Aggressive war we deprecate, to say the least of it, as strongly

as any peace orator who ever spouted from a platform; but we by no

means think that peace, in the catholic sense of the word, can be at

all endangered by the maintenance of standing armies. So far as the

military establishment of Great Britain is concerned, we have already

had occasion, in a former paper, to show that it is barely sufficient

for the occupation of our large and numerous colonies, and greatly

inferior in proportion to that of any other country in Europe. We

certainly do not intend to resume that discussion, because the sense

of the nation has unequivocally condemned the pragmatic fools who

provoked it; and even the Whigs, who coquetted with them, have seen the

folly of their ways, and are not likely, in a hurry, to attempt any

numerical reduction. But we go a great deal farther. We maintain, that

without the assistance of the standing armies throughout Europe during

the late critical juncture, anarchy would now have been triumphant, and

civilisation have received a check so terrible, that ages might have

elapsed before we could have recovered from its effects. Revolution

is incalculably a greater disaster than war; and the higher the point

of civilisation to which a nation has attained before it permits the

democratic flame, smothering beneath the surface of all society, to

burst out into fury, the more dangerous and difficult to extinguish

must be the conflagration. But for the regular army of France, red

republicanism would now be triumphant, and a new Reign of Terror

have begun. The armies and discipline of Prussia alone preserved

the Rhenish provinces and the Palatinate from anarchy, plunder, and

devastation; and, failing those of Austria, Vienna would have been a

heap of ashes. Ultra-democrats, in all ages, have exclaimed against

standing armies as instruments of tyranny for suppressing and overawing

the people, and they have argued that such a force is incompatible

with free institutions. Such declamation is perfectly natural, both

now and heretofore, when we reflect who the individuals are that use

it. No class of persons are more bitter against the police than the

professional thieves. To them the constable's baton also is an emblem

of intolerable tyranny, because it interferes with those liberal ideas

regarding the distribution of property which have been philosophically

expounded and reduced to ethics by certain sages of the socialist

school. The democrat hates the soldier, because he considers him an

obstacle in the way of that political regeneration which is merely

another word for the institution of a reign of terror.

We do not, however, think it necessary to enter into any elaborate

exposition of the idleness of the peace movement. So long as the

gentlemen who have gratuitously constituted themselves a congress

exhibit so much common sense as to retain the semblance of consistency,

we should hardly feel ourselves called upon to interfere in any way

with their arrangements. We should be the last people in the world to

grudge to Mr Ewart, or any other senator of such limited calibre, the

little notoriety which he may chance to pick up by figuring in Paris as

a champion of pacific fraternity. The paths towards the Temple of Fame

are many and devious; and if a man feels himself utterly wanting in

that intellectual strength which is necessary for attaining the summit

by the legitimate and beaten road, he is certainly entitled to clamber

up to any odd pinnacle from which he can make himself, for a moment,

the object of observation. In minor theatres, it is not uncommon to

find a broken-down tragedian attempting to achieve some popularity in

a humble line, by jumping as Harlequin through a clock, or distorting

his ochre-coated visage by grinning magnanimously as the clown. To such

feats no fair exception can be taken; and we doubt not that a roar of

laughter, proceeding from the throats of the most ignorant assemblage

of numskulls, is as grateful to the ears of the performer as would

be the applause of the most enlightened and fastidious audience. We

believe that, in the case of the Congress, audience and orators were

extremely well suited to the capacity of each other. The people of

Paris, who drank in the rolling periods of the pacificators, were

exceedingly amused with the exhibition; and testified their delight, by

greeting the reproduction of the farce, in the shape of a Vaudeville at

the Théâtre des Variétés, with unextinguishable shouts of laughter!

Neither shall we make any comment upon the singularity of the time

selected for these demonstrations. The members of the Congress

expressly set forth, that it was their desire to impress upon the

governments of Europe the folly of maintaining large establishments,

and we presume that they entertained some reasonable hope that their

remonstrances might at least be heard. We need scarcely point out to

our readers the eminent fitness of the present juncture for carrying

these views into effect. We have great faith in the extent and power

of human idiocy, but we hardly supposed that any body of men could

have been congregated, possessed of so much collective imbecility as

to conceive that this was a proper moment for securing the conviction,

or enlisting the sympathies of any government in their scheme. We are,

however, forced to conclude, that a good many of them are sincere; and,

believing this, our regard for their honesty rises in a corresponding

ratio with the decline of our respect for the measure of their

intellects. It would probably be unjust and wrong to confound some of

these simple souls with men of the stamp of their new ally, who use

their association merely as a means for the promulgation of part of

their political opinions, but who, in reality, are so far from being

the friends of peace, that they seem bent upon using their utmost

efforts to involve the whole of Europe in a new and desolating war.

While, therefore, we drop for the present any further notice of the

proceedings of the Peace Congress, we feel it our imperative duty to

trace the steps of Mr Cobden since, arrayed in sheep's clothing, he

chose to make his appearance in the midst of that innocent assembly.

Whatever sympathy may have been shown in certain quarters towards the

Italian insurgents, that feeling has been materially lessened by the

awful spectacles afforded by insurgent rule. We are, in this country,

a great deal too apt to be carried into extravagance by our abstract

regard for constitutional freedom. We forget that our own system has

been the gradual work of ages; that the enlightenment and education of

the people has invariably preceded every measure of substantial reform;

and that it is quite possible that other nations may not be fitted to

receive like institutions, or to work out the social problem, without

more than British restraint. Arbitrary government, being quite foreign

to our own notions, is invariably regarded by us with dislike; and our

decided impulse, on the appearance of each new insurrection, is to

attribute the whole of the blame to the inflexibility of the sovereign

power. So long as this feeling is merely confined to expression of

opinion at home, it is comparatively, though not altogether, harmless.

Undue weight is attached abroad to the articles of the press,

enunciated with perfect freedom, but certainly not always expressing

the sense of the community; and foreign statesmen, unable to appreciate

this license, have ere now taken umbrage at diatribes, which, could

the matter be investigated, would be found to proceed from exceedingly

humble sources. So long, however, as our government professed and acted

upon the principles of non-interference, there was little likelihood

of our being embroiled in disputes with which we had no concern,

simply on account of liberal meetings, tavern speeches, or hebdomadal

objurgations of despotism.

The real danger commenced when a government, calling itself liberal,

began to interfere, most unjustifiably and most unwisely, with the

concerns of its neighbours. Powerless to do good at home, the Whigs

have ever shown themselves most ready to do mischief abroad; and

probably, in the whole history of British diplomacy, there stands

recorded no transaction more deplorable, from first to last, than the

part which Lord Palmerston has taken in the late Italian movements.

It is the fashion to laud the present Foreign Secretary as a man

of consummate ability; nor is it possible to deny that, so far as

speech-making is concerned, he certainly surpasses his colleagues.

We were almost inclined to go farther, and admit that no one could

equal him in dexterity of reading official documents, so as to mystify

and distort their meaning; but were we to assign him pre-eminence

in this department, we should do signal injustice to Earl Grey, who

unquestionably stands unrivalled in the art of coopering a despatch.

Ability Lord Palmerston certainly has, but we deny that he has shown

it in his late Italian negotiations. Restless activity is not a proof

of diplomatic talent, any more than an appetite for intrigue, or a

perverse obstinacy of purpose. Men of the above temperament have, in

all ages, been held incompetent for the duties of so delicate and

difficult a station as that of minister of foreign affairs; and yet

who will deny that the whole course of our recent diplomatic relations

with the south of Europe, has been marked by an unusual display of

restlessness, obstinacy, and intrigue? Public men must submit to have

their labours judged of by their fruits; it is the penalty attached

to their high office, and most righteously so, since the destinies of

nations are committed to their hands. Lord Palmerston may possibly

have thought that, by dictating to the governments of Italy the nature

of the relations which, in his opinion, ought to subsist between

them and their subjects, he was consulting the honour and advantage

of England, fulfilling his duty to the utmost, and providing for

the maintenance of the public tranquillity of Europe. We say it is

possible that such was his thought and intention; but, if so, surely

never yet did a man, possessing more than common ability, resort to

such extraordinary means, or employ such incapable agents. Of all the

men who could have been selected for such a service, Lord Minto was

incalculably the worst. We have nothing whatever to say against that

nobleman in his private capacity; but, throughout his whole public, we

cannot say useful, career, he has never, on one occasion, exhibited a

spark even of ordinary talent, and it is more than questioned by many,

whether his intelligence rises to the ordinary level. Through accident

and connexion he has been thrust into state employment, and has never

rendered himself otherwise remarkable than for a most egregious

partiality for those of his family, kindred, and name. And yet this

was the accredited agent sent out by Lord Palmerston to expound the

intentions and views of Great Britain, not only to the sovereigns of

Italy, but also to their revolted subjects.

We say nothing of the diplomatic employment of such a representative as

Mr Abercromby, at the court of Turin. The correspondence contained in

the Blue Books laid before parliament, shows how singularly ignorant

that minister was of the real posture of affairs in Italy; how eagerly

he caught at every insinuation which was thrown out against the good

faith and pacific policy of Austria; and how completely he was made

the tool and the dupe of the revolutionary party. It is enough to

note the fruits of the Palmerstonian policy, which have been, so far

as we are concerned, the utter annihilation of all respect for the

British name in Italy, insurrections, wild and wasting civil war, and,

finally, the occupation of Rome by the French. Whatever may be thought

of the prudence of this latter move, or whatever may be its remote

consequences, this at least is certain, that, but for Oudinot and his

army, the Eternal City would have been given up as a prey to the vilest

congregation of ruffians that ever profaned the name of liberty by

inscribing it on their blood-stained banners. To associate the cause

of such men with that of legitimate freedom is an utter perversion

of terms; and those who have been rash enough to do so must stand

convicted, before the world, of complete ignorance of their subject. No

pen, we believe, could adequately describe the atrocities which were

perpetrated in Rome, from the day when Count Rossi fell by the poniard

of the assassin, on the steps of the Quirinal palace, down to that on

which the gates were opened for the admittance of the besieging army.

Not the least of Popish miracles was the escape of Pius himself, who

beheld his secretary slain, and his bodyguard butchered by his side.

Of these things modern liberalism takes little note: it hears not

the blood of innocent and unoffending priests cry out for vengeance

from the pavement; it makes no account of pillage and spoliation, of

ransacked convent, or of harried home. It proclaims its sympathy aloud

with the robber and the bravo, and is not ashamed to throw the veil of

patriotism over the enormities of the brigand Garibaldi!

When, therefore, not only a considerable portion of the press of this

country, but the government itself, is found espousing the cause of

revolution in the south of Europe, we need not be surprised if other

governments, at a period of so much danger and insecurity, regard

Great Britain as a renegade to the cause of order. Our position at

present is, in reality, one of great difficulty, and such as ought

to make us extremely cautious of indulging in unnecessary bravado.

The state of our financial affairs is anything but encouraging. We

are answerable for a larger debt than any other nation of the world;

and our economists are so sensible of the weight of our burdens, that

they would fain persuade us to denude ourselves even of the ordinary

means of defence. Our foreign exports are stationary; our imports

immensely increasing; our home market reduced, for the present, to a

state of terrible prostration. Free trade, by destroying the value

of agricultural produce, has almost extinguished our last hope of

restoring tranquillity to Ireland, and of raising that unhappy country

to the level of the sister kingdoms. It is in vain that we have

crippled ourselves to stay the recurring famine of years, since our

statesmen are leagued with famine, and resolute to persevere in their

iniquity. The old hatred of the Celt to the Saxon is still burning

in the bosoms of a large proportion of the misguided population of

Ireland; and were any opportunity afforded, it would break forth as

violently as ever. So that, even within the girdle of the four seas,

we are not exactly in that situation which might justify our provoking

unnecessary hostility from abroad. So far we are entirely at one with

the Peace Congress. When we look to the state of our colonies, the

prospect is not more encouraging. Through Whig misrule, our tenure of

the Canadas has become exceedingly precarious. The West Indies are

writhing in ruin; and even the inhabitants of the Cape are rampant,

from the duplicity of the Colonial Office. Our interest is most

clearly and obviously identified with the cause of order; for, were

Britain once actively engaged in a general war, it is possible that

the presence of her forces would be required in more than a single

point. Of the final result, in the event of such a calamity, we have no

doubt, but not the less, on that account, should we deeply deplore the

struggle.

Such being our sentiments, it is with considerable pain that we feel

ourselves called upon to notice as strong an instance of charlatanism

and presumption as was ever exhibited in this country. Fortunately,

on this occasion, the offender has gone so far that no one can be

blind to his delinquencies; for, if there be any truth in the abstract

principles of the Peace Association, their last disciple has disowned

them; if the doctrines of free trade were intended to have universal

application, Richard Cobden, in the face of the universe, has entered

his protest against them. It signifies very little to us, and less to

the powers against whom he has thundered his anathemas, what Mr Cobden

thinks proper either to profess or repudiate; still, as he has been

pleased to attempt the performance of the part of Guy Fawkes, we judge

it necessary to conduct him from the coal-cellar, and to throw the

light of the lantern upon his visage, and that of his accomplices. And,

first, a word or two as to the occasion of his last appearance.

The recent Hungarian rising is by no means to be classed in the same

category with the wretched Italian insurrections. Much as it is to

be deplored that any misunderstanding should have arisen between

the Austrian cabinet and the Hungarian Diet, so serious as to have

occasioned a war; we look upon the latter body as uninfluenced by

those wild democratic notions which have been and are still prevalent

in the west of Europe. Whatever may have been the case with Kossuth,

and some of his more ambitious confederates, the mass of the Hungarian

people had no wish whatever to rise in rebellion against their king.

Their quarrel was that of a minor state to which certain privileges

had been guaranteed; against the presumed infringement of which, by

their more powerful neighbour, they first protested, and finally

had recourse to arms. Their avowed object, throughout the earlier

part of the struggle, was not to overturn, but to maintain, certain

existing institutions: and it is remarkable that, from the day on

which Kossuth threw off the mask, and renounced allegiance to his

sovereign, the Hungarians lost confidence in their leader, and their

former energy decayed. We need not now discuss the abstract justice

of the Hungarian claims; but whatever may be thought of these, we

must, in common fairness to Austria, consider her peculiar position

at the time when they were sought to be enforced. Concessions which,

during a season of tranquillity, might have been gracefully made, were

rendered almost impossible when demanded with threats, in the midst

of insurrection and revolt. It was but too obvious that the leaders

of the Hungarian movement, forgetful of their fealty to the chief of

that great empire of which their country formed a part, were bent upon

increasing instead of lessening the difficulties with which Austria was

everywhere surrounded, and eager to avail themselves of distractions

elsewhere, for the purpose of dictating insolent and exorbitant terms.

In short, we believe that the real claims of Hungary, however they may

have formed the foundation of the discontent which ripened into war,

were used by Kossuth and his colleagues as instruments for their own

ambition; and that, by throwing off the mask too precipitately, they

opened the eyes of their followers to the true nature of their designs,

and forfeited that support which the realm was ready to accord the men

who, with a single and patriotic purpose, demanded nothing more than

the recognition of the rights of their country.

It was but natural that the intervention of Russia should have been

viewed with some uneasiness in the west of Europe. Every movement

of that colossal power beyond the boundaries of its own territory

excites a feeling of jealousy, singularly disproportionate to the real

character of its resources, if Mr Cobden's estimate of these should

be adopted as the true one; and we fairly confess that we have no

desire to see any considerable augmentation made to the territorial

possessions of the Czar. But the assistance which, on this occasion,

has been sent to Austria by Russia, however much we may regret the

occasion which called the latter into activity, cannot surely be

tortured into any aggressive design. Apart from all our jealousies, it

was a magnanimous movement on the part of one powerful sovereign in

favour of a harassed ally; nor can we see how that assistance could

have been refused by Russia, without incurring the reproach of bad

faith, and running imminent risk with regard to her own dependencies.

Those active revolutionists, the Poles, whose presence behind every

barricade has been conspicuously marked and unblushingly avowed, showed

themselves foremost in all the disturbances which threatened the

dismemberment of Austria. By them the Hungarian army was principally

officered; and it now appears, from the intercepted correspondence of

their nominal chief, that the Hungarian insurrection was relied upon as

the first step for a fresh attempt towards the restoration of a Polish

kingdom. Under these circumstances, the Czar felt himself imperatively

called upon to act; and his honour has been amply vindicated by the

withdrawal of his forces after his mission was accomplished, and the

Hungarian insurrection quelled.

It would undoubtedly have been far more satisfactory to every one, if

the differences between Austria and Hungary could have been settled

without an appeal to arms; but such a settlement was, we apprehend,

utterly beyond the powers even of the Peace Congress to effect; and

the next best thing is to know that tranquillity has actually been

restored. That a great deal of sympathy should be shown for the

Hungarians, is, under the circumstances, by no means unnatural. It

is no exaggeration to say, that hardly one man out of a thousand, in

Britain, comprehends the merits of the dispute, or is able, if called

upon, to give an intelligible account of the quarrel. Such amount of

knowledge, however, is by no means necessary to qualify a platform

orator for holding forth at a moment's notice; and, accordingly,

meetings expressive of sympathy with the persecuted Hungarians

were called in many of our larger towns, and the usual amount of

rhodomontade uttered, by gentlemen who make a point of exhibiting their

elocutionary powers upon the slightest colourable pretence. Had these

meetings been held earlier, they might have been worth something. We

shall not go the length of assuring the very shallow and conceited

personages who constitute the oratorical rump, or public debating

society of Edinburgh, that their opinions are likely to be esteemed

of surpassing importance, even if they were to be heard of so far as

St Petersburg or Vienna; for their utter ignorance of the aspect of

foreign affairs is such as would excite ridicule in the bosoms of

those whom they profess to patronise and applaud. But if they really

were impressed with the notion that the claims of Hungary were of such

mighty importance, how was it that they tarried until the consideration

of all constitutional questions had been swallowed up in war--until

those who fully understood the true position of Hungary, and her

rights as legally guaranteed and defined, were forced to acknowledge

that, through the violence, treachery, and ambition of the insurgent

nobles, all hope of a pacific settlement had disappeared; and that

the best result which Europe could hope for, was the speedy quenching

of an insurrection, now broadly revolutionary and republican, and

threatening to spread still wider the devastating flames of anarchy?

The explanation we believe to be a very simple one. Most of them knew

as much of the affairs of Cappadocia as they did of those of Hungary,

and they would have been equally ready to spout in favour of either

country.

Late in July, Mr Bernal Osborne, backed by Mr R. M. Milnes, whose

knowledge of politics is about equal to his skill in the construction

of dactyls, brought forward the Hungarian question in the House of

Commons, and thereby gave Lord Palmerston an opportunity of unbosoming

himself on that branch of our European relations. His lordship's

speech, on that occasion, was very much lauded at the time; but on

referring to it now, we are somewhat at a loss to understand how it

could have given satisfaction to any one. It was, indeed, as insulting

to Austria, whose back was then supposed to be at the wall, as any

opponent of constitutional government could have desired. Alliance

was sneered at, as a mere empty word of no significance whatever:

nor can we much wonder at this ebullition, considering the manner in

which his lordship has thought proper to deal with other powers, who

attached some value to the term. This topic was, further, a congenial

one, inasmuch as it afforded the Foreign Secretary an opportunity

of gibing at his predecessor, Lord Aberdeen, whose sense of honour

does not permit him to identify the solemn treaties of nations with

folios of waste paper; and who, therefore, was held up to ridicule as

a pattern of "antiquated imbecility." But, after all this persiflage,

which could serve no purpose whatever, save that of giving vent to an

unusual secretion of Palmerstonian bile, it appeared that his lordship

was actually to do nothing at all. He regretted, just as much as we do,

and probably not more than the Austrian cabinet, that no accommodation

of differences had taken place. He said, very truly, that whatever the

result of the struggle might be, it could not strengthen the stability

of the Austrian empire; but at the same time he distinctly repudiated

all intention of interfering beyond mere passive advice, and he could

not deny the right of Austria, if it thought proper, to call in the

aid of the Russian arms. His conclusion, in short, was sound, and we

only regret that, while it was so, the tone and temper of his speech

were not equally judicious. This debate in the House of Commons was

immediately followed up by a public meeting at the London Tavern,

presided over by Mr Alderman Salomons.

We had not the good fortune to be present on that occasion; but, from

the accounts contained in the morning papers, it must have been an

assemblage of a singularly motley kind. There was a considerable muster

of Radical members of parliament; the Financial Reform and the Peace

Associations were respectively represented; Lord Nugent and Mr Milnes

stood forth as delegates from the Bards of Britain; Julian Harney and

Mr G. W. M. Reynolds headed a numerous band of Chartists; and Lord

Dudley Stuart, as a matter of course, was surrounded by a whiskered

phalanx of Poles, Hungarians, Italians, Germans, and Sicilians, each

one striving to look more patriotically ferocious than his neighbour.

The first sympathetic resolution was moved by a Quaker, and seconded

by no less a person than Richard Cobden, who had only been prevented

from attending the previous debate in the House of Commons by a

swan-hopping expedition on the Thames.

Then it was that Mr Cobden first favoured the world with some

economical views, so exceedingly novel and startling, as to excite,

even in that audience, unequivocal symptoms of incredulity. He set

out by laying it down as a general rule, that every separate state

ought to be left to the management of its own affairs, without the

interference of any foreign power whatever. "If," said he, "this had

been a question simply between Hungary and Austria, I should not have

appeared here to-day, nor indeed would it have been necessary for any

of us to have appeared here to-day. So long as the Hungarians were

left to settle their affairs with the government of Vienna, they were

perfectly competent to do it, without the interference of the citizens

of London." This is intelligible enough. So long as central governments

are merely fighting with their own dependencies, there is no room at

all, according to Mr Cobden, for interference. It matters not which

side prevails: they must be left wholly to themselves. This doctrine

could not, we think, have been very acceptable to the Poles; since it

amounts to an entire admission that Russia has a right to deal with

them at her pleasure; neither is it altogether consistent with our

ideas, or interpretation of the law of nations. But it is Cobden's

view, and therefore let it pass, to him, then, it mattered nothing

whether Goth or Hun prevailed--it was the intervention of Russia that

peremptorily called him to the platform. Now we must own, that we

cannot understand this sort of reasoning, though it may possibly be

suited to the capacities of a Manchester audience. If, as many people

no doubt conscientiously believe, Austria was trampling upon the

liberties of a brave and loyal people, not only justice, but humanity

demands that our sympathies should be enlisted on their side. We cannot

acquiesce in a doctrine which would have left the Greeks (lamentably

small sense as they have shown of the benefits of liberty) to toil on

for ever under the grievous yoke of the Ottoman: nor are we prepared

to carry our apathy to so extreme a length. The intervention of Russia

could not, by any possibility, alter the complexion of the quarrel.

It might either crush freedom, or maintain constitutional government

and the balance of power in Europe; but the principle of the contest,

whatever that might be, was declared before Russia appeared, and

according as men view it, so should their sympathies be given. The

whole question, however, as Mr Cobden put the case, turned upon Russian

interference.

If Mr Cobden's next door neighbour happened to have a dispute with

his operatives, touching the interpretation of certain points of the

Charter, and if the latter, in their zeal for enlightenment, were to

set fire to their master's premises, we apprehend that the honourable

member for the West Riding, (having neglected his own insurance,)

might blamelessly bear a hand to quench the threatening conflagration.

Further, if he were assured that the said operatives, assisted by

a gang of deserters from his own mills, were trying their hands at

an incendiary experiment, preliminary to operating upon his calico

warehouses, how could he be blamed, if he sallied to attack the rioters

in their first position? Yet, if we are permitted to compare very

great things with small, this was precisely the situation of Russia.

If she did not assist Austria, the flame would have been kindled

in her own provinces; if the Hungarian insurrection had triumphed,

Poland would have been up in arms. With the old partition of Poland

we have nothing now to do, any more than with the junction of the

Slavonic provinces with Austria. Right or wrong, these have long become

acknowledged facts in European history, and the boundary divisions

have been acquiesced in by a congress of the assembled nations. We

cannot go back upon matters of ancient right and occupation; were we

to do so, the peace of every nation in Europe must necessarily be

disturbed, and no alternative would remain, save the Utopian one of

parcelling out territory according to the language of the inhabitants.

Boundaries must be settled somehow. They were so settled, by the

consent of all the nations, at the treaty of Vienna; and our duty,

as well as our interest, is to adhere to that arrangement. Russia, by

assisting Austria, has in no way contravened any of the stipulations

of that treaty. From the moment when the Hungarian party declared

their country independent, and proclaimed a republic, a new cause

of discord and misrule was opened in the east of Europe, and the

greatest of the eastern potentates was not only entitled but forced

to interfere. It by no means follows that we, who uphold this view,

have any partiality or liking for Russian institutions. No man who

lives in a free country, like ours, can possibly sympathise with

despotism, serfism, and that enormous stretch of feudal power which

is given to a privileged class--we must regard such things with a

feeling nearly akin to abhorrence; nor can we, with our Saxon notions,

fancy existence even tolerable in such a state of society. But our

likings or disgusts cannot alter matters as they stand. We cannot force

other nations to see with our eyes, to think with our thoughts, or to

adapt their constitutions according to the measure of our accredited

standard of excellence. That amount of irresponsible and uncontrolled

action which we term freedom, presupposes the existence of a large and

general spread of intelligence throughout the community, fixed laws

of property, consolidated social relationship, pure administration of

justice, and wisdom and temperance on the part of the governed and the

governor. Such things are not the rapid results of months, or years, or

centuries. They are of slow growth, but they are the inevitable fruits

of order; and very blind and ignorant must that man be who does not

see the hand of progress at work even in the institutions of Russia.

That country emerged from barbarism later than the rest of Europe, but,

since the days of Peter the Czar, its strides towards civilisation

have been most rapid. Commerce has been established, manufactures

introduced, learning and the arts cultivated, and such a foundation

laid as, in no very long time, must perforce secure to all ranks of

the people a larger share of freedom than they are now qualified to

enjoy. Revolution cannot hasten such a state of matters, but it may

materially retard it. Foolish and short-sighted men seem to think that

revolt is a synonymous term with freedom, and, accordingly, they hail

each fresh outbreak with shouts of indiscriminate approval. They can

draw no distinction between the revolt of the barons and that of Jack

Cade in England; they are as ready to applaud Spartacus as Brutus;

they think a peasant's war as meritorious as the up-raising of the

standard of the League. They never stop to consider that freedom is a

mere relative term, and that it is worse than useless to pluck down

one form of government by violence, unless a better is to be reared in

its stead. And who can venture to say that this would have been the

case with Hungary? Who would predict it with certainty even of Poland,

were that dismembered kingdom to be restored? It is notorious that

Poland went to pieces under the weight of its elective monarchy, and

the perpetual feuds, turbulence, and tyranny of a lawless and fierce

aristocracy. No doubt, men will fight for these things--they will fight

for traditions, and bad ones too, as keenly as for the most substantial

benefits. A century ago, the Highlanders would have fought to the death

for clanship, chieftainship, heritable jurisdictions, and the right of

foray and of feud; but will any man now raise up his voice in favour

of the old patriarchal constitution? In Ireland, at this moment, we

believe that a large body of the Celts is willing to stand up for a

restoration of the days of Malachi of the Golden Collar--a form of

government which, we presume, even an O'Connell would decline. This is

just the case with our sympathisers. They take it for granted that,

because there is revolt, there must be a struggle for freedom, and they

are perfectly ready to accept, without the slightest examination, any

legend that may be coined for the nonce. Gullible as a considerable

number of the British public may be, especially that section of the

public which delights in platform oratory, we really could not have

believed that any assemblage could be so utterly ignorant, as to

receive a statement to the effect that the old constitution of Hungary

bore a close resemblance to our own!

We are tempted here to insert an extract from the works of a popular

writer regarding the constitution of Poland, because it expresses, in

excellent language, the opinions which we are attempting to set forth

in this article, and denounces the folly of those who confound the term

freedom with its just and rational application. Will the reader favour

us by perusing the following passage with attention?--when he has done

so, we shall state from whose eloquent pen it proceeded.

"Of how trifling consequence it must be to the practical minded and

humane people of Great Britain, or to the world at large, whether

Poland be governed by a king of this dynasty or of that--whether he

be lineally descended from Boleslas the Great, or of the line of the

Jagellons--contrasted with the importance of the inquiries as to the

social and political condition of its people--whether they be as

well or worse governed, clothed, fed, and lodged in the present day

as compared with any former period,--whether the mass of the people

be elevated in the scale of moral and religious beings,--whether

the country enjoys a smaller or a larger amount of the blessings of

peace; or whether the laws for the protection of life and property

are more or less justly administered. These are the all-important

inquiries about which we busy ourselves; and it is to cheat us of our

stores of philanthropy, by an appeal to the sympathy with which we

regard these vital interests of a whole people, that the declaimers

and writers upon the subject invariably appeal to us on behalf of the

oppressed and enslaved _Polish nation_--carefully obscuring, amidst the

cloud of epithets about 'ancient freedom,' 'national independence,'

'glorious republic,' and the like, the fact that, previously to the

dismemberment, the term _nation_ implied only the nobles;--that, down

to the partition of their territory, about nineteen out of every

twenty of the inhabitants were slaves, possessing no rights, civil or

political; that about one in every twenty was a nobleman--and that that

body of nobles formed the very worst aristocracy of ancient or modern

times; putting up and pulling down their kings at pleasure; passing

selfish laws, which gave them the power of life and death over their

serfs, whom they sold and bought like dogs or horses; usurping, to each

of themselves, the privileges of a petty sovereign, and denying to all

besides the meanest rights of human beings; and, scorning all pursuits

as degrading, except that of the sword, they engaged in incessant wars

with neighbouring states, or plunged their own country into all the

horrors of anarchy, for the purpose of giving employment to themselves

and their dependants." And the same writer, after remarking upon the

character and conduct of the privileged class in Poland, in language

which is just as applicable to those of the Hungarian nobles, thus

accounts for the insurrection in 1830. The Italics are his own. "_We

hesitate not emphatically to assert, that it was wholly, and solely,

and exclusively, at the instigation, and for the selfish benefit,

of this aristocratic faction of the people, that the Polish nation

suffered for twelve months the horrors of civil war, was thrown back

in her career of improvement, and has since had to endure the rigours

of a conqueror's vengeance._ The Russian government was aware of this;

and its severity has since been chiefly directed towards the nobility."

And in a note appended to the above paragraph he says, "The peasants

joined, to a considerable extent, the standard of revolt; but this was

to be expected, in consequence of the influence necessarily exercised

over them by the superior classes. Besides, patriotism or nationality

is an instinctive virtue, that sometimes burns the brightest in the

rudest and least reasoning minds; and its manifestation bears no

proportion to the value of the possessions defended, or the object to

be gained. The Russian serfs at Borodino, the Turkish slaves at Ismail,

and the lazzaroni of Naples, fought for their masters and oppressors

more obstinately than the free citizens of Paris or Washington did, at

a subsequent period, in defence of those capitals."

And who was the author of these very lucid and really excellent

remarks? We reply, RICHARD COBDEN, ESQ. The curious in such matters

will find these, and many similar passages, in a pamphlet entitled

_Russia, by a Manchester Manufacturer_, which was published in 1836,

for the purpose of showing that, on the whole, it would be an advantage

to British commerce if Russia were to lay violent hands on Turkey, and

possess herself of Constantinople!

But it is time we should return to the London Tavern meeting, where

we left Mr Cobden, this time denouncing the active interference of

Russia. Here the apostle of peace was certainly upon ticklish ground.

Large as his estimate undoubtedly is of his own influence and power,

he could hardly expect, that, because he and some other gentlemen

of inferior endowments were pleased to hold a meeting in the London

Tavern, and pass resolutions condemnatory of the conduct of the Czar,

the immediate consequence would be a withdrawal of the Russian forces.

Under such circumstances, as he must have perfectly well known, the

expression of his opinion was not worth the splinter of a rush to the

Hungarians, unless, indeed, he were prepared to follow up his words

by deeds. On the other hand, he was debarred, by some fifty public

declarations, from advocating the propriety of a war: not only upon the

general pacific principle--for that might easily have been evaded,--but

upon economical considerations connected with his darling scheme of

reducing the British navy and army, which would be clearly incompatible

with the commencement of a general European conflict. An ordinary man,

entertaining such views and sentiments, would probably have considered

himself as lodged between the horns of an inextricable dilemma. Not

so Cobden, whose genius rose to the difficulty. The experience of

a hundred platform fights had taught him this great truth, that no

proposition was too monstrous to be crammed down the public throat,

provided the operator possessed the requisite share of effrontery; and

he straightway proceeded, _secundum artem_, to exhibit a masterpiece of

his skill.

Probably not one man in all that room but had been impressed, from his

youth upwards, with a wholesome terror and respect for the magnitude of

the Russian power. That, at all events, was the feeling of the Poles,

and decidedly of the Polish champions. But in less than an instant

they were disabused. Most of our readers must have seen how a small

figure, painted on a tiny slip of glass, may, when passed through

the aperture of a magic lantern, be made to reflect the attitude and

dimensions of a giant: Cobden's trick was exactly the opposite of

this; he made the actual giant appear in the dwindled proportions of

a dwarf. "I will tell you," said he, "how we can bring moral force to

bear on these armed despots. We can stop the supplies. (Loud cheers.)

Why, Russia can't carry on two campaigns beyond her own frontiers,

without coming to Western Europe for a loan. She never has done so,

without being either subsidised by England, or borrowing money from

Amsterdam. I tell you I have paid a visit there, and I assert that they

cannot carry on two campaigns in Hungary, without either borrowing

money in Western Europe or robbing the bank at St Petersburg. (A laugh,

and a cry of 'Question.') That must be a Russian agent, a spy, for

this is the question. I know," continued our magniloquent Richard,

"that the Russian party, here and abroad, would rather that I should

send against them a squadron of cavalry and a battery of cannon, than

that I should fire off the facts that I am about to tell you. I say,

then, that Russia cannot carry on two campaigns without a loan." We

believe that the latter part of Mr Cobden's statement is tolerably

accurate, so that he need not give himself any further trouble about

the production of his indicated horse and artillery. We agree with

him that Russia might be puzzled to carry on two vigorous campaigns

without a loan; but we should be glad to know what country in Europe

is not in the same predicament? War, as everybody knows, is a very

costly matter--not much cheaper than revolution, though a good deal

more speedy in its results--and every nation which engages in it must,

perforce, liquidate the expense. Great Britain could not, any more

than Russia, go to war without a loan. In such an event, the only

difference would be that the British loan must necessarily be six or

seven times greater than that of Russia, for this simple reason, that

Russia has a large standing army levied and prepared, whereas we have

not. Now what is there to prevent Russia from negotiating a loan? The

first question, we apprehend, is the state of her finances--let us

see whether there is any symptom of approaching bankruptcy in these.

The debt of Russia, according to the most recent authorities, is

seventy-six millions, being as near as possible one tenth of our own.

Her revenue is about seventeen millions, or one-third of ours. So

far, therefore, as the mere elements of credit go, Russia would, in

the eyes of the capitalist, be the more eligible debtor of the two.

There could, we apprehend, be no possible doubt of her solvency, for,

with large resources behind, she has a mere fraction of a debt, and

her power of raising revenue by taxes has been little exercised. Our

readers will better understand this by keeping in mind, that, while

the revenue presently levied is just one-third of ours, the population

of Russia is considerably more than double that of Great Britain and

Ireland. Mr Cobden, however, accepting, as we presume he must do, the

above official facts, draws from them inferences of a very startling

character. "Don't let any one talk," said he, "of Russian resources.

It is the poorest and most beggarly country in Europe. It has not a

farthing. Last year there was an immense deficit in its income as

compared with its expenditure, and during the present financial year

it will be far worse. Russia a strong political power! Why, there

is not so gigantic a political imposture in all Europe." And again,

"Russia a strong, a powerful, and a rich country! Don't believe any

one who tells you so in future. Refer them to me." We feel deeply

obliged to Mr Cobden for the last suggestion, but we would rather,

with his permission, refer to facts. If the poorest and most beggarly

country in Europe has contrived to rear its magnificent metropolis

from the marshes of the gelid Neva, to create and maintain large and

well-equipped fleets in the Baltic and the Black seas, and to keep up

a standing army of about half a million of men, without increasing its

permanent debt beyond the amount already specified, all we shall say

is, that the semi-civilised Russian is in possession of an economical

secret utterly unknown to the statesmen of more favoured climes,

and that the single farthing in his hand, has produced results more

wonderful than any achieved by the potency of the lamp of Aladdin. But

the climax has yet to come. Waxing bolder and bolder on the strength

of each successive assertion of Russian weakness and impotency, the

Apostle of Peace assumed the attitude of defiance: "If Russia should

take a step that required England, or any other great maritime power,

like the United States, to attack that power, why, we should fall like

a thunderbolt upon her. You would in six months crumple that empire

up, or drive it into its own dreary fastnesses, as I now crumple up

that piece of paper in my hand!!!" Here is a pretty fellow for you!

This invincible fire-eater is the same man who, for the last couple

of years, has been agitating for the reduction of the army and navy,

on the ground that the whole world was in a state of the profoundest

peace, and likely so to remain! This crumpler-up and defier of empires

is the gentleman who held forth this bygone summer, at Paris, on the

wickedness of war, and on the spread of fraternity and brotherly love

among the nations! Why, if old Admiral Drake had risen from the dead,

he could not have spoken in a more warlike strain, only the temper

and tone of his remarks would have been different. A hero is bold but

temperate: a demagogue blustering and pot-valiant.

It is but right to say, that this impudent and mischievous trash,

though of course abundantly cheered by many of the poor creatures who

knew no better, did not altogether impose upon the meeting. Mr Bernal

Osborne could not find it in his conscience to acquiesce, even tacitly,

in this monstrous attempt at imposition, and accordingly, though "he

coincided in much that had been said by the member for the West Riding,

he must take the liberty to say that, in exposing the weakness of

Russia, he had gone rather too far. Forewarned was forearmed, and

let them not lay it to their hearts that the great empire was not to

be feared, but despised." And therefore, he, Mr Osborne, "would be

sorry if any man in the meeting should go away with the impression

that the monstrous Pansclavonic empire was to be thoroughly despised."

Neither did the chairman exactly approve of the line of discussion

which had been introduced by Mr Cobden. He said, with great truth,

that they had nothing to do at present with the resources of Russia;

their business being simply to consider the wrongs of Hungary, and to

give utterance to such an expression of opinion as might act upon the

British government. Mr Salomons is a practical man, and understands the

use of mob-meetings, which is to coerce and compel Whig administrations

to do precisely what the frequenters of the London Tavern desire.

Better versed, by a great deal, in monetary matters than Mr Cobden,

he knows that financial discussions are utterly out of place in such

an assemblage; and, moreover, we have a strong suspicion that the

latter part of Mr Cobden's speech, to which we are just about to refer,

must have sounded harshly in the ears of a gentleman of the Hebrew

persuasion, initiated, after the custom of his tribe, in the mysteries

of borrowing and lending. Up to this point we have considered Mr Cobden

in the united character of peace-maker and bully: let us now see how he

contrives to combine the hitherto antagonistic qualities of free-trader

and restrictionist.

Having, satisfactorily to himself, demonstrated the pitiable weakness

of Russia, and having got over the notorious fact of her large bullion

deposit, and her purchases in the British funds, by explaining that

the first is the foundation of her currency, and the second a private

operation of the Bank of St Petersburg--an establishment which,

according to his showing, is no way connected with the government--Mr

Cobden proceeded to unravel his schemes for paring the claws of the

northern Bear. It has the merit of pure simplicity. Not one penny is

henceforward to be lent to the Russian government. The capitalists of

Europe are henceforth to look, not to the security, but to the motives

of the borrowing power. If they think that the money required is to be

expended in purchasing munitions of war, in fitting out an armament, or

in any other way hostile to the continuance of peace, they are grimly

to close their coffers, shake their heads, and refuse to advance one

single sixpence, whatever be the amount of percentage offered; and this

kind of moral force, Mr Cobden thinks, would not only be effectual, but

can easily be brought into action. Let us hear him. "Now, will any one

in the city of London dare to be a party to a loan to Russia, either

directly or openly, or by agency and copartnership with any house

in Amsterdam or Paris? Will any one dare, I say, to come before the

citizens of this free country, and avow that he has lent his money for

the purpose of cutting the throats of the innocent people of Hungary?

I have heard such a project talked of. But let it only assume a shape,

and I promise you that we, the peace party, will have such a meeting

as has not yet been held in London, for the purpose of denouncing the

blood-stained project--for the purpose of pointing the finger of scorn

at the house, or the individuals, who would employ their money in such

a manner--for the purpose of fixing an indelible stigma of infamy upon

the men who would lend their money for such a vile, unchristian, and

barbarous purpose. That is my moral force. As for Austria, no one, I

suppose, would ever think of lending her money." We shall, by-and-by,

have occasion to see more of Mr Cobden in connexion with the Austrian

loan; in the mean time, let us keep to the general proposition. The

meaning of the above unadorned fustian is simply this--that no man

shall, in future, presume to lend his money without consulting the

views of Mr Cobden and his respectable confederates. This ukase--and

a magnificent one it is--was rapturously received by his audience; a

fiat of approval which we set no great store on, seeing that, in all

probability, not fifty of those excellent philanthropists could command

as many pounds for the permanent purpose of investment. But the idea

of controlling, by their sweet voices, the monetary operations of the

great banking-houses of the world, the Rothschilds, the Barings, and

the Hopes, was too delicious a hallucination not to be rewarded with a

corresponding cheer. Now, setting aside the absolute impudence of the

proposal--for we presume Mr Cobden must have known that he had as much

power to stay the flux of the tides, as to regulate the actions of the

money-lenders--what are we to think of the new principle enunciated

by the veteran free-trader? What becomes of the grand doctrine of

buying in the cheapest and selling in the dearest market, without

the slightest regard to any other earthly consideration, save that

of price? Will Mr Cobden NOW venture to persuade us that he had some

mental reservation, when he propounded that ever-memorable axiom; or

that dealers in coin were to be regulated by a different code of moral

laws from that which was laid down for the use of the more fortunate

dealers in calico? We presume, that, without cotton, and blankets, and

machinery exported from this country, the slaves of Cuba could hardly

be made to work--why, then, should we not clap an embargo on these

articles, and point with the finger of scorn, disgust, and execration,

to every man who traffics in that unholy trade? And yet, if our memory

serves us right, no very long time has elapsed since we beggared our

West Indian colonies, solely to drive a larger trade in those articles

with the slave plantations, for behoof of Messrs Cobden and Co.

Slavery, we presume, is an institution not congenial to the mind of Mr

Cobden--at least we hope not, and we are sure he would not be willing

to admit it. In point of humanity, it is rather worse than war; why

not, then, let us have a strong exercise of moral force to abolish it,

by stopping the supplies? The withdrawal of our custom, for three or

four years, would effectually knock Cuba on the head. Why not try it?

We should like to see Mr Cobden's face, if such a proposition were

made in Parliament; and yet is it not as rational, and a great deal

more feasible, than the other? But it is a positive waste of time to

dwell further upon such a glaring absurdity as this. Baron Rothschild,

member-elect though he be for the city of London, will care very little

for the extended digit of Mr Cobden, and will doubtless consult his own

interest, without troubling himself about Manchester demagogues, when

the next Russian loan is proposed.

Having delivered himself of this remarkable oration, Mr Cobden very

wisely withdrew; perhaps he had a slight suspicion of the scene which

was presently to follow. The majority of the meeting consisted of

gentlemen whose notions about moral force were exceedingly vague and

general. Their strong British instincts, inflamed by the stimulus of

beer, led them to question the use of abstract sympathy, unless it was

to be followed up by action; and accordingly Mr Reynolds, a person of

some literary as well as political notoriety, thought it his duty to

give a more practical turn to the deliberations of the meeting, and

thereby cut short several interesting harangues. We quote from the

report of the _Times_ of 24th July.

"Mr G. W. M. REYNOLDS, whose remarks were frequently followed by

interruption and cries of 'question,' next addressed the meeting.

He avowed his belief, that in so holy, sacred, and solemn a cause,

England must even go to war in defence of Hungary, if necessary.

(This assertion was received with such hearty cheering as proved

that the speaker had expressed the sentiments of the vast body of

the meeting.) All the moral effects of that meeting (continued Mr

Reynolds) would be perfectly useless, unless they were prepared

to go further. If the government would employ some of the ships

that were now rotting in our harbours, and some of the troops now

marching about London, that would really benefit the Hungarians.

(Cheers.) France used to be regarded as a barrier against

Russia, but France was no longer so, because that humbug Louis

Napoleon (tremendous cheers--and three hearty groans for Louis

Napoleon)--that rank impostor (continued cheering)--

"The CHAIRMAN here interfered, and much interruption ensued.

If anything could disturb and injure the cause which they were

met to support, it was such remarks as they had just heard.

("No, no.") If he (the Chairman) were a spy of Russia, he should

follow out the course pursued by Mr Reynolds. (Much confusion and

disapprobation.)" #/

We really cannot see wherein the author of the _Mysteries of London_

was to blame. His proposition had, at all events, the merit of being

intelligible, which Mr Cobden's was not, and he clearly spoke the

sentiments of the large majority of the unwashed. He certainly went a

little out of his way, to denounce the President of the French Republic

as an impostor: a deviation which we regret the more, as he might have

found ample scope for such expositions without going further than

the speeches of the gentlemen who immediately preceded him. We need

not linger over the ensuing scene. Mr Duncan--"said to be a Chartist

poet"--attempted to address the meeting, but seems to have failed. We

do not remember to have met with any of Mr Duncan's lyrics, but we

have a distinct impression of having seen a gentleman of his name,

and imputed principles, at the bar of the High Court of Justiciary in

Edinburgh. But if the sacred voice of one poet was not listened to, the

same meed of inattention was bestowed upon another. The arms of Mr R.

M. Milnes were seen hopelessly gesticulating above the press; and Lord

Dudley Stuart, for once, was cut short in his stereotyped harangue. The

case was perfectly clear: Reynolds was the only man who had enunciated

a practical idea, and accordingly the voice of the meeting was

unequivocally declared for war.

We hope that the Peace Congress, and the economists, and the

free-traders, are all equally delighted with this notable exhibition

of their hero. If they are so, we certainly have no further commentary

to offer. To secure peace, Mr Cobden openly defies and challenges

Russia; to further economy, he does his best to inflame the passions of

the people, and to get up a cry for war; to vindicate free trade, he

proposes henceforward to coerce Lombard Street. Is there, in all the

history of imposture, an instance comparable to this? Possibly there

may be; but, if so, we are certain it was better veiled.

The evil luck of Mr Cobden still clung to him. Within a very short time

after this memorable meeting was held, the Hungarian armies surrendered

at discretion, and the insurrection was thoroughly quenched. Not two,

not even one complete campaign, were necessary to put an end to an

ill-advised struggle, in which the hearts of the Hungarian people were

never sincerely enlisted; and good men hoped that the sword might now

be sheathed in the eastern territories of Europe. That portion of

the press which had sympathised with the insurgents, and hailed with

frantic delight the suicidal resolution of the Hungarian chiefs to

separate themselves for ever from the house of Austria, was terribly

mortified at a result so speedy and unexpected; and did its best to

keep up the excitement at home, by multiplying special instances of

cruelty and barbarity said to have been wrought by the victors on the

persons of their vanquished foemen. That many such instances really

occurred we do not for a moment doubt. When the passions of men have

been inflamed by civil war, and whetted by a desire for vengeance,

it is always difficult for the authorities to preserve a proper

restraint. This is the case even among civilised nations; and when

we reflect that a large portion of the troops on either side engaged

in the Hungarian war, cannot with any justice be termed civilised,

it is no wonder if deeds of wanton atrocity should occur. Indeed,

late events may lead us to question how far civilisation, on such

occasions, can ever operate as a check. Who could have believed that

last year, in Frankfort, a young and gallant nobleman, whose sole

offence was, the free expressions of his opinions in a parliament

convened by universal suffrage, should have been put to death at

noonday by lingering torments, and his groans of agony echoed back by

the laughter of his brutal assassins? The names of Felix Lichnowsky

and Von Auerswaldt will surely long be remembered to the infamy of

that city which was the birthplace of Goethe, and boasted of itself

as the refined capital of the Rhenish provinces. A veil of mystery

still hangs over the circumstances connected with the assassination

of Count Latour; and though we are unwilling to give currency to a

rumour, which would entail infamy on the memory of one who has since

passed to his account, the victim of an unbridled ambition, strong

suspicions exist that a Hungarian minister was directly privy to that

act of dastardly and cruel murder. But there is no manner of doubt

at all as to the atrocities which were committed in Vienna when that

hapless city was in the hands of the red republicans and the Poles.

Pillage, murder, and violation were crimes of every-day occurrence,

and it is not wonderful if the memory of these wrongs has in some

instances goaded on the victors to a revenge which all must deplore.

As to the military executions which have taken place, we have a word

to say. The suppression of almost every revolt has been followed by

strong measures on the part of the conquerors, against those who

excited the insurrection. Our own history is full of them. Succeeding

generations, according to their estimate of the justness of the cause

which they espoused, have blamed, or pitied, or applauded the conduct

of the men who thus perilled and lost their lives; but the necessity

of such executions has rarely or never been questioned. We allude,

of course, to those who have been the leaders and instigators of the

movement, and upon whom the responsibility, and the expiation for

the blood which has been shed must fall; not to the subordinates who

ought to be, and almost always are, the proper objects of mercy. The

most ardent Jacobite, while he deplored the death, and vindicated the

principles of Lords Balmerino and Kilmarnock, never thought of blaming

the government of the day for having sent those devoted noblemen to

the block. But in their case the execution assumed the character of a

terrible national solemnity--not hastily enacted, but following after a

deliberate trial before unprejudiced judges, upon which the attention

and interest of the whole country was concentrated. And, therefore,

while posterity has been unanimous in expressing its abhorrence of the

bloody butcheries of William, Duke of Cumberland, after the battle

of Culloden, no reflection has been thrown upon the ministers of

George II. for having allowed the law to take its course against the

more prominent leaders of the rebellion, even though the sympathies

of many good men have been enlisted on the losing side. Now, we do

not hesitate to condemn most strongly the conduct of Austria on the

present occasion. No judicial process, so far as we can learn, has been

instituted against the captive chiefs, save that which is equivalent

to no process at all--the sentence of a court-martial. Except in cases

of the most absolute necessity, the functions of the soldier and the

judge ought never to be combined and confounded. When the flame of

civil war is once trodden out, the civil law ought immediately to

resume its wonted supremacy. Treason and rebellion are undoubtedly the

highest of all crimes; but, being the highest, it is therefore the more

necessary that they should be subjected to the gravest investigation;

so that in no way may the punishment inflicted, on account of a heinous

breach of the law, be mistaken, even by the most ignorant, for an act

of hurried vengeance. We may perhaps have no right to object to the

measure of the punishment. We cannot know what charges were brought,

or even substantiated against the unfortunate Hungarian leaders of

Arad. We are quite unaware what disclosures may have been laid before

the Austrian government as to the participation of Count Bathyany in

Kossuth's republican schemes. One and all of them may have been guilty

in the worst degree; one and all of them may have deserved to die;

and it is even possible that circumstances may have rendered such a

terrible example necessary, for the future preservation of order; but

the manner in which the punishment has been dealt, is, we think, wholly

indefensible. It is no answer to say, that the administration of the

laws of Austria is different from that of our own, and that we are

not entitled to apply the measure of a foreign standard. No point of

legal technicality, or even consuetude is involved; there is but one

law which, whatever be its extrinsic form, ought to regulate such a

proceeding as this--a law which, we trust, is acknowledged in Austria

as well as in Britain--the law of justice and humanity. The most

suspected criminal, when arraigned before secret and biassed judges,

loses, in the estimation of the public, half his imputed criminality.

He has not had a fair trial; and, if condemned, it is possible that

his execution may be considered rather as a case of martyrdom, than as

one of righteous punishment. A court-martial never is a satisfactory

tribunal; least of all can it be satisfactory when the object of its

inquiry arises from a civil war. The judges have seen too much of

the actual misery and ruin which has occurred to be impartial. That

propensity to vengeance, from which it can hardly be said that even the

noblest nature is altogether exempt, so nearly akin is it to righteous

indignation, is at such times unnaturally excited. The fiery zeal,

which shows so graceful in the soldier, is utterly unsuited to the

ermine; and when the ermine is thrown, as in this instance, above the

soldier's uniform, there can be very little doubt that ancient habit

and inflamed passion will supersede judicial deliberation. By acting

thus, we conscientiously believe that Austria has inflicted a serious

injury on herself. She has given to those who are her enemies a heavy

cause of argument and reproach against those who are her well-wishers;

and the immediate and not unnatural result will be an increased amount

of sympathy for the political fugitives, and a great disinclination to

canvass their true motives and their characters. Francis Joseph at the

outset of his reign will be stigmatised--most unjustly, indeed, for the

fault lies not with him--as a relentless tyrant, and all who escape

from tyranny are sure of popular though indiscriminate compassion.

We have thought it our duty to make those remarks at the present time,

because out of this Hungarian affair a question has arisen in which

we are to a certain extent implicated, and which may possibly, though

we do not think probably, be productive of most serious results. We

allude, of course, to the joint demand of Russia and Austria upon

Turkey for the surrender of the political fugitives at Widdin. In

common with the whole public press of this country, we consider such a

demand, on general grounds, to be unexampled and unjust. The abstract

right of every independent nation to afford shelter to political

fugitives, has, we believe, never been questioned; but, even had it

been doubtful, there are very many reasons, founded upon humanity

and honour, why all of us should combine to protest against a claim

so imperiously and threateningly advanced. Cases may arise, and have

arisen, where the privilege has been scandalously abused. For example,

the Baden insurgents have fled for shelter across the frontier of

Switzerland, and have there remained hatching treason, collecting

adherents, and waiting for an opportunity of renewing their treasonable

designs. In such a case, we conceive that the threatened government has

a decided right to require the sheltering country to remove or banish

those fugitives from its territory, and in the event of a refusal, to

declare that a proper _casus belli_. But this, it will be seen, is

widely different from a demand for the surrender of the fugitives; and

we presume that, in the case of the Hungarians, no allegation can be

made, that they have sought harbour, and remain in Turkey, with a view

towards renewing their attempt. Unquestionably it is quite competent

for states to enter into treaties in fulfilment of which political

fugitives must be surrendered when claimed. Such a treaty is said to

exist between Russia and Turkey; but it is clearly not applicable

in the case of such of the Hungarian refugees as have claimed the

shelter of the latter power. Russia, in this quarrel, appears only as

the ally of Austria; and she can have no right to admit the latter to

a direct participation in any of the stipulations contained in her

peculiar treaty. No Hungarian is a subject of Russia; and, therefore,

under that treaty, he cannot possibly be reclaimed. With regard to the

Polish refugees, there certainly does seem to be a difference; and we

care not to own, that we feel far less interest for them than for the

Hungarians. Their own national struggle excited throughout Europe great

sympathy and compassion. No matter what were the merits of the kind of

government which they sought to restore--no man could be cold-blooded

enough to forget that the kingdom of Poland had been violently seized

and partitioned; and though sober reason, and, in fact, good faith,

compelled us to abstain from espousing the cause of those who, by

solemn European treaty, had been confirmed as subjects but who had

risen as rebels, we yet gave our hospitality to the fugitive Poles

with a heartiness greater and more sincere than was ever accorded

on any other occasion. All ranks in this country, and in France,

combined to do them honour; and the general wish in both countries

was, not to afford them a mere temporary shelter, but to give them a

permanent habitation. For this purpose, and to fit them for industrial

employment, the British government gave an annual grant of money, and

the private subscriptions were munificent. Some of the exiles most

creditably availed themselves of the means so placed within their

reach, and have become amongst us useful and esteemed citizens. But

there were others, and the larger number, who utterly misinterpreted

this sympathy, and never would abandon their dreams of Polish

restoration. For this we cannot blame them; and we must needs allow

that they received much encouragement to persevere in those dreams from

men who ought to have been wiser. They took undue advantage of their

situation, and preferred living in idleness, though certainly not in

affluence, upon eleemosynary aid, to gaining their bread honourably by

active industry and exertion. This was certainly not the best way of

securing the affection of a practical people like the British to them

and to their cause; and the result has been, that the moral prestige

of the Poles has greatly declined in this country. We are not arguing

from inference, but from facts; for we are perfectly certain that if

the Emperor Nicholas had made his visit to London in 1834, instead of

nine or ten years later, his reception by the public would have been

materially different. Since then, the Poles have altogether forfeited

the esteem of the friends of order, by coming forward as the most

active agents and instigators of revolution all over the continent of

Europe. In France, in Italy, in Germany, and above all, in Hungary,

they have thrust themselves forward in quarrels with which they had

nothing to do, and even have violated that hospitality which was

accorded them on account of their misfortunes. It is time that they

should learn that the British public has no sympathy with unprincipled

condottieri. No amount of tyranny, inflicted by one nation, will

entitle an exile deliberately to arm himself against the constitution

of another. Foreign service--manly open service indeed is honourable,

but foreign conspiracy is, beyond all doubt, one of the basest and the

worst of crimes. Now, we are not versed enough in treaties to know

what are the exact terms of the conditions made between Russia and

Turkey. We hope, for the sake of Bem, Dembinski, and the others, that

they merely apply to the surrender of those who shall take refuge in

the neighbouring territory on account of war waged, or revolt raised,

against their sovereigns; and though, should such be the nature of the

contract, there may still be a doubt whether the Poles are entitled

to plead exemption under it, that doubt, we presume, will be given in

their favour by the sheltering power; at all events, we think it very

unlikely that any distinction will be drawn betwixt the two classes of

refugees. Still we are compelled to maintain our honest and sincere

conviction that, apart from other and greater considerations, there is

nothing in this demand of Russia and Austria, to justify us in active

interference. The demand has not been made on us; it does not refer to

British subjects; and it in no way concerns our honour. We have nothing

more to do with it, in the abstract, than if it was a demand made by

the Shah of Persia upon the Emperor of China. We beg especial attention

to this point, because we observe that some of our journalists assume

that Great Britain _and France_ will act together vigorously in

resisting the demand. Now, we hold, that, though both countries may

have a clear right to protest against such a demand, on the ground of

its being at variance with the law of nations, neither of them has the

right to make that a pretext for ulterior measures, or for resorting

to the desperate expedient of a war. The representatives of both

powers, it is said, have advised the Porte to return a firm refusal

to the demand; and, since their advice was asked, we hold that they

were clearly right in doing so. They were acting merely as assessors,

or rather as expounders of international law. But suppose that Russia

should make this declinature a _casus belli_ with Turkey,--what then?

We have in that case a most decided interest; because it is part of our

policy that Russia shall not, under any pretext whatever, lay her hand

upon the Turkish dominions, or force the passage of the Dardanelles.

Our policy may be wrong, and Mr Cobden thinks, or thought so: still we

are committed to that view; and we can hardly escape from interpreting

the conduct of Russia, if she shall persist in enforcing her demand by

dint of arms, into an overt attempt to get possession of the Turkish

territory. But France has no such interest as we have. Our reason for

disputing the possession of Turkey with Russia is a purely selfish

one. We wish to prevent the latter power from coming into dangerous

proximity with Egypt, and we have a kind of vague idea that some attack

is meditated upon our Indian provinces. It is quite possible that these

notions may be visionary or greatly exaggerated, and that Russia wants

nothing more than an open passage from the Black Sea--a right which,

if free-trade doctrines are to be held of universal application, it

does seem rather hard to deny to her. Still, such is our idea, and in

our present temper we shall probably act accordingly. But France has

no real interest at stake. She has nothing to lose, suppose Russia got

possession of Turkey to-morrow; and we are very much mistaken if she

will go to war from a mere spirit of chivalry, and in behalf of a few

refugees with whom she is in no way connected. However disturbed may

be the state of France, or however inflammable may be the minds of her

population, she has statesmen who will not suffer her to be committed

to so egregious an act of folly. If Russia perseveres in her demand to

the utmost, on Britain will fall, in the first instance at least, the

whole weight of the resistance. We agree with the _Times_, that "this

demand for the surrender of the refugees, is either a wanton outrage

for an object too trifling to be insisted on, or else it masks a more

serious intention of hostility against the Turkish empire;" but we are

not prepared to adopt the conclusion of that able journal, that "the

governments and the nations of Western Europe are resolved to oppose

that demand, even to the last extremity." On the contrary, we believe

that the opposition would be left to Great Britain alone.

We trust no apology is necessary for having wandered from our text on

a topic of so much interest; however, we ask Mr Cobden's pardon for

having left him uncourteously so long.

We were remarking that ill-luck in the way of prophecy and presentiment

still clung to Mr Cobden, even as Care is said to follow the horseman.

Hungary speedily succumbed, and Russia did not ask for a loan. Now

that the Hungarians were beaten and victory impossible, we presume

the next best thing for that unfortunate people would be to bind up

their wounds, and let them return as speedily as might be to their

usual industrial employments. Austria, at the conclusion of the

contest, finds herself largely out of pocket. She has troops whose

pay is greatly in arrear, and she has made temporary loans which

it is absolutely necessary to discharge. She might, if she were so

disposed, liquidate the claims of the first, by letting them loose

upon the conquered Hungarians, from whom they probably could still

contrive to exact a fair modicum of booty; she might pay off the

latter by resorting to wholesale confiscation, and by sweeping into

her public treasury whatever the war has left of value. But Austria

has no desire to proceed to either extremity. She knows very well that

it is not for her interest that Hungary should become a sterile waste;

and she is further aware that the best mode of securing tranquillity

for the future, is to foster industry, and to abstain from laying any

additional burden upon the already impoverished people. Therefore,

meditating no further conquest, but, on the contrary, anxious to sit

down to the sober work of reparation, Austria proposes to borrow

in the public money-markets of Europe a sum of seven millions. The

advertisement meets the eye of Mr Cobden, who straightway rose in

wrath, indited a letter to a certain Mr Edmund Fry, ordaining him to

convene a public meeting in London, for the purpose of considering

the said advertisement, and agreeing "to an address to the friends of

peace and disarmament throughout the world, on the general question of

loans for war purposes," and on the 8th October, the intrepid orator

again mounted on the platform. This time, we are sorry to remark, that

the meeting was neither so variously nor so interestingly attended

as before. The Chartists very properly thought that they had nothing

whatever to do with foreign loans; and, besides, that they had already

been regaled with an ample allowance of Mr Cobden's eloquence on the

subject. The two parliamentary poets were doubtless writing odes, and

did not come. Also there was but a poor sprinkling of M.P.'s; but Lord

Dudley Stuart was at his post, and Friend Alexander; and beyond these

twain there appeared no notable whomsoever. Mr Reynolds must have been

sadly missed.

Mr Cobden's first speech at this meeting--for the lack of orators was

such, that he was compelled to indulge his audience with two--was

a very dull and dreary affair indeed. He began first with loans in

general, and went on in his usual style of asseveration. "I say that,

as I have gone through the length and breadth of this country with Adam

Smith in my hand to advocate the principles of free trade, I can stand

here with Adam Smith also in my hand, to denounce, not merely for its

inherent waste of national wealth, not only because it anticipates

income and consumes capital, but also on the ground of injustice to

posterity, in saddling upon our heirs a debt we have no right to call

upon them to pay--the loans we have this day met to consider." It is

very hard that unfortunate Adam Smith should be made answerable for

all the eccentricities of Mr Cobden. Little did the poor man think,

whilst hammering his brains at Kirkcaldy, that their product was to

be explained at a future time, according to the sweet will of so

accomplished a commentator! Adam Smith had a great deal too much sense

to expect that wars would cease to arise, and government loans to be

contracted. His remark is not directed against loans, but against the

funding or accumulation of them, which most of us, in the present

generation, are quite ready to admit to be all evil. The remedy to

which he pointed, was the establishment of a sinking-fund to prevent

debt from accumulating; but so long as Mr Cobden's economical views are

acted on, and the currency maintained on its present basis, the idea

of a sinking-fund is altogether visionary. The evil which Adam Smith

complains of is permanent funding, not loan. There is nothing imprudent

in a man borrowing a thousand pounds from his banker, if he regularly

sets apart an annual sum out of his income for its repayment: but it is

a very different thing when he hands over the debt undiminished for his

successor to discharge.

Having preluded with this little piece of hocus, Mr Cobden came to

the point, and attempted to show that Austria was in such a state of

insolvency that it was not safe for any one to lend money to her. We

by no means object to this sort of exposition. If it be true that the

finances of the borrowing party are in a dismal state, we are none the

worse for the information; if the statement is false, it is sure to be

speedily disproved. We have no objection to concede to Mr Cobden the

possession of that almost preternatural amount of knowledge, which is

his daily and perpetual boast. When he tells us that he knows all about

the produce of the mines of Siberia, because "I have been there, and I

know what is the value of those mines"--when he speaks positively as to

the amount of specie in the vaults of the fortress of St Petersburg,

and states that he knows it--"because I have been on the spot, and

made it my business to understand these things"--and when, with regard

to the general question of Russian finance, he observes that "few

men, probably not six men in England, have had my opportunities of

investigating and ascertaining upon the best and safest authority on

the spot, where alone you can properly understand the matter, what

actually is the state of the resources of Russia,"--we listen with

a kind of awe to the words of this egotistical Exile of Siberia.

But though not six men in England are qualified to compete with him

in his knowledge of Russian affairs, we suspect that it would be no

difficult matter to find six clerks in a single banking establishment

a great deal better acquainted with the state of Austrian finance than

Mr Cobden. His object, it would appear, is less to warn the great

capitalists--who indeed may be supposed to be perfectly capable of

taking care of themselves--against the danger of handing over their

money to Austria, than to secure the poor labouring man with ten pounds

to spare, against defraudment. We were not previously aware that people

with ten pounds to spare were in the habit of investing them in the

foreign funds. We hope to heaven such is not the case, for we happen to

be acquainted with several very estimable porters and Celtic chairmen,

who have saved a little money; and, should the mania for foreign

investment have reached them, we should tremble to approach any corner

of a street where those excellent creatures are wont to linger, lest

we should be assailed with the question, "Hoo's the Peroovian four per

cents?" or, "Div ye ken if they're gaun to pay the interest on the New

Bonos Areas bonds?" We have hitherto been labouring under the delusion

that the accumulations of the working classes were safe in the British

Savings Banks, or Funds; but we are now sorry to learn from Mr Cobden

that such is not the case. "I knew myself," said Mr Cobden, "many years

ago, when resident in the city, a man who worked as a porter on weekly

wages--his family and himself being reduced to that state that they

had no other earthly dependence--and yet that man had Spanish bonds

to the nominal amount of £2000 in his pocket. They were not worth

more than waste paper, and came into the hands of poor men like this

porter, who had no experience and knowledge in such matters; and it

is to guard such poor men that I now utter the voice of warning." We

have not read anything more affecting since we perused _The Dairyman's

Daughter_. Mr Cobden does not tell us that he immediately organised a

subscription for the behoof of the wronged individual; but we think it

probable that he did so, and, if it be not too late, we shall be glad

to contribute our mite--on one condition. The next time Mr Cobden tells

this story, will he be good enough to specify the precise sum _which

the porter paid_ for those bonds? Our reason for requiring particular

information as to this point, is founded on a fact which lately came

to our knowledge, viz. that the name of a promising chimney-sweep

stands recorded in the books of a certain railway company, which shall

be nameless, as the proprietor of stock in new shares, to an amount

of nearly double that possessed by Mr Cobden's acquaintance. The

railway has not paid a single farthing of dividend, several calls are

still due, and the market price of those shares is considerably below

zero. The chimney-sweep is a steady young man, whose only failing is

an inveterate attachment to whisky: he never was in possession of

five pounds in his life, except on the day when he became the nominal

proprietor of that stock. We make Mr Cobden a present of this anecdote,

in case he should have occasion, in the course of some future crusade,

to warn labouring people against indulging in railway speculation. It

is quite as genuine and forcible an illustration as his own; and we

suspect that for one person in the position of the porter, there are at

this moment some hundreds in possession of transferred certificates,

like the chimney-sweep.

In sober sadness, it is pitiable to see a man reduced, for sheer lack

of argument, to such wretched clap-trap as this. The wildest kind of

rant about freedom and tyranny would have been more to the purpose,

and infinitely more grateful to the popular ear. Mr Cobden's estimate

of his own position and European importance is delicious. "I have no

hesitation in saying that there is not a government in Europe that is

not frowning upon this meeting!" What a mercy it is that Nicholas had

no suspicion of the tremendous influence of the man who was once rash

enough to trust himself in his dominions! We positively tremble at the

thought of what might have ensued had Mr Cobden been detected on his

visit to the Siberian mines! The governments of Europe frowning on Mr

Cobden's meeting--what a subject for the classical painter!

We need hardly trouble our readers with any remarks upon the speech

of Lord Dudley Stuart. His monomania on Continental subjects is well

known, and he carries it so far as to hazard the most extravagant

statements. For example, he set out with insinuating that this Austrian

loan was neither more nor less than a deliberate attempt at swindling,

seeing that it had not received the sanction of the Diet; "and,

consequently," said Lord Dudley, "nothing could be easier than for the

Austrian government, whenever they found it inconvenient to pay the

interest of the loan, to turn round and call those who had advanced

the money very simple people, and tell them that they ought to have

made due inquiry before parting with it. It might be said that this

would be a most extraordinary and outrageous course for any government

to adopt; but they lived in times when monarchs performed acts of the

most unusual and the most outrageous description; and it seemed almost

as if the dark ages had returned, such scenes of barbarity and cruelty

were being enacted throughout Europe, by order, and in the name of

established governments." Lord Dudley Stuart is one of those who think

that no crowned head can sit down comfortably to supper, unless he has

previously immolated a victim. His idea of the dark ages is derived

from the popular legend of Raw-head and Bloody-bones. Confiding, and it

would appear with justice, in the singular ignorance of his audience,

he went on to say:--"Certain writers and speakers were never tired of

uttering warnings against the danger of an infuriated mob. But had any

of those popular outbreaks, as they were called, ever been attended

with an amount of cruelty, rapine, and spoliation, to be named in

comparison with the deeds of the despots of Europe? At Paris, Vienna,

and Rome, for a time, power was in the hands of the people--the wild

democracy, as it was called. Where were their deeds of blood and

spoliation?" Lord Dudley Stuart might just as well have asked, where

were the victims of the guillotine during the supremacy of Robespierre.

We have known metaphysicians who could not be brought to an

acknowledgment that the continent of America has an actual existence,

or that the battle of Waterloo was ever fought, owing to what they were

pleased to style a want of sufficient evidence. Lord Dudley Stuart is

precisely in the same situation. He has patronised foreign patriots

to such an extent, that he believes every one of them to be a saint;

and if he saw with his own eyes a democrat piking a proprietor, he

would probably consider it a mere _deceptio visus_. Not that he is in

the slightest degree short-sighted, or incredulous, whenever he can

get hold of a story reflecting on the other side. On the contrary, he

favoured his audience with a minute description of several floggings

and executions, which he had, no doubt, received from his foreign

correspondents; and actually threw the blame of the apostacy of some of

his Polish protegees from the Christian faith upon the Czar! This is a

topic upon which we would rather not touch. Men have been known to deny

their Saviour for the sake of escaping from the most hideous personal

agony, but we never heard before of apostacy committed for such motives

as Lord Dudley has assigned. "Some, but very few men, whose lives had

been devoted to fighting against Russia, and whose religion seemed to

consist in that alone, lured, no doubt, by the hope of entering the

Turkish army, and again waging war against their implacable enemies,

Russia and Austria, had been induced to accept the offers of the Porte,

and to embrace Islamism." We hope it may be long before we shall be

again asked to express our sympathy for those wretched renegades from

their faith.

Mr Cobden having gathered wind, again started up; and this time he did

not confine himself to mere economical prose. We rather think that he

felt slightly jealous of the cheering which Lord Dudley Stuart's more

animated speech had elicited; for it is a well-known fact that the

majority of people would rather listen to the details of an atrocious

murder, than to a dissertation upon Adam Smith. Accordingly he came out

hot, furious, pugnacious, and withal remarkably irrelevant. Throwing

aside all consideration of the Austrian loan, he fell foul of the

Czar, whom he facetiously compared to Nebuchadnezzar. Listen to the

Apostle of peace! "The man was incapable of appreciating anything

but a physical-force argument, and he (Mr Cobden) did not think he

was departing from his peace principles, in resorting to a mode of

admonition which the nature of the animal was capable of understanding.

He surely might be excused from admonishing, if it were possible, a

wild bull, that, if he did not take care, he might run his head against

something harder even than his own skull. He therefore said, that if

the Emperor of Russia attacked us, we might hermetically seal the ports

of Russia, and there would be an end of the matter. There could be

no fighting between England and Russia. If the question were put to

a jury of twelve competent men, belonging to any maritime power, who

were perfectly indifferent to the quarrel, they would at once say that

as England and Russia could not come to collision by land, the only

question was, what naval force would be required by England to blockade

Petersburg, Archangel, Odessa and Riga for six months of the year, and

that the frost would keep up the blockade for the other six months."

But the best is yet to come. Mr Cobden is perfectly aware that the

sentiments of such an eminent European personage as himself must have

terrible weight on the Continent. When the Czar reads the report of the

speeches delivered at the London Tavern, he will burst into a paroxysm

of fury, order some hundred serfs to be instantly knouted to death, and

send for the minister of marine. When it is known at Vienna that Cobden

has declared against the Austrian loan, Francis Joseph will gnash his

teeth, and desire Jellachich, Radetsky, and Haynan to concert measures

with his brother emperor for taking vengeance for this unparalleled

affront. What, then, are we to do? Is there no danger to Great Britain

from such a combination? None--for we have a guarantee. A greater than

Nicholas has promised to stand between us and peril. People of Great

Britain! read the following paragraph, and then lie down in security

under the charge of your protecting angel.

"_If he (Mr Cobden) were told that he ran the risk of provoking these

brutal tyrants to come here and attack this country_, HE WOULD REPLY

THAT HE WAS PREPARED TO TAKE THE RISK UPON HIMSELF OF ALL THAT THEY

COULD DO!"

After this, we have not another word to say. Yes--one. Before Mr

Cobden's meeting broke up, the Austrian loan had been subscribed for to

more than the required amount.

THE FRENCH NOVELS OF 1849.

During the twelve months that have elapsed since we devoted a sheet

of Maga to a flying glance at French novels and novelists, there has

been a formidable accumulation upon our shelves of the produce of

Paris and Brussels presses. Were their merit as considerable as their

number, the regiment of pink, blue, and yellow octavos and duodecimos

would need a whole magazine to do them justice. As it is, however, a

line a volume would be too much to devote to some of them. The lull

in literature which ensued in France, on the shock of the February

revolution, has been succeeded by a revival of activity. Most of the

old stagers have resumed the quill, and a few "green hands" have

come forward. As yet, however, the efforts of the former have in few

instances been particularly happy; whilst amongst the latter, there

is no appearance worthy of note. Upon the whole, we think that the

ladies have been at least as successful as the men. Here is a trio of

tales from feminine pens, as good as anything that now lies before us.

_Hélène_, although it may not greatly augment the well-established

reputation of that accomplished authoress, Madame Charles Reybaud,

is yet a very pleasing novel, approaching in character rather to a

graceful English moral tale, than to the commonly received idea of a

French romance. It is a story of the first Revolution; the scene is in

Provence, and subsequently at Rochefort, on board ship, and in French

Guiana. The chief characters are Helen, and her father, the Count do

Blanquefort, a steadfast royalist, who traces back his ancestry to the

crusades; her lover, a plebeian and _Montagnard_; her godmother, Madame

do Rocabert, and Dom Massiot, a fanatic priest. Lovers of mysterious

intrigues, and complicated plots, need not seek them in Madame

Reybaud's novels, whose charm resides for the most part in elegance of

style, graceful description, and delicate and truthful delineation of

character. In one of her recent tales--a very attractive, if not a very

probable one--_Le Cadet de Colobrières_, she admirably sketches the

interior of a poor nobleman's dwelling, where all was pride, penury,

and privation, for appearance sake. The companion and contrast to that

painful picture, is her description of the domestic arrangements of

Castle Rocabert, where ease, placidity, and comfort reign; where the

ancient furniture is solid and handsome, the apartments commodious,

the cheer abundant; where the antiquated waiting women, and venerable

serving men, are clad after the most approved fashion of Louis the

Fifteenth's day, and disciplined in accordance with the most precious

traditions of aristocratic houses. Madame de Rocabert herself is a

fine portrait, from the old French régime. Forty years long has she

dwelt in her lonely chateau, isolated from the world, on the summit

of a cloud-capped rock. Widowed at the age of twenty of an adored

husband, she shut herself up to weep, and, as she hoped, to die.

Contrary to her expectation, little by little she was comforted; she

lived, she grew old. Time and religion had appeased her sorrow, and

dried her tears. There is a tenderness and grace in Madame Reybaud's

account of the widow's mourning and consolation, which reminds us of

the exquisite pathos and natural touches of Madame d'Arbouville. That

such a comparison should occur to us, is of itself a high compliment to

Madame Reybaud, who, however, is unquestionably a very talented writer,

and to the examination of whose collective works it is not impossible

we may hereafter devote an article. At present, we pass on to a lady of

a different stamp, who does not very often obtain commendation at our

hands; and yet, in this instance, we know not why we should withhold

approval from George Sand's last novel, _La Petite Fadette_, one of

those seductive trifles which only Madame Dudevant can produce, and

is free from the pernicious tendencies that disfigure too many of her

works. In this place we can say little about it. A sketch of the plot

would be of small interest, for it is as slight and inartificial

as well may be; and an attempt to analyse the book's peculiar charm

would lead us a length incompatible with the omnium-gatherum design

of this article. _La Petite Fadette_ is a story of peasant habits and

superstitions, and these are treated with that consummate artistical

skill for which George Sand is celebrated--every coarser tint of the

picture mellowed and softened, but never wholly suppressed. Fadette, a

precocious and clever child, and her brother, a poor deformed cripple,

dwelt with their grandmother, a beldame cunning in herbs and simples,

and who practises as a sort of quack doctress. The three are of no good

repute in the country-side; Fadette, especially, with her large black

eyes and Moorish complexion, her elf-like bearing and old-fashioned

attire, is alternately feared and persecuted by the village children,

who have nicknamed her the Cricket. But although her tongue is sharp,

and often malicious, and her humour wilful and strange, the gipsy has

both heart and head; and, above all, she has the true woman's skill

to make herself beloved by him on whom she has secretly fixed her

affections. This is the hero of the story--Landry, the handsome son

of a farmer. Love works miracles with the spiteful slovenly Cricket,

who hitherto has dressed like her grandmother, and squabbled with

all comers. Although the style of George Sand's books is little

favourable to extract, and that in this one the difficulty is increased

by the introduction of provincialisms and peasant phrases, we will

nevertheless translate the account of Fadette's transformation, and of

its effect upon Landry, upon whom, as the reader will perceive, the

charm has already begun to work.

"Sunday came at last, and Landry was one of the first at mass. He

entered the church before the bells began to ring, knowing that _la

petite_ Fadette was accustomed to come early, because she always made

long prayers, for which many laughed at her. He saw a little girl

kneeling in the chapel of the Holy Virgin, but her back was turned

to him, and her face was hidden in her hands, that she might pray

without disturbance. It was Fadette's attitude, but it was neither

her head-dress nor her figure, and Landry went out again to see if he

could not meet her in the porch, which, in our country, we call the

_guenillière_, because the ragged beggars stand there during service.

But Fadette's rags were the only ones he could not see there. He heard

mass without perceiving her, until, chancing to look again at the girl

who was praying so devoutly in the chapel, he saw her raise her head,

and recognised his Cricket, although her dress and appearance were

quite new to him. The clothes were still the same--her petticoat of

drugget, her red apron, and her linen coif without lace; but during

the week she had washed and re-cut and re-sewn all that. Her gown was

longer, and fell decently over her stockings, which were very white,

as was also her coif, which had assumed the new shape, and was neatly

set upon her well-combed black hair; her neckerchief was new, and of

a pretty pale yellow, which set off her brown skin to advantage. Her

boddice, too, she had lengthened, and, instead of looking like a piece

of wood dressed up, her figure was as slender and supple as the body

of a fine honey-bee. Besides all this, I know not with what extract of

flowers or herbs she had washed her hands and face during the week, but

her pale face and tiny hands looked as clear and as delicate as the

white hawthorn in spring.

"Landry, seeing her so changed, let his prayer-book fall, and at the

noise little Fadette turned herself about, and her eyes met his. Her

cheek turned a little red--not redder than the wild rose of the hedges;

but that made her appear quite pretty--the more so that her black eyes,

against which none had ever been able to say anything, sparkled so

brightly, that, for the moment, she seemed transfigured. And once more

Landry thought to himself:

"'She is a witch; she wished to become pretty, from ugly that she was,

and behold the miracle has been wrought!'

"A chill of terror came over him, but his fear did not prevent his

having so strong a desire to approach and speak to her, that his heart

throbbed with impatience till the mass was at an end.

"But she did not look at him again, and instead of going to run and

sport with the children after her prayers, she departed so discreetly,

that there was hardly time to notice how changed and improved she was.

Landry dared not follow her, the less so that Sylvinet would not leave

him a moment; but in about an hour he succeeded in escaping; and this

time, his heart urging and directing him, he found little Fadette

gravely tending her flock in the hollow road which they call the

_Traine-au-Gendarme_, because one of the king's gendarmes was killed

there by the people of La Cosse, in the old times, when they wished to

force poor people to pay taillage, and to work without wage, contrary

to the terms of the law, which already was hard enough, such as they

had made it."

But it is not sufficient to win Landry's heart: Fadette has much more

to overcome. Public prejudice, the dislike of her lover's family, her

own poverty, are stumbling-blocks, seemingly insurmountable, in her

path to happiness. She yields not to discouragement; and finally, by

her energy and discretion, she conquers antipathies, converts foes into

friends, and attains her ends--all of which are legitimate, and some

highly praiseworthy. The narrative of her tribulations, constancy,

and ultimate triumph, is couched in a style of studied simplicity,

but remarkable fascination. Slight as it is, a mere _bluette_, _La

Petite Fadette_ is a graceful and very engaging story; and it would be

ungrateful to investigate too closely the amount of varnish applied by

Madame Dudevant to her pictures of the manners, language, and morals of

French peasantry.

_La Famille Récour_ is the last book, by a lady novelist, to which

we shall now refer. It is the best of a series of six, intended as

pictures of French society, in successive centuries, closing with the

nineteenth. The five previous novels, which were published at pretty

long intervals, being of no very striking merit, we were agreeably

surprised by the lively and well-sustained interest of this romance,

the last, Madame de Bawr informs us, which she intends to offer to the

public. Paul Récour, the penniless nephew of a rich capitalist, is

defrauded by a forged will of his uncle's inheritance, which goes to a

worthless cousin, who also obtains the hand of a girl between whom and

Paul an ardent attachment exists. The chief interest of the tale hinges

on Paul's struggles, after an interval of deep despondency, against

poverty and the world--struggles in which he is warmly encouraged by

his friend Alfred, a successful _feuilletoniste_ and dramatic author;

and by a warmhearted but improvident physician, M. Duvernoy, whose

daughter Paul ultimately marries, out of gratitude, and to save her

from the destitution to which her father's extravagance and approaching

death are about to consign her. Paul is a charming character--a model

of amiability, generosity, and self-devotion, and yet not too perfect

to be probable. There is a strong interest in the account of his

combat with adversity, and of the tribulations arising from the folly

and thoughtlessness of his wife, and the implacable hostility of his

treacherous cousin. How the story ends need not here be told. The first

four-fifths of the book entitle it to a high place amongst the French

light literature of the year 1849; but then it begins to flag, and the

termination is lame and tame--a falling off which strikes the more

from its contrast with the preceding portion. The authoress appears,

in some degree, conscious of this defect, and prepares her readers

for it in her preface. "The second volume," she says, "was written

amidst the anguish and alarm which revolutions occasion to a poor old

woman. Although but ill-satisfied with my work, I have not courage to

recommence it. I appeal, then, to the reader's indulgence for my last

romance, happy in the consciousness that my pen has never traced a

single word which was not dictated by my lively desire to lead men to

virtue." So humble and amiable an apology disarms criticism.

Having given precedence to the ladies, we look around for some of their

male colleagues who may deserve a word. Amongst the new candidates for

the favour of romance-readers is a writer, signing himself Marquis

de Foudras, and whose debut, if we err not, was made in conjunction

with a M. de Montepin, in a romance entitled _Les Chévaliers du

Lansquenet_--a long-winded imitation of the Sue school, extremely

feeble, and in execrable taste, but which, nevertheless, obtained

a sort of circulating library success. Encouraged by this, Messrs

Foudras and Montepin achieved a second novel, upon the whole a shade

better than the first; and then, dissolving their association, set

off scribbling, each "on his own hook;" and threaten to become as

prolific, although not as popular, as the great Dumas himself. The

last production of M. de Foudras bears the not unattractive title of

_Les Gentilhommes Chasseurs_. It is a series of sporting sketches and

anecdotes, of various merit, in most of which the author--who would

evidently convince us that he is a genuine marquis, and not a plebeian

under a pseudonyme--himself has cut a more or less distinguished

figure. To the curious in the science of venery, as practised in

various parts of France, these two volumes may have some interest;

and the closing and longest sketch of the series, a tale of shooting

and smuggling adventures in the Alps, is, we suspect, the best thing

the author has written. Unless, indeed, we except his account of a

stag-hunt in Burgundy in 1785, in which he gives a most animated and

graphic account of the mishaps of a dull-dog of an Englishman, who

arrives from the further extremity of Italy to join the party of French

sportsmen. Of course Lord Henry is formal, peevish, and unpolished;

the very model, in short, of an English nobleman. Disdaining to mount

French horses, which, he politely informs his entertainer, have no

speed, and cannot leap, he has had four hunters brought from England,

upon one of which, "a lineal descendant of _Arabian Godolphin_, and

whose dam was a mare unconquered at Newmarket," he follows the first

day's hunt, by the side of a beautiful countess, by whose charms he is

violently smitten, and who rides a little old Limousin mare, of piteous

exterior, but great merit. The pace is severe, the country heavy,

the Arabian's grandson receives the go-by from the Limousin cob, and

shows signs of distress. The following passage exhibits the author's

extraordinary acquaintance with the customs and usages of the English

hunting-field,--"We were still a-head, and had leaped I know not how

many hedges, ditches, and _ravines_, when I observed that Lord Henry,

_who had refused to take either a whip or spurs_, struck repeated

blows on the flank of his horse, which, still galloping, writhed under

the pressure of its master's fist. Looking with more attention, I

presently discovered in _milord's_ hand a sharp and glittering object,

in which I recognised _one of the elegant chased gold toothpicks_ which

men carried in those days. I saw at once that poor _Coeur-de-Lion_

was done up." In spite of the toothpick, _Coeur-de-Lion_ refuses a

leap, whereupon his master hurls away the singular spur, leaps from

his saddle, draws his hunting-knife, and plunges it to the hilt in

the horse's breast!--with which taste of his quality, we bid a long

farewell to the Marquis de Foudras.

It were strange indeed if the name of Dumas did not more than

once appear on the numerous title-pages before us. We find it in

half-a-dozen different places. The amusing Charlatan, who, in the

first fervour and novelty of the republican regime, seemed disposed

to abandon romance for politics, has found time to unite both. Whilst

writing a monthly journal, in which he professes to give the detailed

history of Europe day by day--forming, as his puffs assure us, the

most complete existing narrative of political events since February

1848--he has also produced, in the course of the last twelve months,

some twenty-five or thirty volumes of frivolities. Thus, whilst with

one hand he instructs, with the other he entertains the public. For

our part, we have enjoyed too many hearty laughs, both with and at

M. Dumas, not to have all inclination to praise him when possible.

In the present instance, and with respect to his last year's tribute

to French literature, we regret to say it is quite impossible. He

has been trifling with his reputation, and with the public patience.

Since last we mentioned him, he has added a dozen volumes to the

_Vicomte de Bragelonne_, which nevertheless still drags itself along,

without prospect of a termination. A tissue of greater improbabilities

and absurdities we have rarely encountered. Certainly no one but

Alexander Dumas would have ventured to strain out so flimsy a web

to so unconscionable a length. Are there, we wonder, in France or

elsewhere, any persons so simple as to rely on his representations

of historical characters and events? The notions they must form of

French kings and heroes, courtiers and statesmen, are assuredly of

the strangest. We doubt if, in any country but France, a writer

could preserve the popularity Dumas enjoys, who caricatured and made

ridiculous, as he continually does, the greatest men whose names honour

its chronicles. Besides the wearisome adventures of Mr Bragelonne and

the eternal Musketeers, M. Dumas has given forth the first three or

four volumes of a rambling story, founded on the well-known affair

of Marie Antoinette's diamond necklace. Then he has completed the

account of his Spanish rambles, which we rather expected he would have

left incomplete, seeing the very small degree of favour with which

the first instalment of those most trivial letters was received. In

the intervals of these various labours, he has thrown off a history

of the regency, and a historical romance, of which Edward III. of

England is the hero. The latter we have not read. On French ground,

M. Dumas is sometimes unsuccessful, but when he meddles with English

personages he is invariably absurd. Finally, and we believe this closes

the catalogue--although we will not answer but that some trifle of

half-a-dozen volumes may have escaped our notice--M. Dumas, gliding,

with his usual facility of transition, from the historical to the

speculative, has begun a series of ghost-stories, whose probable length

it is difficult to foretell, seeing that what he calls the introduction

occupies two volumes. Some of these tales are tolerably original,

others are old stories dressed up _à la Dumas_. They are preceded by

a dedication to M. Dumas' former patron, the Duke of Montpensier, and

by a letter to his friend Véron, editor of the _Constitutionnel_,

theatrical manager, &c. These two epistles are by no means the least

diverting part of the book. M. Dumas, whom we heard of, twenty months

ago, as a fervid partisan and armed supporter of the republic, appears

to have already changed his mind, and to hanker after a monarchy.

Some passages of his letter to his friend are amusingly conceited and

characteristic. "My dear Véron," he writes, "you have often told me,

during those evening meetings, now of too rare occurrence, where each

man talks at leisure, telling the dream of his heart, following the

caprice of his wit, or squandering the treasures of his memory--you

have often told me, that, since Scheherazade, and after Nodier, I am

one of the most amusing narrators you know. To-day you write to me

that, _en attendant_ a long romance from my pen--one of my interminable

romances, in which I comprise a whole century--you would be glad of

some tales, two, four, or six volumes at most--poor flowers from my

garden--to serve as an interlude amidst the political preoccupations

of the moment: between the trials at Bourges, for instance, and the

elections of the month of May. Alas! my friend, the times are sad,

and my tales, I warn you, will not be gay. Weary of what I daily see

occurring in the real world, you must allow me to seek the subjects

of my narratives in an imaginary one. Alas! I greatly fear that all

minds somewhat elevated, somewhat poetical and addicted to reverie,

are now situated similarly to mine; in quest--that is to say, of the

ideal--sole refuge left us by God against reality." After striking

this desponding chord, the melancholy poet of elevated mind proceeds

to regret the good old times, to deplore the degeneracy of the age,

to declare himself inferior to his grandfather, and to express his

conviction that his son will be inferior to himself. We are sorry for

M. Dumas, junior. "It is true," continues Alexander, "that each day we

take a step towards liberty, equality, fraternity, three great words

which the Revolution of 1793--you know, the other, the dowager--let

loose upon modern society as she might have done a tiger, a lion, and

a bear, disguised in lambskins; empty words, unfortunately, which

were read, through the smoke of June, on our public monuments all

battered with bullets." After so reactionary a tirade, let M. Dumas

beware lest, in the first fight that occurs in Paris streets, a

Red cartridge snatch him from an admiring world. His moan made for

republican illusions, he proceeds to cry the coronach over French

society, unhinged, disorganised, destroyed, by successive revolutions.

And he calls to mind a visit he paid, in his childhood, to a very old

lady, a relic of the past century, and widow of King Louis Philippe's

grandfather, to whom Napoleon paid an annuity of one hundred thousand

crowns--for what? "_For having preserved in her drawing-rooms the

traditions of good society of the times of Louis XIV. and Louis XV._

It is just half what the chamber now gives his nephew for making

France forget what his uncle desired she should remember." Take that,

President Buonaparte, and go elsewhere for a character than to the

_Débit de Romans_ of Mr Alexander Dumas. How is it you have neglected

to propitiate the suffrage of the melancholy poet? Repair forthwith the

omission. Summon him to the Elysée. Pamper, caress, and consult him,

or tremble for the stability of your presidential chair! After Louis

Napoleon, comes the turn of the legislative chamber; apropos of which

M. Dumas quotes the Marquis d'Argenson's memoirs, where the courtier

of 1750 bewails the degeneracy of the times neither more nor less than

does the dramatic author of a century later. "People complain," M.

d'Argenson says, "that in our day there is no longer any conversation

in France. I well know the reason. It is that our cotemporaries daily

become less patient listeners. They listen badly, or rather they listen

not at all. I have remarked this in the very best circles I frequent."

"Now, my dear friend," argues M. Dumas, with irresistible logic, "what

is the best society one can frequent at the present day? Very certainly

it is that which eight millions of electors have judged worthy to

represent the interests, the opinions, the genius of France. It is the

chamber, in short. Well! enter the chamber, at a venture, any day and

hour that you please. The odds are a hundred to one, that you will find

one man speaking in the tribune, and five or six hundred others sitting

on the benches, not listening, but interrupting him. And this is so

true, that there is an article of the constitution of 1848 prohibiting

interruptions. Again, reckon the number of boxes on the ear, and

fisticuffs given in the chamber during a year that it has existed--they

are innumerable. All in the name--be it well understood--of liberty,

equality, and fraternity!" Rather strange language in the mouth of a

citizen of the young republic; and its oddness diminishes the surprise

with which we find, on turning the page, the captor of the Tuileries

paying his devoirs to the most presently prosperous member of the house

of Orleans. "Monseigneur," he says, to the illustrious husband of the

Infanta Louisa, "this book is composed for you, written purposely for

you. Like all men of elevated minds, you believe in the impossible,"

&c. &c. Then a flourish about Galileo, Columbus, and Fulton, and a

quotation from Shakspeare, some of whose plays M. Dumas has been so

condescending as to translate and improve. Then poor Scheherazade is

dragged in again, always apropos of "I, Alexander," and then, the

flourish of trumpets over, the fun begins and phantoms enter.

* * * * *

Although not generally partial to tales of _diablerie_--a style which

the Germans have overdone, and in which few writers of other nations

have succeeded--we have been much amused by the story of _Jean le

Trouveur_, in which, upon the old yarn of a pact with the evil one, M.

Paul de Musset has strung a clever and spirited series of Gil-Blas-like

adventures, interspersed with vivid glimpses of historical events and

personages, with here and there a garnishing of quiet satire. "The life

of Jean le Trouveur," says the ingenious and painstaking author of

these three pleasant little volumes, "is one of those histories which

the people tell, and nobody has written.... This fantastical personage

is known in several countries, under different names. In Provence he

is called Jean l'Heureux; in Arragon, Don Juan el Pajarero--that is to

say, the Fowler or Birdcatcher; in Italy Giovanni il Trovatore. His

real name will be found in the course of the following narration.

His death was related to me in Lower Brittany, where I did not

expect to meet with him. This circumstance decided me to write his

history, uniting the various chronicles, whose connexion is evident."

That accomplished antiquarian and legendary, M. Prosper Mérimée,

would doubtless be able to tell us whether this be a mere author's

subterfuge, or a veritable account of the sources whence M. de Musset

derived the amusing adventures of John the Finder. We ourselves are not

sufficiently versed in the traditions of Provence and Italy, Arragon

and Brittany, to decide, nor is it of much interest to inquire. M. de

Musset may possibly have found the clay, but he has made the bricks

and built the house. It is a light and pleasant edifice, and does him

credit.

The main outline of the story of _Jean le Trouveur_ is soon told,

and has no great novelty. The interest lies in the varied incidents

that crowd every chapter. In the year 1699 there dwelt at Arles, in

Provence, a commander of Malta, by name Anthony Quiqueran, Lord of

Beaujeu. After an adventurous career, and innumerable valiant exploits

achieved in the wars of the Order against Turks and barbarians; after

commanding the galleys of Malta in a hundred successful sea-fights,

and enduring a long captivity in the fortress of the Seven Towers,

this brave man, at the age of nearly eighty years, dwelt tranquilly in

his castle of Beaujeu, reposing, in the enjoyment of perfect health,

from the fatigues of his long and busy life, and awaiting with seeming

resignation and confidence the inevitable summons of death. Only two

peculiarities struck the neighbours of the old knight: one of which

was, that he avoided speaking of his past adventures; the other, that

he would attend mass but at a particular convent, and that even there

he never entered the chapel, but kneeled on a chair in the porch, his

face covered with his hands, until the service was concluded. It was

supposed by many that he was bound by a vow, and that his conduct was

a mark of penitence and humiliation. And although the commander never

went to confession, or the communion table, his life was so pure, his

charities were so numerous, and he had rendered such great services to

the cause of religion, that none ventured to blame his eccentricities

and omissions. But one stormy day a little old Turk, the fashion of

whose garments was a century old, landed from a brigantine, which had

made its way up the Rhone in spite of wind, and, to the wonder of the

assembled population, approached the commander of Malta, and said to

him--"Anthony Quiqueran, you have but three days left to fulfil your

engagements." An hour later, the old knight is in the convent chapel,

assisting at a mass, which he has requested the superior to say for

him. But when the priest takes the sacred wafer it falls from his

hands, a gust of wind extinguishes the tapers, and a confused murmur

of voices is heard in the lateral nave of the church. In spite of

himself, the officiant utters a malediction instead of a prayer, and,

horror-stricken, he descends the steps of the altar, at whose foot M.

de Beaujeu lies senseless, his face against the ground. The ensuing

chapters contain the commander's confession. Long previously, when

languishing in hopeless captivity in a Turkish dungeon, he had made a

compact with a demon, by which he was to enjoy liberty and health, and

thirty years of glory and good fortune. At the end of that term he must

find another person to take his place on similar conditions, or his

soul was the property of the fiend. Scarcely was the bargain concluded,

when he doubted its reality, and was disposed to attribute it to the

delirium of fever. In the uncertainty, he studiously abstained from

the advantage of the compact, hoping thereby to expiate its sin. His

health returned, his liberty was given him, but he sought neither

glory, nor wealth, nor honours, living retired upon ten thousand

crowns a-year, the gift of the King of France and other princes, for

his services to Christendom, practising good works, and cultivating

his garden. He began to hope that this long course of virtue and

self-denial had redeemed his sin, when the warning of the demon, in the

garb of the Turkish captain, renewed his alarm, and the interrupted

mass convinced him of the graceless state of his soul. No act of

penitence, the superior now assured him, could atone his crime. Too

high-minded to seek a substitute, and endeavour to shift its penalty

upon another's shoulders, M. de Beaujeu attempts the only reparation

in his power, by bequeathing half his wealth to charities. To inherit

the other moiety, he entreats the superior to select a foundling

worthy of such good fortune. The superior is not at a loss. "I have

got exactly what you want," he says; "the chorister who answered at

the mass at which you swooned away has no relations. I picked him

up in the street on a winter's night, fourteen years ago, and since

then he has never left me. He has no vocation for the church, and you

will do a good action in restoring him to the world." The chorister

boy, who had been baptised Jean le Trouvé, is sent for, but cannot at

first be found; for the excellent reason that, hidden in the recesses

of the superior's bookcase, behind a row of enormous folios, he had

listened to all that had passed between the commander and the monk.

As soon as he can escape he repairs to the castle of Beaujeu, where

his good looks, his simplicity and vivacity, interest the old knight,

who receives him kindly, resolves to make him his heir, and sends him

back to the convent to announce his determination to the superior. The

foundling is grateful. His joy at his brilliant prospects is damped by

the recollection of the commander's confession and despair. He resolves

to astonish his benefactor by the greatness of his gratitude. The

following extract, which has a good deal of the _Hoffmannsche_ flavour,

will show how he sets about it.

In the street of La Trouille, which took its name from the fortress

built by the Emperor Constantine, dwelt a barber, who, to follow

the mode of the barbers and bath-keepers of Paris, sold wine and

entertained gamesters. Young men, sailors, merchants, and citizens

of Arles, resorted to his shop--some to transact business; others

to discuss matters of gallantry or pleasure; others, again, to seek

dupes. Of a night, sounds of quarrel were often heard in the shop, to

which the town-archers had more than once paid a visit. If a stranger

staked his coin on a turn of the cards, or throw of the dice, it was no

mere hazard that transferred his ducats to the pockets of the regular

frequenters of the house. Seated upon a post, opposite to this honest

establishment, John the Foundling watched each face that entered or

came out. After some time, he saw approaching from afar the captain of

the brigantine, with his flat turban and his great matchlock pistol.

When the Turk reached the barber's door, John placed himself before him.

"Sir stranger," said the boy, "did you not arrive here this morning

from the East, on important business which concerns the Commander de

Beaujeu?"

"_Si_," replied the Turk; "but I may also say that it is business which

concerns you not."

"You mistake," said John; "it does concern me, and I come on purpose to

speak to you about it."

"'Tis possible," said the old captain; "_ma mi non voler, mi non poter,

mi non aver tempo_."

"Nevertheless," firmly retorted John, "you must find time to hear me.

What I have to communicate to you is of the utmost importance."

"Do me the pleasure _de andar al diable_!" cried the Turk, in his

Franco-Italian jargon.

"I am there already," replied the lad; "rest assured that I know who

you are. I will not leave you till you have given me a hearing."

The old Mussulman, who had hitherto averted his head to try to break

off the conversation, at last raised his melancholy and aquiline

countenance. With his yellow eyes he fixed an angry gaze upon the

chorister, and said to him in a full strong voice:--

"Well, enter this shop with me. We will presently speak together."

There was company in the barber's shop of the Rue de la Trouille, when

little John and the captain of the brigantine raised the curtain of

checked linen which served as a door. In a corner of the apartment,

four men, seated round a table, were absorbed in a game at cards, to

which they appeared to pay extreme attention, although the stake was

but of a few miserable sous. One of the gamblers examined, with the

corner of his eye, the two persons who entered; and, seeing it was

only a lad and a Turk of mean and shabby appearance, he again gave all

his attention to the game. The master of the shop conceived no greater

degree of esteem for the new comers, for he did not move from the

stool on which he was sharpening his razors. At the further end of the

apartment a servant stood beside the fire, and stirred with a stick the

dirty linen of the week, which boiled and bubbled in a copper caldron.

A damaged hour-glass upon a board pretended to mark the passage of

time; and small tables, surrounded with straw-bottomed stools, awaited

the drinkers whom evening usually brought. Bidding the chorister to

be seated, the captain of the brigantine placed himself at one of the

tables, and called for wine for all the company. The barber hasted to

fetch a jug of Rhone wine, and as many goblets as there were persons in

the room. When all the glasses were filled, the captain bid the barber

distribute them, and exclaimed, as he emptied his own at a draft.--

"_A la salute de Leurs Seigneuries!_"