas, et edis;
Sic tibi rescribo
De tuo Palfrido,
Crede quod habeas, ut habes.
This was a witty satire on the zeal of Sir Thomas for the dogma of the
Romish church, Transubstantiation.
❦
It was by Sir Thomas More that Hans Holbein was introduced to King
Henry VIII. He resided during three years at his patron’s house at
Chelsea. Holbein was born at Augsburgh in 1495 or 8. His father was a
citizen of that place, and an esteemed painter. At Basil in Switzerland
he became known to Erasmus, who sent him with his introduction to
England, to Sir Thomas More.
❦
[Sidenote: Thought.]
You think me in danger of becoming an unhappy being, from my turn of
thought and taste. Young as I am, I feel the truth of your observation.
I differ from those I converse with, they mortify and disappoint me,
I draw back with disgust; I raise wonder, and perhaps hatred also.
Sometimes my reserve is construed into pride and affectation. When I
am talkative my ideas are laughed at, as inconsistent with the opinions
of the world; my conduct and character are not understood, and I am
stigmatized with being romantic, that is, ridiculous. What am I to do?
either I must give up the world or my own faculties. Am I born to say,
“Yes, certainly,” and “that’s right,” when my conviction impels me to
say, “No, I doubt,” and “that’s wrong?”
❦
_Providence._
Just as a mother, with sweet pious face,
Yearns tow’rds her little children from her seat,
Gives one a kiss, another an embrace,
Takes this upon her knee, that on her feet;
And while from actions, looks, complaints, pretences,
She learns their feeling, and their various will,
To this a look, to that a word dispenses,
And whether stern or smiling, loves them still.
So Providence! for us high, infinite,
Makes our necessities its watchful task;
Hearkens to all our prayers, helps all our wants,
And e’en if it denies what seems our right,
Either denies, because ’twould have us ask,
Or seems but to deny, or in denying, grants.
❦
[Sidenote: Cromwell.]
“Cromwell was formed to delude the minds of men. His hypocrisy, a thing
far removed from what is ordinarily known by that name, was fervent,
and excited sympathy, and created awe in the beholders. The bluntness
of his manner, and the occasional familiarity of his deportment,
even to the entire emptying himself of all extrinsic and accidental
greatness, won the favour of those with whom he had intercourse. There
was something deep in his conceptions, that none of his assistants
could fathom. He was moderate in his temper, and forbearing in his
actions; never allowing himself in violence more frequently, or to a
greater extent, than was necessary to his purposes. Add to which the
firmness and courage of his spirit, and the greatness of his abilities,
whether to procure intelligence, or to overawe the insidiousness and
crooked hostility of foreign courts: and we shall own that he was most
singularly fitted for the station he filled.”[8]
[8] This character of Oliver Cromwell was drawn by William Godwin,
author of the Life of Milton’s Nephews, E. and J. Philips.
❦
[Sidenote: Spanish Proverb.]
When the child is christened, you may have godfathers enough: when a
man’s need is supplied, or his necessities over, people are ready to
offer their assistance or service.
❦
Good Chancellor Van,
(Who’s a very wise man),
Would persuade poor John Bull,
(Who’s a bit of a fool,)
That _paper_, though _rags_,
(This is one of his brags)
Is as good as pure gold.
And yet we are told
He’d entail degradation
On our brave sister nation,
For merely believing _Transubstantiation_.
You’d have reason’d much better,
Dear Van, had you said,
That your wig block, though wood,
Was as good as your head.
❦
[Sidenote: Hyder Ali Khan.]
In the following extract from the speech of the Right Honourable
Edmund Burke, on the subject of the Nabob of Arcot’s debts, the
reader is led by all the enthusiasm of characteristic feeling and the
ornamental graces of imagination which distinguished that orator, to
the contemplation of a great though savage mind, which he so strongly
paints as struggling against the toils of oppressive power, and
in the operation of determined revenge, _collecting, calculating,
and measuring_ the vengeance with which he purposed to visit his
oppressors.