The true tactique of an Italian invasion is a succession of rapid,

daring, and _hazardous_ attacks. This is the dictate of experience in

every example of Italian conquest. A bold rush into the interior,

leaving all fortresses behind, despising the obstacles of rivers,

lakes, and mountains, and only hurrying on to meet the enemy in line,

has been the principle of success from the first days of the French

assaults on Italy to the last. _Their_ war was an incursion, their

marches were a headlong charge, their battles were outbursts of

furious force; and, if their triumphs were transient, they failed

merely from the national caprice which tires of every thing, and from

the exhaustion of an ill-regulated finance. The French, even under the

old Bourbons, never descended the Alps without sweeping all resistance

before them. The campaigns of Napoleon in 1796, and the following

year, were on the same principle. He plunged into Italy at the head of

50,000 troops, ragged, hungry, and in beggary, but the first robbers

in Europe. He told them that, by beating the Italians, they should get

clothes, food, and money. As a strategist, he probably committed a

thousand faults, but he did not commit the grand fault of all, that of

giving the enemy time to recover his senses. He fought every day,--he

fought by night as well as by day. At Montenotte, he fought for twelve

hours, and was beaten; he again mounted his horse at midnight,

attacked the victor in his first sleep, and, before morning, was

master of the mountains, with the Austrian army in full flight, and

the gates of Turin open before him. The Russian campaign in Italy was

on the same principle. "When you are not fighting, march; when you are

not marching, fight." When the Austrian generals advised Suwarrow to

manœuvre, he laughed, and told them that tactics were only

trifling. "Make reconnoissances," said the greybeard pupils of the

Aulic Council. "My reconnoissances," said the great Russian, "are of

10,000 men. Form column, charge bayonet, plunge into the enemy's

centre. These are my only reconnoissances." In three months he drove

the French, under their two best officers, Macdonald and Moreau,

across the Alps, and cleared Italy. A lingering Italian campaign is

always a campaign thrown away, or a country lost. It is the work of a

military gambler. Napoleon's invasion of Italy, in his consulate, was

one of the most desperate hazards ever ventured in war. He might have

been defeated, and, if defeated, he must have been utterly ruined. But

he attacked the Austrians, was repulsed, renewed the attack in

desperation, repulsed the enemy in turn, and next day saw all Italy

capitulate to him.

What a month may bring forth is beyond our calculation; but while we

were writing those pages, there had been a general movement of the

Piedmontese troops on Verona, probably with the intention of aiding

some insurrectionary movement in the city. The Piedmontese artillery

speedily demolished the field-works in the approaches to the city. A

general advance was ordered, and the Austrian troops continued to

retreat, still turning on the advancing line, and fighting, through a

country the greater part of which is a low shrubby forest. At length,

however, a Piedmontese division was vigorously attacked, taken by

surprise, and broken with a loss so heavy, as to determine the retreat

of the army to its position of the morning. Still, this was but an

affair of posts; and, in the mean time, General Nugent, with an army

of 30,000 men, is putting down the insurgents in the Venetian

provinces, and is marching towards the flank of the Piedmontese.

One fact is evident, that Italy has _not_ risen in a body, and that,

with all the harangues of her revolutionary orators, and all the

promises of what those orators call "her heroic youth, burning to

extinguish the abomination of the Teutons," very few of them have

stirred from their coffee-houses. Italy, with her twenty millions of

men, has probably not furnished to the field twenty thousand

volunteers. Yet this is the time for which they have been all panting

in all kinds of sonnets; when the "new spirit of political

regeneration" has full range for its flight, when the Austrian police

are a dead letter, and when Spielberg and its bastions are a bugbear

no more.

But the movements of the Roman populace are matters of more rapid

execution. What the Pope was a month since, every one knows;--Pius the

powerful, Pius the popular, Pius the restorer of liberty to all the

aggrieved nations of Italy, with a slight appendix, including the

aggrieved nations of Europe. But the populace, which gave him his

titles, have now changed them, and he is "Pius the Monk."

In a year whose every week produces a revolution, who can predict the

events of a month? In the middle of this month of May, Pope Pius is

virtually a prisoner in his palace; within a week he may be

transferred to the castle of St Angelo; within a fortnight he may be

an exile, an outlaw, or a refugee in England.

The intelligence from Rome at the commencement of the month was

simply, that he was a cipher. The people, in their eagerness for

Austrian overthrow, demanded a declaration of war. But the German

bishops are said to have informed the Court of Cardinals, that a

measure of that order would instantly produce a renouncement of their

allegiance to the Roman See. A council of cardinals was now summoned,

before whom the Pope laid a recapitulation of his policy, which may be

considered in the light of a penitential speech. In the mean time, all

his ministers tendered their resignations, probably hoping to lay the

_onus_ of things on the shoulders of Pius himself, and glad to escape

from being massacred by the mob, or hanged by the Austrians.

But the Pope wisely determined, that whatever happened to one, should

happen to all, and refused to let them resign. The general staff then

held a "sitting," and the municipality marched in procession, to give

their opinion at the Vatican on matters of government, and recommend

"_abdication_!" Such are the benefits of telling the rabble that they

are the true depositaries of the national wisdom. In other and better

days, the Pope would have sent those volunteer privy-councillors to

the galleys, as their impudence richly deserved. But he may now thank

his own political visions.

The affair was not yet over. The civic guard, that darling creation of

regenerate freedom, took up its muskets, planted themselves at the

gates, and declared that no one, priest, bishop, or pope, should stir

from Rome. A kind of rabble proclamation was next made, that "no

ecclesiastic should hold any civil office." If this be persisted in,

there is an end of "Our Sovereign Lord the Pope." He may possibly be

allowed to say mass, hear confessions, and work miracles in the old

monkish fashion. But his tiara must pass away, his sceptre will be a

staff, and his toe will be kissed no more. The mob say that as they do

not wish to take him by surprise, they have allowed him some days to

settle the question of private life with himself. But the declaration

of war is the _sine quâ non_, and if he refuses, there is to be a

"provisional government."

"By six o'clock, on the 1st instant, no answer had been received."

Such is the new punctuality of popular dealings with princes and

popes; and such was the announcement of the mob leaders to all those

political reformers, the loungers of Rome. But at last the old

expedient of startled sovereignty has been adopted. The ministry, by

intelligence on the 5th, had been suffered to retire, and their

successors, more liberal than ever, were received with popular

acclamation.

The senate of Rome, probably to soften this measure to the Papal

feelings, presented Pius with a long address, which, however, contains

a repetition of the demand for war at any price. It says, "The people

do not expect _you_, a messenger of peace, to declare war. But they

only desire that you _should not prevent_ those to whom you have

confided the direction of temporal affairs _to undertake and conduct

it_." Thus the division is complete. The Pope is to be two distinct

personages--the messenger of peace, and the maker of war; unless, in

the latter instance, he is to be responsible for acts which he does

not guide, and to acknowledge his ministers to be "viceroys over him."

Of all the acts of sovereignty, the most inalienable is the making of

peace and war. But the sovereign of Rome is to have nothing of the

kind. He is to be a puppet in the hands of a Board. We may well

believe the accounts which represent him as "_in deep dejection_" at

these manifestations of popular dealings with princes and popes. If

his "Holiness" is not expeditious in his decision to obey his

Sansculotte statesmen, the conclusion will be as rapid as the

conception.

In all this chapter of change, whatever may be the coolness of our

respect for the Papacy, we feel for the Pope, as we should feel for

any man intolerably insulted by a conspiracy of wretches pampered into

gross arrogance by sudden power. His personal character is

unimpeachable; and if his vanity has met with a sudden and bitter

reproof, it is only the vanity of an Italian.

Even of the people of Italy we speak only with regret. If these pages

contain contemptuous expressions, wrung from us by the truth of

things, we are not the less ready to acknowledge the original merits

of a people spoiled only by their institutions. We admit every

instance which their panegyrists adduce of their natural ability, of

their kindliness of disposition, of their ancient intrepidity in the

field, and of their brilliancy in the arts. We impute all their waste

of those gifts to the fiction which they call their religion. We

lament over the hopelessness of Italian restoration while the nation

sees the melting of St Januarius's blood as a work of heaven; expects

the remission of sins from looking at the napkin of St Veronica; bows

down to an image of the Virgin as the worker of miracles, and as an

object of divine worship. While this lasts, the mind of Italy must

remain in the darkness of that of its fathers, it may have wars, but

it will have no advance in liberty; it may have revolutions, but it

will have no national vigour; it may have a thousand depositions of

sovereigns, but it will only be a change of masters, and every change

only leaving it the more a slave. Italy can have but one charter--the

Bible.

But now the world is in confusion. War in the north--war in the

south--war gathering in the east of Europe. Russia, with 120,000 men,

marching on Poland, to be followed by 300,000 more. France, with half

a million of men in arms, waiting but the blast of the revolutionary

trumpet to pour down on Italy. Can these things be by accident?

Universal convulsion after a tranquillity of thirty years! And are

these but the beginning of sorrows?

THE INCA AND HIS BRIDE.--A MEDLEY.

CHAPTER I.

ASTLEY'S.

"Most votes carry the point, as a matter of course," said the Doctor,

carefully distilling the last few drops of an incomparable Badmington

into his glass. "I must say I am strongly in favour of the Surrey Zoo.

They have got up Rome there in a style that is absolutely perfect; and

the whole thing puts one remarkably in mind of Tacitus."

"Very likely," replied our friend the Spaniard; "but it so happens

that my classical reminiscences are the reverse of agreeable. I don't

believe there was a single oak in the whole grove of Dodona; at least

my instinctive impression is towards the fact, that in the days of

Agricola the world was a wilderness of birch. No; I declare for the

opera. Pauline Viardot----"

"Bah!" said the Doctor. "These are no times to encourage foreigners.

What say you, Fred?"

"I pronounce decidedly against the opera. In the first place, I am for

the encouragement of native talent, especially in these revolutionary

days; and in the second, I am remarkably hard up for cash. I agree

with the Spaniard that Rome is rot. Suppose we go down to Astley's,

and indulge ourselves with the death of Shaw?"

"I rather think that Shaw is used up," replied the Doctor. "Gomersal

was the last of his race. However, Widdicomb survives, and there is

still a chance of fun. So Astley's be it."

Accordingly, we soon found ourselves at that notable place of

hippodramatic entertainment. In former years, Astley's was by far the

most national of all the metropolitan theatres. It afforded the best

practical exposition of the military history of Europe. One by one the

fiery fights of the Peninsula and of Flanders were reproduced with an

almost unnecessary amount of carnage. Real cannon--or at least

cylinders which had every appearance of being bored--rumbled nightly

across the stage. Squadrons of dragoons, mounted upon piebald,

cream-coloured, and flea-bitten chargers, used to dash desperately

through groves of canvass in pursuit of despairing fugitives; and

terrific were the thunders of applause as the chivalry assailed a

bridge, or overleaped the battlements of a fortification. No feat was

too impracticable for these centaurs--no chasm too enormous for their

vault; and it really was a touching thing to observe that, whenever a

trooper fell, his horse invariably knelt down beside him, and seemed

to beseech him to arise by pathetically nibbling at his buttons. The

entertainments usually concluded with a series of single combats, a

transparency of Britannia seated on a garden roller, and a most

prodigal distribution of laurel. They were not only blameless, but

highly praiseworthy and patriotic exhibitions; and it is deeply to be

regretted that they are rapidly falling into desuetude.

There is no denying the fact that Astley's has undergone a change.

There may be as much good riding as ever, and as fearless bounding on

the tight-rope--the courier of St Petersburg may still pursue the

uneven tenor of his way along the backs of six simultaneous

geldings--and the lover may regain his bride by passing through the

terrific ordeal of the blazing hoop as of yore. But the British

feeling--the indomitable spirit--the strong, burly, independent

patriotism of the ring has departed, and the Union Jack no longer

floats triumphant over a sea of sawdust. This is matter of painful

thought, for it is a marked sign of the decadence of the national

drama.

We were just in time to witness the last act of an entertaining

spectacle, which argued on the part of the author a particular

intimacy with natural history, and with the customs of the Oriental

nations. The scene was laid in some village of Hindostan; and it

appeared that sundry British subjects, male and female, had by

accident been caught trespassing within the confines of a grove sacred

to Bramah. No Highland thane in the act of detecting a stray geologist

on his territory could have exhibited more unbounded wrath than the

high-priest, whose white beard and coffee-coloured arms vibrated and

quivered with indignation. Regardless of the laws of nations, and

insensible to the duties of hospitality, the hoary heathen summoned

the captives before him, and offered them the fearful alternative of

embracing the worship of Bramah, or of undergoing the sentence of

Daniel, with the certainty of a worse catastrophe. It is hardly

necessary to add, that the whole party, even down to a deboshed

sergeant, whose religious scruples could hardly have been very strong,

spurned at the idea of repudiating their faith, and unanimously

demanded to be led on the instant to the menagerie. One young

lieutenant of the Irregulars, indeed, was liberal in his offers to die

for a certain lady, who had very unwisely followed him into the jungle

without a bonnet, and in a gauze dress of singular tenuity: but as the

old hierophant had made no offers whatever of a partial amnesty, it

did not exactly appear that such generous devotion could in any way be

carried into effect. The audience, accordingly, were led to prepare

for a scene of indiscriminate bone-crushing, when a new turn was given

to the posture of affairs by the appearance of a tall gentleman

arrayed in flesh-coloured tights, who demanded the priority of

sacrifice. The precise persuasion of this individual, and his claims

to such invidious distinction, were not accurately set forward; but as

he rejoiced in the appellation of Morok the Beast-tamer, it appeared

evident to us that at some period of his existence he had been

admitted to the privilege of an intimacy of M. Eugene Sue. After some

consideration, and an appeal to an invisible oracle, the high-priest

of Bramah, influenced probably by the distinguished literary position

of his prisoner, consented to the request; and a solemn festival, to

begin with the disparition of the European captives at the banquet of

the beasts, and to end with the incremation of about twenty young

native widows on the funeral pile, was decreed accordingly. This

announcement seemed to fill the hearts of the aforesaid widows with

unbounded rapture, for they incontinently advanced to the front of the

stage, where they executed an extempore mazourka.

The next scene exhibited a cave, divided into two compartments, each

of them stocked with a very fair supply of decrepid-looking lions and

attenuated leopards. There was some slight squalling from the pit on

the part of the female audience; for the interposed grating appeared

to be needlessly slight, and one of the lions, though possibly from

the mere ennui of existence, had a habit of yawning, which might have

struck terror into the heart of Androcles. The clown, however, though

not properly a protagonist in the drama, was kind enough to restore

confidence to the spectators, by walking several times upon his hands

before the bars, and exposing his motley person in divers tempting

attitudes to the wild beasts, without apparently exciting their

appetite. The yawning animal took no further notice of the invitation

than to raise himself on his hind legs, and rested his four paws upon

the cross-bar; after which he remained sitting like an enormous

terrier supplicating for a fragment of muffin. A sickly tiger in the

other compartment began to cough unpleasantly, as though the air of

the circus was too pungent or too loaded for his delicate lungs.

Presently the procession entered, singing a hymn, which must have been

highly gratifying to Bramah. In this ditty the widows joined with a

fortitude worthy of so many Iphigenias; and we were not a little

shocked to observe that some of the European captives were

participators in that heathen psalmody. However, for the credit of our

country, it should be stated, that neither the lieutenant of

Irregulars, nor Amelia Darlingcourt, the young lady in whose

affections he had a decided interest, took part in any such

apostasy--indeed the mind of the latter was wholly occupied by other

feelings, as she presently took occasion to assure us; for, the priest

of Bramah having proclaimed silence, she advanced to the foot lamps,

and warbled out an appropriate declaration that her heart was at that

moment in the Highlands. This over, she threw herself into her lover's

arms; and they both contemplated the menagerie with a calmness which

testified the triumph of affection over death.

At a given signal, Morok the Beast-tamer stepped undauntedly into the

den. We are ashamed to say that our friend the Doctor gloated upon

this part of the spectacle with evident interest--it being a favourite

theory of his that, on some occasion when the digestive organs of the

animals were more than ordinarily active, Morok was sure to go the way

of all flesh. Zumalacarregui was more indifferent,--pronounced the

whole exhibition a humbug, and contrasted it disparagingly with the

bull-fights in which, according to his own account, he was wont to

take an active share at Salamanca. For my own part, it did not strike

me that Mr Morok ran any particular danger. Either the animals were

gorged, or their native ferocity had been long ago subdued by a system

of judicious training. The lions submitted with perfect resignation to

have their jaws wrenched open, and showed no symptoms of any desire to

imitate the example of nutcrackers, even when the beast-tamer was

inspecting the structure of their throats. The panthers were as

pacific as though they had formed part of the body-guard of Bacchus;

and the leopards ran up the shoulders of the man, and even allowed

themselves to be twisted up into neckcloths, with a docility which was

positively engaging.

The _denoûment_ of the drama was, of course, simple. The high-priest

of Bramah, and indeed the deity himself, were taken thoroughly aback.

The oracle declared itself satisfied. The European captives were set

free without the slightest stain upon their honour. Morok was

discovered to be an eminent rajah--perhaps Tippoo Saib or Hyder Ali in

disguise; the elderly individual with the coffee-coloured arms gave

his benediction to the lovers--and the widows, sharing in the general

amnesty, and relieved from the statutory duty of performing as suttee,

testified their entire satisfaction with the whole proceedings by

another mazy dance; after which the curtain fell upon a highly

appropriate tableau.

"Well!" said the Doctor, "upon my honour, I must say that we should

have been quite as well off at the Surrey. In this hot weather, the

ammoniacal odour of the stables may be salubrious, but it is very far

from refreshing; and I question whether it is improved by an

intermixture of carnivorous exhalations."

"Were it not for that pretty face in the next box, I would have been

off before now," observed he of Salamanca; "this lion and tiger stuff

is enough to try the patience of Job."

"But the horsemanship, my dear fellow," said I.

"Psha! what do they know of real horsemanship here?" interrupted the

Spaniard. "When I was in the Christino cavalry."

"There! I knew it!" said the Doctor. "Once set him off on that yarn,

and we shall have the whole history of his campaigns, without the

slightest remorse or mitigation. Do, my dear Fred, be cautious! You

don't know what I endured yesterday at supper."

"You be shot!" replied the Iberian. "Was I not compelled to substitute

some rational topic of conversation for your interminable harangue

upon the symptoms of pulmonary complaint? It was enough to have

emptied an hospital. But see! they are bringing in the horses. By

Jove, how fresh Widdicomb looks! I wonder whether he was really master

of the ring at Trajan's amphitheatre. Not a bad brute, that one

striped like a Zebra. How on earth do they manage the colours?"

"It is a chemical process," said the Doctor. "Perhaps you are not

aware that the hyper-iodate of ----"

"Oh yes! we know all about it: very queer stuff too, I daresay.

Hallo--look here! what kind of character is this fellow intended to

personify?"

The question was not easily answered. The individual who provoked the

remark was attired in most parsimonious silk drawers, with a sort of

diminutive kilt around his waist. His head was decorated with a circle

of particoloured feathers springing from a spangled circlet, not

altogether unlike a highly decorated library-duster. On the whole, his

costume was such as might have suited a Peruvian climate; but it was

manifestly unfitted for the temperature of any untropical locality. By

his side was a young lady similarly attired, only with a more liberal

allowance of drapery, and rather more spangles upon her sleeves. The

clown proceeded to chalk their soles with an expression of devout

humility.

"These, I presume," said the Doctor, consulting the playbill, "are

intended to represent the Inca and his bride; though what Incas had to

do with horses, is utterly beyond my comprehension."

"They might have got them from the Spaniards, you know. Pizarro, is

said to have been a liberal fellow in his way. I know a descendant of

his at Cordova--"

"There they go--now for it!" said the Doctor. "I wonder if people ever

galloped across a prairie in that way, holding one another by the

hands, and standing each upon the point of one particular toe?"

"No more than Mercury ever chose to light upon the summit of a _jet

d'eau_," said I. "But you are very prosaical and matter-of-fact

to-night. See! up goes the lady on the Inca's knee. Do you call that

attitude nothing? Why, even the master of the ring is so lost in

admiration that he is forgetting to use his whip."

Here come the pole and ribbons. Yoicks! Capitally leaped! That young

lady bounds over the cords as light and playfully as a panther. Surely

the Inca is not going to disgrace himself by tumbling through a hoop?

Yes, by the powers he is!--and a very fair somersault he has made of

it! Now, then, put on the steam! Round they go like a whirlwind,

attitudinising as if in agony. She looks behind her--starts--points;

he turns his head--some imaginary foe must be in pursuit!

Onwards--onwards, loving pair! One leap now, and ye are safe! It is a

rasper, though--being nothing more nor less than a five-barred gate,

speaking volumes in favour of early Peruvian agriculture. Over it they

go both together; and Mr Merryman, in token of satisfaction, refreshes

himself with a swim upon the sawdust!

"That course alone is worth the money," said I. "Now, Chief, unless

you are bent upon prosecuting your conquest to the left, we may go. I

feel a strong craving in my inner man for a draught of Barclay and

Perkins."

"After all," remarked the Doctor, as we wended our way homewards,

"there is something remarkably refreshing in the utter extravagance of

the fictions which are presented at Astley's. They must keep in pay

some author of very extraordinary genius. He never seems for a moment

at a loss; and I doubt not that, at an hour's notice, he could get up

a spectacle as brilliant as Aladdin's, in the Arabian Nights."

"I wish some of our friends would profit by the example," said I.

"There is a fearful dearth of invention just now, especially in the

fictional department; and if no speedy improvement takes place, I

confess I do not know what is to become of the periodicals."

"I quite agree with you," remarked the Spaniard. "Some people are

rather given to hunt an idea to death. For example, I am acquainted

with a certain gentleman who can write about nothing except the

railways. Every story of his has some connexion with scrip or shares,

and the interest of the plot invariably turns upon a panic."

"Allow me to remark, Mr Zumalacarregui," said I, considerably nettled

at the allusion, which seemed excessively uncalled for, "that any

subject of domestic interest is much better than an incessant

repetition of low Peninsular skirmishes. You may probably think that

the public are interested in the exploits of Herrera the dragoon, in

the forcible strangulation of gipsies, attacks upon convents, and the

other wares in which you usually deal; but my opinion is very

different."

"No doubt of it!" exclaimed the Doctor, who was delighted at the

prospect of a literary row. "Every body is sick with the eternal

sameness of these señoras. I wonder, Chief, you don't change your

ground, and let us have something better."

"Better than what?" said the Spaniard. "Better than rigmarole stories

about surveyors, and gradients, and old gentlemen with pigtails that

dabble in stock. I rather suspect that, at all events, my bitterest

enemy cannot accuse me of having put out any thing worse."

"Nay, that's true, enough!" chimed in the Doctor: "I by no means

vindicate our friend. He is sufficiently tiresome upon occasion, I

allow."

"It is very easy for those who never wrote a line to pass criticisms

upon the works of others," said I.

"Works? railway works, you mean," said the Spaniard.

"Allow me to tell you, my fine fellow," replied I, "that I will back

myself for any given sum to write a tale against you on any possible

subject; and you may lay the locality, if you please, in your

favourite Spain, though I know no more about it than I do of

Timbuctoo."

"And I," said Zumala, "will knock under to no man, not even Alexander

Dumas, for invention. So the sooner we begin the better."

"Well, then, fix your subject. Shall it be at the siege of Salamanca?"

"In order that you may pilfer right and left from military memoirs, I

suppose. Thank you--I am not quite so foolish!"

"Take your own ground, then. Where shall it be? Asia, Africa, America,

or New Zealand, if you like it better."

"By no means let us interfere with G. P. R. James. He has taken the

convicts under his own especial charge. Let us say America, North or

South, and I leave it to you to select the century."

"I won't have any thing to do with Fenimore Cooper's Redskins," said

I. "Your gipsy practice would give you a decided advantage in

portraying the fiery eyes of a Crow or a Delaware Indian, glaring

through a sumach bush. Besides, I hate all that rubbish about wampum

and moccassins. But if you like to try your hand at a Patagonian tale,

or even a touch at the Snapping Turtle or Cypress Swamp, though that

is more in your line, I assure you I have no objection."

"Let me mediate," said the Doctor. "The whole of this discussion seems

to have arisen out of to-night's performances at Astley's, and I don't

see why you should not avail yourselves of a ready-made hint. There is

the Inca and his bride,--a capital suggestive subject. Take that as

the groundwork of your tales and pitch them in the days of Pizarro."

"Very well," said I--"only let us start in a mutual state of

ignorance. It is many years since I have read a word about the Incas,

and I do not mean to refresh my knowledge. What is your amount of

preparation, Hidalgo?"

"Precisely the same as yours."

"So far good. But--harkye--who is to decide between us?"

"The public, of course."

"But then, reflect--_two_ tales upon the same subject! Why, nobody

will have patience to read them!"

"Couldn't you try chapter about?" suggested the Doctor.

"A capital idea!" cried the Spaniard. "I am going down to Greenwich

to-morrow for a white-bait party, so you have a clear day to begin

with. We shall write it alternately, after the manner of the Virgilian

eclogues."

"_Arcades ambo_," quoth the Doctor. "Well, good-night, lads, and see

that you work out one another's ideas handsomely. I shall step into

the club for half an hour, and have a glass of cold brandy and water."

"I say, Zumala," said I, as I walked home with my rival, "I am afraid

the villain the Doctor is making game of us. Had we not better give

the idea up?"

"Not a whit of it," replied the Spaniard. "I really want to see how

the thing will do: and if you like to drag in the Doctor as a

character, I shall be happy to keep it up. I presume there were plenty

Caledonians wandering about the world even so far back as Pizarro's

time?"

"There is always plenty of that stock in the market," I replied, with

a groan. "Well, good-night. The MS. of the first chapter shall be sent

you to-morrow evening; and recollect that we are both upon honour to

avoid all kind of reference."

CHAPTER II.

THE RUBICON OF PERU.

It was the sunny dawn of a tropical morning. The sea had just ebbed,

leaving a vast expanse of white sand studded with strange

particoloured shells, between the primeval forest which formed the

boundary of the ocean verge, and the heavy line of breakers which

plashed sullenly along the shore. One vessel, partially dismasted, and

bearing tokens of the recent storm, was riding at anchor beyond the

outer ridge; another lay in hopeless wreck, a black and broken hulk,

upon the beach. Her timbers were stove in, her bulwarks swept away;

the once stately Estremadura would never more walk the waters like a

thing instinct with beauty and with life.

Upwards of three hundred hardy and bronzed veterans occupied the

beach. In the countenances of some might be traced that sullen

expression which is the result of absolute despair. Others used

vehement gesticulations, attempting apparently to convince their

comrades of the propriety of adopting some strong and dangerous

resolution. Others, who were either more used to peril, or more

indifferent to consequences, were playing at games of chance, as

composedly as if, instead of being outcasts on a foreign shore, they

were wiling away the tedium of an hour in their dear but distant

Spain.

Two men, who seemed by their garb and bearing to be the leaders, were

walking apart from the others. The eldest, a tall gaunt man, whose

forehead was seamed with the furrows of many years, appeared to be

dissuading his companion from some enterprise which the younger

eagerly urged. Ever and anon he stopped, pointed with his finger to

the gigantic, woods which stretched inward as far as the eye could

see, and shook his head in token of dissent and discouragement.

"I tell thee, Pizarro, it is madness, sheer madness!" said he. "The

foot of man has never yet penetrated that howling wilderness, from

which all last night there issued sounds that might have chilled the

bravest heart with terror. Even could we hope to penetrate alive

through its zone, what thinkest thou lies beyond? I see in the

distance a chain of dark and gloomy mountains, upon whose summits the

sun never shines, so thick are the clouds that obscure them; and I

fear me that, could we reach their top, we should but look down upon

the frightful abyss that is the uttermost boundary of the world!"

"Pshaw, Don Gonsalez! I did not think thou hadst been so weak as to

believe in such fables. Be the end of the world where it may, never

let it be said that, so long as one rood of land remains unexplored,

the bold Spanish Buccaneers shrank from their appointed task. But I

know that it is not so. Beyond yon dusky ridge there are valleys as

rich as ever basked in the glory of the sun--fields more fertile than

any in Spain--cities that are paved with silver and with gold. I have

seen them, old man, many and many a time in my dreams; and, by

Santiago, I will not forego their conquest!"

"Thou hast said the truth unwittingly, Pizarro," replied the other.

"These are indeed dreams, the coinage of a visionary brain, and they

will lure thee on to ruin. Bethink thee--even were it as thou

supposest--were El Dorado separated from us only by yon colossal

barriers of nature, how could we achieve its conquest with a handful

of broken men? Those valleys thou speakest of, if they do exist, must

be peopled--the cities will be strong and garrisoned. Men build not

that which they are utterly unable to defend; and our force, heaven

help us! is scarce strong enough to capture a village."

"Listen!" said Pizarro, and he laid his hand on the arm of the other.

"I am not a learned man, as thou knowest, but something have I seen

and heard. I have seen thirty determined men hold their own at point

of pike against an army. I have seen thirty horsemen scatter thousands

of the barbarians like chaff; and have we not more than thirty here?

Nay, listen further. I have heard that in the old time, when a land

called Greece was assailed--it might have been by the Saracens--three

hundred stalwart cavaliers, under the leadership of one Don Leonidas,

did, trusting in the might of Our Lady and Saint Nicolas, hold at bay

many thousands of the infidel scum; for which good service to this day

there are masses sung for their souls. And trow ye that we, with the

same number, cannot hold our own against heathen who never yet saw

lance glitter, axe smite, nor listened to the rattle of a corslet? Out

upon thee, old man! thy blood is thin and chill, or thou wouldst speak

less like a shaveling, and more like a belted Castilian!"

"Son of a swineherd!" cried the old man, drawing himself up to his

full height, whilst the red spot of passion rose upon his faded

cheek--"Son of a swineherd and a caitiff! is it for thee to insult the

blood of a hundred ancestors? Now, by the bones of those who lie

within the vaults of the Alhambra, had I no better cause of quarrel,

this speech should separate us for ever! Remain, then, if thou

wilt--nay, thou _shalt_ remain; but recollect this, that not one man

who calls me captain shall bear thee company. There lies thy black and

stranded hulk. Make the most of her that thou canst; for never again

shalt thou tread a Spanish deck where I, at least, have the

authority!"

During this insulting speech, the brow of Pizarro grew livid, and his

hand clutched instinctively at the dagger. But the man, though

desperate, had learned by times the necessity of habitual control; he

thrust the half-naked weapon back again into its sheath, and proudly

confronted his commander.

"It is well for thee, Don Gonsalez," he said, "that thine years are

wellnigh spent, else, for all thy nobility, I had laid thee as low as

those who are rotting beneath the marble. Hearken, then--I take thee

at thy word, so far that thou and I never more shall tread the

quarter-deck together. Thy vessel is safe. Mine is lost--well, then,

take thine own and be gone! But mark me! Over the men here thou hast

no power. In this land there is no fealty due to the flag of Spain. No

man owes allegiance save to the leader of his adoption, to the strong

heart and stout arm of him whom he selects to be his chief. If there

be but one among them willing to cast his lot with mine, I will dare

the issue. Do not, as thou regardest thy life, attempt to gainsay me

in this. I am armed and resolved, and thou knowest that I am not wont

to dally."

So saying, he strode towards the place where the sailors were

congregated, and, with his sheathed rapier, drew a deep line along the

sand. All gazed in silence, wondering what his meaning might be; for

the brow of Pizarro was now bent with that resolute frown which it

seldom wore except on the eve of battle, his lips were compressed, and

his eyes flashing as if with an inward fire.

"Spaniards!" he said, "the hour for action has arrived. There lies the

ship, ready-winged to transport you back again to Spain, not as

conquerors of the New World, but as beggars returning to the old. Go,

then--plough the seas, greet the friends of your childhood, and when

they ask you for the treasures that were to be gathered in this

distant land, tell them that you have surrendered all at the moment

when victory was secure. If they ask for your leader, tell them that

you abandoned him on a foreign shore--that he only remained steadfast

to his purpose and his oath--that he is resolved to win a crown, or to

perish nobly in the attempt!"

"No, by the blessed scallop-shell of Compostella!" cried a burly

soldier, pressing forward: "come what will of it, Pizarro, there is

one at least who will not flinch from thy side! Here stand I, Herrera

the dragoon, ready to follow thee to the death. It shall never be said

that I crossed the salt sea twice without striking one blow for Spain,

or that I left my captain in his extremity!"

"Therein I recognise my ancient comrade!" cried Pizarro, pressing his

hand. "Gallant Herrera! stalwart brother! I knew that I might count on

thee."

"And I," said another soldier, "would have small objection to do the

same; because, d'ye see, it has always struck me that Don Pizarro had

the root of the matter in him--"

"Ha, my tall Scot! sayest thou?" cried Pizarro: "wilt thou too cast

thy lot with us? I know thee for a hardy blade that loves hard knocks

better than oily words. See--I have drawn this line upon the sand: let

those come over who will follow fortune and Pizarro!"

"Hooly and fairly!" replied the other, whose high cheek-bones and

sandy hair bore unequivocal testimony to his race. "There's some small

matters to be settled first; for it seems to me that this is verra

like the taking of a new service. Now, we have a proverb in the North

that short accounts make long freends; and I would fain speer of your

valour, in the event of my biding here, what wad become of the

arrearages to whilk I am righteously entitled?"

"Base fellow!" cried Herrera, "wouldst thou barter thy honour for

gold?"

"By your leave, sergeant," replied the Scot drily, "maist men barter

baith their life and honour for little else. But I cannot allow that

this is a case of barter. I hold it to be a distinct contract of

service, or rather of location and hire, anent which it is written in

the book of _Regiam Majestatem_, that no new contracts shall be held

effectual until all previous conditions are purged and liquidated.

Wherefore, touching these arrears, which amount for service of man and

horse to nine doubloons, four maravedis, excluding interest and

penalty as accords--"

"Hearken!" said Pizarro; "if a man owed thee a handful of dollars, and

offered, as the condition of his release, to show thee a mine of

diamonds, wouldst thou reject his proposal?"

"Assuredly not," replied the Scot; "I wad indubitably accept of the

same, reserving always my right of diligence and recourse, until the

furthcoming and valuation of the aforesaid jewellery."

"Well, then, the matter stands thus," continued Pizarro: "Gold have I

none to pay thee; but if thou wilt follow me across yonder mountains,

I will lead thee to a land richer far than any of your native

valleys--"

"That's impossible," interrupted the Scot. "It's clear ye never saw

Dalnacardoch!"

"A land which we will win and hold for ourselves and our heirs for

ever!"

"Blench, doubtless, or for a mere nominal reddendo," remarked the

Scot. "There's some sense in that; and since ye say that the arrears

are scantly recoverable, by any form of process, I care not if I sist

procedure thereanent, and take service under my freend the sergeant,

whose acquaintance with the Pandects is somewhat less than his

dexterity in the handling of a halbert."

So saying, the Scot stepped across the line, and was warmly greeted by

Herrera. His example, however, was by no means contagious. Gonsalez,

though not absolutely popular with his men, had nevertheless commanded

their respect, and was well known to be a judicious and experienced

leader. His strong opposition to the rash project of Pizarro had

materially shaken the confidence of many who would otherwise have been

forward in any enterprise which promised a favourable termination.

Besides, their position was such, that the hardiest adventurer might

well have been excused for hesitating to expose himself to further

danger. Only one ship remained, and with the departure of that, all

chance of returning to Spain seemed at an end. The aspect of the

country was sterile and uninviting. No inhabitants had flocked down to

welcome the Europeans to their shore--none of the happy omens which

hailed the advent of Columbus had been visible to them. It seemed as

if nature, revolting at the cruelties which had already been exercised

by the invading Spaniards on the denizens of the infant world, had

closed her gates against this marauding band, and absorbed her

treasures into her womb. Of the three hundred Spaniards, only

twenty-five crossed the boundary line, and declared themselves ready

to take part in the desperate fortunes of Pizarro.

"Farewell, then!" said that haughty chieftain, addressing himself to

the others. "I need you not; for what is a strong arm without a

resolute and determined heart? Farewell! I have pointed out to you the

path, and ye will not tread it!--I have held up the banner, and ye

will not rally under it!--I have sounded the trumpet, and your ears

are deaf to the call! Henceforward there is nothing for us in common.

Go, cravens as ye are! back to Spain--work for hire--dig--sweat--labour

at the oar! It is your portion, because ye know not what valour and

glory are! But for you, gentlemen--who, superior to the vulgar ties of

country and of home, have sunk the name of Spaniard in the glorious

title of buccaneer--let us be up and doing! Our march may be toilsome,

the danger great; but before us lies the new world which it is our

glorious destiny to subdue. Mount, gentlemen cavaliers! Herrera, do

thou display the standard! One last look at the ocean, and then

forward for victory or death!"

"One word, Pizarro, before thou goest," said Gonsalez. "Amidst all thy

rashness, I cannot but discern the flashing of a noble spirit. I would

fain not part with thee in anger. It may be I have wronged thee,

and--"

"Old man, what art thou and thy wronging to me?" replied Pizarro. "But

yesterday I was thy subaltern--now, I am a chief. The soul of a

conqueror is swelling in my bosom, and thou and such as thou have no

power to do me wrong. I have no time to waste. Set on, I say! Another

hour has struck in the mighty destiny of the world!"

A few moments afterwards, the watchers on the beach heard the last

note of Pizarro's trumpet dying away in the depths of the Peruvian

forest.

* * * * *

"A very fair chapter," said I, folding up the MS. "Strong, terse,

spirited, and a good deal in the Waverley style. It is a pity I could

not manage to foist in the Doctor, but this other sort of character

will do remarkably well. Not a word about the Inca as yet.

Well--that's the hidalgo's look-out. I wonder what kind of work he

will make of the next chapter!"

CHAPTER III.

THE CHILDREN OF THE SUN.

"Oneiza!"

"My love--my lord!"

"Look upon me with thy lustrous eyes till I see my image dancing in

them. O my beautiful, my beloved! Tell me, Oneiza! when the song of

the nightingale warbles across the lake, what dost thou think of

then?"

"Of thee--of thee, my adored one!"

"And when the stars are glittering in heaven like sapphires in thine

ebon hair--what then, Oneiza?"

"Of thee--still of thee!"

"When the humming-bird is stooping o'er the chalice of the

flower,--when the sweet azalea blossom bursts brightly from the

bower,--when the very breeze is loaded with odour and perfume, and the

murmur of the hidden brook comes singing through the gloom,--when the

fire-flies light the thicket like spangles struck from gold,--when all

the buds that love the morn their tiny cups unfold,--when the dew is

falling warmest on blade, and leaf, and tree--where is thy soul,

Oneiza?"

"With thee, my love! with thee!"

Never, surely, since the first blight fell upon Eden, did the virgin

moon look down upon a lovelier or a more innocent pair!! Manco Capl

was of the race of the Incas, whom tradition asserted to be the direct

offspring of the sun. But a shrewd physiological observer would have

had no difficulty in recognising the traces of a descent more human

but not less illustrious. The clustering curls, the dark eye, the

aquiline nose, and the full underlip, of the young Inca, bore a

striking resemblance to that ideal of beauty which far transcends the

product of the Grecian chisel. They were the features of a prince of

the Captivity--of a leader of the most ancient race that ever issued

from the defiles of the Caucasus. For it is not to Assyria, or even to

Thibet, that we must look for a solution of the great mystery

attendant upon the departure of the Ten Tribes; They were not destined

to remain by the streams of Babylon, hewers of wood and drawers of

water in an unkind and alien country. The Israelitish spirit, which in

former times had expanded to the strength of a Sampson, would not

brook such a degradation, and the second mighty pilgrimage of the

nation was even more prolonged than the first. At length they reached

a land of rest and refuge;--Dan took possession of Mexico, and Zebulon

was located in Peru.

Manco Capl had long loved Oneiza, the daughter of the Peruvian

high-priest, with that ardour and entire devotion which is unknown to

the callous nations of the north, whose affections are as cold as the

climate in which they shiver and exist. She, in return, had

surrendered to him that treasure than which the world contains nothing

of more estimable and priceless value--a perfect trusting heart. Child

of a paradise in which the trail of the serpent was hardly visible,

she knew none of the coy arts which are practised by European maidens

for the sake of concealing those emotions which, in reality,

constitute the highest excellence of our being. She loved--warmly,

keenly, passionately; and she felt that to conceal the expression of

that love, was to defraud her betrothed of his due. Oh! if women only

knew what they sacrifice through fictitious delicacy--if they had but

once experienced the delight of an unrestricted communion of

soul--they would throw restraint to the winds, and worship with the

ardour of Herodias!

"Oneiza, dearest!"

"Say on, my soul hears thee!"

"Look up, love, into the starry firmament. See'st thou that glittering

zone, light as the girdle beneath which beats the heart of my Oneiza?

Is it not very beautiful?"

"It is--it is!"

"Would'st thou think there was danger there?"

"How! thou makest me tremble."

"Little shrinking one! did I say that it boded danger to thee? Am not

I here to ward away any thunderbolt that might threaten the breast of

my Oneiza?"

"Oh, peace! tell me of the stars. Canst thou read them, then, my

Manco?"

"Listen, dearest. Thou knowest the traditions of our race. Long, long

ago, before the seed from which these hoary trees are sprung had

ripened,--before a stone of yonder pyramid was hewn from its native

rock--our fathers dwelt in a land that was named Chaldea. It is far

away from this, Oneiza, across the salt and briny sea; and I know not

how they had power to traverse the wilderness of waters. It was a

land, too, not like ours, sweet and pleasant, but very, very dreary;

with no placid pools and running streams, but a huge tract of sand,

which the sun always glared upon in his wrath."

"Oh Manco--that is terrible! But the stars?"

"Ay--the stars--the stars, Oneiza! They, too, were there, large and

lustrous as thine own eyes; and our fathers, as they lay at night by

the margin of some lonely well, watched them in their courses, until

they learned to read the mysterious symbol-book of heaven, and drew

strange knowledge front the aspect of the sidereal junctions."

"And thou, too, hast this knowledge Manco?"

"Little foolish one! Wouldst thou have me more ignorant than my

ancestry? It was taught me by one who had watched the heavens for a

whole year from the flaming top of Atlpacaca; and long ago he foretold

that danger for Peru which I now see depending in the midst of yonder

constellation."

"Danger for Peru? Oh Manco!"

"Ay, love, but not for thee. Look a little lower. See that star,

sometimes hidden for a moment by the waving branch of the cactus. How

mild and clear it is, like the eye of a happy spirit! Mark how bright

it sparkles, in the ether far; that, my own Oneiza, is thy natal

star!"

"And which is thine, dearest?"

"The stars," replied Manco, proudly, "have no influence over the

destiny of the children of the sun! He that would read our fate, must

gaze steadfastly upon the orb of the great luminary of the heavens,

and not shrink, although the rays pierce hot and dazzlingly through

his brain. But enough of this, beloved! Let us to our rest. The dew is

falling heavily upon my plume, and thy tresses too are damp."

"Oh Manco!--I would fain tell thee something--"

"Speak, darling."

"I had a dream last night, and yet--wouldst thou believe it?--it was

not of thee!"

"And yet thou canst remember it, Oneiza?"

"Ay, for it was so very terrible. Let me rest my head upon thy bosom,

and I will tell thee all. Methought I was lying yonder, under the

broad palm-trees by the lake, watching the young alligators as they

chased each other in innocent sport among the reeds, and scared from

their resting-place swarms of the golden butterfly. All of a sudden

there came a hush, as though the great heart of nature were thrilled

to its centre. The scaly creatures of the lake sank noiselessly into

its silver depths, and disappeared. A fawn that had come out of the

thicket to drink, gazed round in terror and retired. The lizard crept

into the hollow trunk, and the voices of the birds were silenced. I

looked towards the city, and, behold, a dark cloud had gathered over

it! Its spires and domes no longer flashed in fervent radiance to the

sun: the face of heaven was obscured with a cold and leaden hue. I

looked to the colossal statue of our mighty deity, the sun. Its face

no longer wore that deep smile of unearthly beauty, but was distorted

with an expression of unutterable and agonising woe. Presently,

methought, the figure was endowed with superhuman life. I saw it rise

from its pedestal, Manco,--I saw it stretch out its arm towards the

east, and a dismal voice proclaimed these words--'Peru is given to the

stranger!' But thou dost not speak, Manco!"

"Go on, Oneiza! I listen."

"I looked towards the mountains, and lo! Ilaxlipacpl, from its

stupendous peak, was vomiting forth flames to the sky. Huge seams of

liquid lava were bursting through its sides. The solid rocks seemed to

be bursting every where; and, as I gazed in awe and terror on the

hideous sight, the glowing element took shape and form, and I could

read, in characters of fire, that awful sentence--'Peru is given to

the stranger!'"

"Was this all, Oneiza?"

"Oh, not all! for while I looked, methought the earth began to

tremble, and strange noises, as of brazen instruments and the clash of

iron, arose. I heard shouting and the voices of men, but they spoke in

a language which I understood not, and it sounded harsh and uncouth to

my ear. And by-and-by there passed such terrible forms, Manco, towards

the city! Surely they could not be human. The upper part resembled the

shape of man, but they were covered with bright steel, and carried

long javelins in their hands. The rest of their figure was that of a

strong beast, its hoofs armed with metal, and the ground shook as they

came on. Methought one of them stooped to seize me, and I uttered a

scream and awoke, and, behold, thou wert lying by my side, and the

moonbeam was shining upon thy brow."

"Hast thou spoken of this to thy father, Oneiza?"

"Not yet. Are not the earliest of my thoughts for thee?"

"Dear one! This is a warning from the gods. Let us hasten to the city,

and warn the Emperor ere it be too late. Thy dream, combined with the

aspect of the heavens, may well make the bravest tremble."

They arose and hastened together, hand in hand, along the margin of

the lake towards the town. But, ere they reached it, it became evident

that some unexpected events had occurred. Torches were glittering

through the streets, a vast pyre sent up its column of flame from the

mighty altar of the sun, and the clanging of the cymbals was heard.

"What is this, Ilazopli?" cried Manco Capl to a young Peruvian, whose

countenance bore token of strong excitement; "what means this sudden

uproar?"

"The gods have descended in a human shape, and the Emperor has asked

them to a banquet!"

"Peace, impious!" said Manco sternly. "Art thou beside thyself?"

"It is a fact, and there's no denying it!" replied the other. "I have

seen them myself. Such grand heroic figures, all clothed in shining

steel, with beards like the tail of a llama! By Beersheba!" exclaimed

the young man--for the Peruvians had not yet altogether forgotten the

traditions of their ancestors,--"by Beersheba! you should see the

creatures that brought them hither! their snorting is like that of a

he-alligator: when they toss their heads the foam flies out like

flakes of the cotton-tree in autumn, and the smite of their iron hoofs

is heavy as the fall of a stone from heaven! Huzza for the new

deities!"

"Blasphemer!" cried Manco, "what knowest thou of the gods? are there

not demons who can take their form?"

"I never saw any," replied Ilazopli. "I am no priest, Inca, but I can

tell you that Axtloxcl is quite delighted with them, and says that

they have come down from the sun on purpose."

"Axtloxcl! my father!" cried Oneiza.

"Hush, dearest!" said her husband. "Let us hope the best. It may be

that he has received a revelation from above, and that the omens and

thy dreams were false."

"Oh never--never!" said Oneiza. "The sun and the stars do not lie. Are

not these the very shapes, the same terrible phantoms I beheld in

slumber, when the voice from the unknown world proclaimed the downfall

of Peru? Hast not thou, too, read the signs of its downfall in the

heavens? and can the coming of those new deities--if deities they

are--bring us good?"

"Well!" said Ilazopli, "tastes differ. For my own part I prefer

deities who can walk about, and talk, to our old images of the sun,

who never say so much as thank ye in return for all our offerings. But

I must away--there is a great feast going on at the palace, and the

Emperor expects all the Incas. You, Manco Capl, will be looked for."

"Away, then!" said the young Inea, "I will follow betimes. Insensate

fool!" continued he, as he watched the departing footsteps of the

other, "thou art like all thy race, who welcome destruction when it

comes beneath a glittering guise! But why should I blame thee more

than the rest, when wiser and older men have yielded to the fatal

lure? Hearken, my Oneiza; my soul is sad within me, but it is for thee

chiefly that I fear. Thou hast not been long with me, Oneiza, but were

I to lose thee, the light of my life were gone. Promise me, then, that

whatever may befall our unhappy country, we never shall be

separated--that in death as in life we may be together--and sweet, oh

unutterably sweet, would that death which should find me clasped in

thy arms!"

"Oh Manco, Manco! canst thou doubt?"

"No; I never doubted. But my heart misgives me as to the issue. See,

Oneiza,--this plain is not all the world. Beyond these mountains are

valleys and broad savannahs where the foot of the invader can never

come. I have seen them as I hunted the fierce jaguar on the hills; and

even amidst all the magnificence of our own stately city, I have

sighed for a hut by the side of some lonely stream, with thee for my

sole companion. If the day should come when ruin bursts upon us,

wouldst thou, Oneiza, tender nurtured as thou art, be prepared to

leave all, and follow thy husband into the depths of the unknown

wilderness? There are dangers, Oneiza, but love will watch over us!"

"Were this Eden, my husband, and the valley of Hinnom lay beyond, I am

thine--thine--thine for ever!"

"Oh say no more, my darling, my love, my own, my sweet! Were all the

world my kingdom, I'd lay it at thy feet. What treasure could I offer

to buy a heart like thine? My soul is strong within me like a giant's

stirred with wine! I boast the blood of him who met and smote the

Philistine! Come on then, dearest--dearest, come! together let us go.

The lights are flashing from the towers, the evening star is low!"

* * * * *

Along with the foregoing MS. I received the following note from the

Spaniard. "I don't relish your chapter much. It is palpable cribbage

in many parts, and those absurd patriotic prejudices of yours have

brought you into a scrape. I've met with a character very much like

your mercenary Scot before. I should have brought him into this

chapter, only I don't comprehend the northern gibberish, and you have

forgotten to nominate your heathen. I shall say nothing about mine,

except this, that it is eminently touching, pathetic, and original.

Match it if you can."

"Original, indeed!" said I. "Does he think I never read the Wondrous

Tale of Alroy? Tender! What can be easier than to write a dialogue of

unmitigated maudlin? Touching! Why, it is half rhyme, and very

skimble-skamble versification too. I wish he would give his Peruvians

pronounceable names, for never in my life before have I seen such a

ruthless dislocation of the alphabet! However, I must follow the lead.

The next chapter, I calculate, will be a stunner."

CHAPTER IV.

THE HALL OF FIRE.

That night there was a scene of revelry in the imperial palace of

Caxamalca. Innocent and confiding as an infant, the chief Inca,

Atahualpa, had welcomed the coming of the Spaniards as messengers of

the gods, if not as actual deities; and, with true barbaric vanity,

had set forth a display of his costliest treasures. Atahualpa himself

was in the prime of life, beautiful as a pard, and with a native port

of majesty which well might have been envied by the haughtiest monarch

of Christendom. And indeed his costume, borrowed, though but remotely,

from the Oriental model, was far more noble and magnificent than that

which European habit has rigorously assigned to our modern kings. Over

his clustering hair he wore a carcanet of diamonds, surmounted by the

precious plumage of the bird of Paradise. His surcoat and vest were

curiously inlaid with the brilliant feathers of the humming bird,

alternating with rows of the rarest gems, and the triple necklace of

rubies around his neck was worth the ransom of Hindostan. At his feet

lay a tamed jaguar, which fawned like a dog upon its master; and in

his right hand he held an ivory sceptre, surmounted by a single pearl,

of which the world did not contain the equal. Such was Atahualpa, the

supreme autocrat of Peru.

Around him were gathered his princely Incas, scarce inferior in

magnificence to their sovereign. The table was heaped with vessels and

flagons of the purest gold, which gave a still richer colour to the

sparkling juice of the grape--for the art of manufacturing wine had

still been retained by the undoubted descendants of Noah. The

strangers, as they sate at the feast, gazed around them with greedy

eyes, astonished at the amount of plunder which was so speedily to

become their own.

"Ye have gold enough here, Inca," said Pizarro, who was seated at the

right hand of Atahualpa; "ye have gold enough and to spare. By the

bones of Christopher Columbus! it is a shame to see this red metal so

vilely used!"

"Ye may say that," cried the Scot, whose head was half-buried in a

flagon; "it is downright wastrife in thae bodies to make pats and pans

out of as gude gold as was ever coined into bonnet-pieces. We could

not afford that at the Leadhills, though the district there is no far

short o' Ophir."

"Run me through the body," muttered Herrera the dragoon, "if the

temptation of handling those dear delightful platters is not too much

for the patience of any Christian cavalier. I wonder when our general

will give the order to begin the sack?"

"Peace, son!" said the famous monk, Vincent Valverde, who was opposite

to the sergeant. "Why shouldst thou seek to hasten the work? Are they

not given unto us utterly for a spoil? Wherefore, tarry thou in

patience."

"Yon's no a bad-looking lass!" cried the Scot, as Manco Capl led

Oneiza into the hall; "though, certes, if she had nae mair tocher than

her claes, she is like to bring bare eneuch luck to her gudeman."

"Och, by the powers!" said an Irish trooper, of the name of

O'Rafferty, "but she's a jewel! I wonder if that spalpeen keeps her

company. He's mighty like a young Jew that diddled me at the fair of

Limerick!"

"Ho, Inca!" cried Pizarro, "why art thou silent? Hearest thou not what

I ask? Hast more such gear as this?"

"Doth my lord inquire after the household stuff?" replied Atahualpa.

"We reck not of it. Let him take whatever pleaseth him."

"That's eneuch for me!" cried the Scot, appropriating an enormous

flagon; "fient ane o' me ever yet looked a gift-horse in the mouth!"

"And the diamonds, Inca--the diamonds?" said Pizarro, casting a

covetous glance at the superb garniture of his host; "are they, too,

offerings to the guests whom the gods have sent hither?"

"They are the heir-looms of the sun," replied the Inca, "and they may

not be gifted away. But what seekest thou, noble stranger? Is it

hospitality? Our palaces are open to you. Are you hungry? We will feed

you. Would you till the land? We can give you valleys. Tarry with us,

and become the adopted children of the sun."

"Ha! wretched infidel!" shouted Valverde; "wouldst thou tempt us to

deny our faith? Noble Pizarro! it needed but this to complete the

measure of their iniquity. Up! and let the sword of the true Church

attest the might of her crozier."

"Patience, holy father!" cried Pizarro. "Know, Inca, that we have a

direct mission from heaven; and I am sent to reclaim from thee those

jewels which thou and thine ancestors have worn."

"Let the gods, then, who gave them, come and take them," said the

Inca, calmly.

"Thou wilt not yield them?" said Pizarro; "then, by Santiago! I will

seize on them as my lawful prey."

So saying, the ruffian snatched at the chain of rubies which encircled

the neck of the Inca. But ere the subordinate Peruvian chiefs, who

hardly understood the import of the scene, could interfere, a powerful

defender rose before Atahualpa. No sooner had the hand of the Spaniard

been laid upon the sacred person of his master, than the jaguar leaped

up with a tremendous roar, and sprang at the throat of Pizarro. Well

was it for the marauder that on that day he was sheathed in the

tempered armour of Castile, else the fangs of the wild beast would

have avenged this atrocious insult. As it was, the buccaneer was borne

backwards upon the floor, where he lay struggling in the gripe of the

infuriated monster.

Herrera the dragoon unsheathed his broadsword.

"Let me get a blow at the brute!" he cried. "I will sliver it in twain

like a kitten."

But Manco Capl stepped before him.

"Robber!" he said, "wouldst thou slay the animal for defending

faithfully the person of its master? Down with thy weapon, or, by the

might of Moses! I will smite thee dead with my mace!"

"A Jew!--a Jew!" roared Valverde; "a palpable, self-acknowledged Jew!

Down with him, cavaliers!--hew the circumcised villain to

pieces!--trample him under foot, as ye would tread on the forehead of

an asp!"

But the sanguinary orders of the monk were not so easily obeyed. Quick

as lightning, Manco Capl had grappled with the gigantic trooper, and

for once the Peruvian agility proved a match for the European

strength. Encumbered with his armour, Herrera staggered and fell,

dragging his antagonist with him, who, however, kept the upper hold.

"In the name of the fiend!" shouted Pizarro, "rid me of this monster!

Juan! Diego! O'Rafferty!--will you see me murdered before your eyes?"

"Hold!" cried the Inca to the soldiers; "no violence! I will call the

creature off. Come hither, Bicerta!" and the jaguar quitted its hold

of Pizarro, and came crawling to the feet of its master.

"Ye are trusty knaves indeed!" said Pizarro, when he had risen from

the earth; "had it depended upon your succour, I might have been torn

limb from limb."

"Troth, ye're no that far wrang," observed the Scot; "it's an unchancy

beast to deal wi', and far waur nor a wull-cat!"

"But what is this?" cried Pizarro. "Herrera down? By Heaven! the best

and bravest of my soldiers has been slain!"

And so it was. Unable to shake off the superincumbent weight of the

young Inca, Herrera had felt for his poniard, and aimed a desperate

stroke at the bosom of Manco Capl. But the active youth caught him by

the wrist, and with a dexterous turn forced the steel from his hand.

The clutch of the dragoon was by this time fastened in his hair, and

no means of extrication were left save to use the weapon. The steel

flashed thrice, and each time it was buried in the throat of Herrera.

Gradually he relaxed his hold, his huge frame quivered strongly, a

film gathered over his eyes, and he lay a senseless corpse. The black

blood flowed lazily from his wounds--the jaguar crept forwards, and

purred as he licked it up.

Meanwhile, where was Oneiza? Pale as death, she had been clinging to

her father while the conflict lasted; but now, when her husband was

victorious, and standing, brave and beautiful, over his prostrate foe,

his large eye flashing with indignation, and his nostril dilating with

triumph, she sprang forward, and threw her arms around him.

"Back!--back, Oneiza!" cried the Inca; "this is no place for women! To

the temple all of you, save those who have strength to fight for their

Emperor and their homes! These are no gods, but bloody, desperate

villains, whom it is ours to punish. See!--one of them is already

smitten down, and his blood is sinking into the floor. Gods do not

bleed thus. O my friends! be true to yourselves, and we may yet save

our country! Away--away, Oneiza, if thou lovest me! Axtloxcl, carry

her hence! To the temple; and if we join you not there, fire dome and

shrine, and leave nothing but ashes to the invader!"

The women and the priests obeyed, and none save the combatants

remained in the palace. The Peruvians, though numerically superior to

their opponents, were yet at a great disadvantage in point of arms.

Unaccustomed to warfare, they carried such weapons only as were more

useful for show than for defence, whilst every one of the Spaniards

was armed from head to heel. At one end of the hall stood Atahualpa,

surrounded by his native chivalry, each eager to shed his lifeblood in

defence of his beloved monarch; at the other was gathered the small

phalanx of the Spaniards, to whom retreat was impossible, and remorse

or pity unknown.

"Why wait we further?" cried Pizarro: "the blood of Herrera calls out

for vengeance. Be firm, men--unsling your hackbuts--fire!" and the

first deadly discharge of musketry thundered through the Peruvian

hall.

Several of the Peruvians fell, but their fall was of less moment than

the terror which seized the survivors on witnessing the effect of

these unknown engines of destruction.

"The gods! the gods are wroth with us! We have seen them in the smoke

and the fire!" cried several, and they fell unwounded on their faces,

in fear and consternation, among the dead.

Manco Capl alone stood unappalled.

"Be they gods or no!" he cried, "they are our foemen, and the enemies

of Peru! Can those be of the sun, who come hither to massacre his

children? Let us meet fire with fire--kindle the palace--and try how

these strangers will breathe amidst the roar of the devouring

elements!"

So saying, the intrepid young man, as if actuated by the spirit of his

great ancestor, the indomitable Judge of Israel, caught up a torch,

and applied it to the hangings of the wall. Quick as thought, the

flames ran up--their fiery tongues licked the ceiling--the beams began

to crackle and to blaze--the smoke descended in thick spiral wreaths

throughout the room. Once again, and but once, sped the volley of the

Spaniards: next moment they were engaged hand to hand with Manco Capl,

and a body of the young Incas, whom his words had roused to

desperation. The struggle was terrible, but not long. The Europeans,

trained to the use of arms from their infancy, made wild havoc among

their slender assailants. One by one they fell, vainly defending their

king, who was soon within the grasp of Pizarro.

Soon the flickering of the flames, and the rolling columns of smoke

which issued from the burning hall, announced to those who had taken

refuge in the adjacent temple the nature of the awful catastrophe.

"O Axtloxcl--O my father! let me go!" cried Oneiza. "My husband is

perishing in the fire! Oh, let me go and die with him, if I cannot

hope to save him!"

At this moment a door of the palace burst open, and Manco Capl, his

vesture bloody, and his long plumes broken, rushed through the

intervening space. The jaguar followed at his heels.

"My bride--my Oneiza! where art thou!" he cried; and, with a loud

scream of joy, his wife tore herself from the grasp of her father, and

leaped into the young man's arms.

"Thou art safe! thou art safe!" she cried.

"Hush, Oneiza! The Great Spirit has been very merciful, but there is

danger yet. Canst fly, beloved?"

"With thee, my love?--to the boundary of the solid earth."

"Then away with me, for death is near at hand!"

The horses of Pizarro and his followers had been picketed close to the

gates of the temple. Whether from negligence, or the conviction that

the fear which the Peruvians had already manifested at the sight of

these strange animals would be their safeguard, or from the

impossibility of sparing one single soldier of the scanty band, these

had been left without a sentry. Actuated by an impulse, which perhaps

in a calmer moment he would scarcely have felt, Manco Capl snatched

the reins of one of them, a splendid piebald charger, which indeed was

Pizarro's own, lifted Oneiza upon a second, sprang into the saddle,

and in an instant was galloping away.

"Fire upon the dog!" cried Pizarro, who was just then rushing out,

sword in hand. "Fire upon him, I say! I would not lose Onagra for his

weight in virgin gold!"

Three shots were fired, but none of them struck the fugitives. Onward

they rushed towards the lake with the jaguar bounding by their side.

"Mount and after them!" shouted Pizarro.

O'Rafferty and the Scot obeyed--threw themselves hastily on horseback,

and gave spur in pursuit.

We throw a veil over the deeds of atrocity which were that night

perpetrated in Caxamalca.

* * * * *

Short and sweet, said I, as I laid down my pen: I question whether

Dumas ever turned out any thing more dramatic. At all events, I have

done a material service to the public, by exterminating Herrera the

dragoon. I hardly suppose that, after this, the hidalgo will venture

to bring him forward again. Peace to his manes! It was a tough job to

kill him, but I think I have effected it at last, rather neatly than

otherwise.

CHAPTER V.

THE CATARACT OF THE ROCKS.

"Huzza, huzza! along the shore, across the desert wild, none meet the

Inca and his bride, the free, the undefiled! Huzza, huzza! our steeds

are fleet, the moon shines broad and clear; at every stride a tree

goes by, we pass them like the deer! Hold up, hold up, my only love!

the desert paths are near. I know the ways that skirt the rocks where

foemen cannot ride. Nay, never wring thy hands and weep, my own

devoted bride. We leave behind a ruined home, but freedom lies before;

and hostile bands and savage arms shall never vex thee more. Why dost

thou start so wildly, love? Why look in terror back? Fear'st thou the

mailed enemies that follow in our track?"

"Oh, my husband! there are two!"

"Were there twenty, love, I fear not! Give thy willing steed the rein.

Ho, Bicerta! noble creature, how he bounds along the plain! See, his

eager eye is glowing with a fierce and sullen fire! Let the caitiffs

dare to harm us, he will rend them in his ire. Onward, onward, love!

the mazes of the forest now are past. Hark! I hear the hollow roaring

of the mountain stream at last."

They were nearing a gloomy crevice of the rocks, through which a rapid

river found its way. The chasm was a fearful one. More than a hundred

feet below, the torrent boiled and whirled. The precipices on either

side were sheer--a fall was inevitable death. The Inca saw and felt

the danger, but there was no retreat. Grasping with one hand the reins

of Oneiza's horse, he smote with the other the flank of his own. The

dagger of Herrera, which the Peruvian still held, did service as a

spur--both animals cleared the gulf, and alighted panting on the

farther side.

"Deil's in your beast, O'Rafferty!" shouted the Scot, "pu' up hard,

man, or ye're intil a hole as deep as the cauldron at the Yetts o'

Muckart!"

The warning came too late. The young Irish horse upon which the

foremost trooper was mounted went steadily at the chasm, gathered

itself like a cat for the leap, and very nearly succeeded in achieving

it. But the weight of the rider, sheathed as he was in heavy armour,

was too much for its strength. It alighted, indeed, with its forefeet

on the turf, made one convulsive struggle, and then fell heavily down

the precipice. There was a sullen plunge, but no cry arose from the

abyss.

"Weel," said the Scot, as he dismounted and peered over the edge of

the rock, "that was a maist fearsome loup! Puir O'Rafferty! I aye

tellt him he was a fule, and noo the fact has become maist veesible to

ocular demonstration. I maun hae a shot, tho', at that lang chield wi'

the feathers."

So saying, he unbuckled his carabine, and took deliberate aim over his

saddle. But the villanous purpose was frustrated. No sooner had the

fugitives halted, than the jaguar returned, creeping stealthily to the

brink, and measuring the distance for its spring. The eyes of the Scot

was intent upon his victim, his finger was placed upon the trigger,

when, with a tremendous roar, the panther cleared the gulf, and seized

the trooper by the throat. He spoke one sentence, and nothing more.

"Wha will tell this in Dysart, that I suld hae lived to be worried by

a wull-cat?"

Next evening, in a cool grotto of the mountains, on a couch of the

softest moss, far away from ravage and misery, and the armed grasp of

the assassin, Manco Capl and Oneiza sung their bridal hymn.

"Oh, dearer than the evening star, art thou to me, my love! It gleams

in glory from afar in yonder heaven above. But thou art in my arms, my

sweet, nor nearer canst thou be! Where is thy soul, Oneiza?"

"With thee, my lord, with thee!"

* * * * *

"My humble opinion," said the Doctor, after listening to the foregoing

pages--"my humble opinion is, that they manage matters better at

Astley's."

SENTIMENTS AND SYMBOLS OF THE FRENCH REPUBLIC.

When Lamartine, in the face of a mob still excited with battle and

bloodshed, still drunken with the intoxication of victory, demanding,

of those whom the chances of a destiny-fraught hour had placed at

their head in the perilous post of command, they scarce knew what, and

yet ready to recommence destruction and death were it not

granted--when Lamartine tore aside the blood-red banner of terror,

that had been seized on as the symbol of the newly proclaimed French

Republic, and lifted aloft the tricolor flag as the true standard of

the Republic of peace and order which he hoped to found, he did not

only an act of personal courage--one to be mentioned among the great

traits of heroism in the annals of history--but he consummated a deed

upon which the destiny of France, perhaps of the whole world, for the

moment depended. To those far away, who know not the strange compound

that forms the character of the French, the mere change of one flag

for another may appear a matter of but little moment: but in truth it

was one of almost inestimable importance, for the destiny of the

country depended on it. And this Lamartine knew. He knew his people

too--he knew how easily they are led away by the outward show, how

completely their sentiments would be engaged in the outward symbols;

and he reared the symbol of order against the banner of violence and

blood; though he raised it aloft at the hazard of his life. At that

moment the poet-statesman stood forth a man ready to die for his

convictions: at that moment, guns, pikes, swords, daggers, every

instrument of death was directed at his head by a furious mob,

screaming for that ideal, the Republic, from which it had been taught

by demagogues to expect some vague, supernatural, at least wholly

visionary good, as if it were a talisman to raise up a golden age by

the mere power of its name; a mob, senseless, enraged, and deaf to

reason, flushed with the acquisition of sudden and sovereign power,

and yet goaded by the idea that treachery was at hand to snatch it

from their grasp. In the face of such an assemblage, before the

historical old building of the Hôtel de Ville of Paris,--upon those

steps on which so many scenes of history had already passed, and none,

perhaps, more important in its results than this,--he stood forth,

pale, but erect and resolute: a single word from the crowd, the cry

"he is a traitor! he deceives us!" might have been the signal for his

massacre: a gesture might have done the deed: the wag of one nerve of

a finger on the lock of the gun might have levelled him, and with him

France, at once: and he knew it. He knew, too, that FATE was in his

hands; he knew that in that seemingly senseless change of colours on a

flag-staff lay the destiny of Paris; and he was prepared to fall a

victim or to rise a hero. To the red flag popular fancy attached the

idea of violence, war, revenge; it was the bloody pirate flag of

propagandism by force of arms, by the terror of the scaffold. The

tricolor flag, although it had waved over many a ruin, many a deed of

horror, in the dreadful history of the past, had led on the nation to

glory and military renown; for the last eighteen years it had typified

the national watchwords of _that_ time, "Liberty and Public Order;"

and it was set forth once more, under a more democratic rule, but not

a rule of anarchy--liberty, public order, peace. To each symbol was

attached a sentiment. On the one symbol, on the one sentiment,

Lamartine had staked the future destinies of France, as he had staked

the hazard of his life. Unsupported he stood before those yelling,

suspicious, infuriated thousands. He was the man of the moment. A

powerful appeal to the feelings of such a mob--one of those appeals,

one of those words of history that are carried down to all

posterity--one of those electric touches of simultaneous sentiment,

which often suddenly pervade great crowds, seemingly thrilling through

all frames at once alike, coming as it were from some supernatural

influence, but which few mortal men know how to direct, when, and far

less _as_ they would--such an appeal was to be made--such a word to

be spoken--such a blow given. Again we repeat, he was the man of the

moment--for he was the man of high poetic sentiment. Thence alone

could come the electric stroke; and it was struck. The simple

eloquence of the poet's heartfelt convictions fell over the crowd. He

raised the tricolor banner; guns, swords, and pikes were lowered:

"_Vive Lamartine!_" burst from every mouth: the cause of humanity was

gained--_for the time at least_. That symbol stamped the sentiment of

the future French Republic.

Spite of the frivolous, sceptical, denying, and, in latter years,

positive and anti-poetical character of the French people, there is no

nation more easily led away by a word, however incomprehensible--an

idea, however vague; but when that word, that idea, is embodied in an

outward symbol, it is remarkable with what blind tenacity the French

will cling to it, hoist it on high, worship it. What the deism of the

Encyclopedists could not effect in the revolution of the last century;

what even the frantic political atheism of the sect that followed in

their footsteps could not accomplish over the masses; what the

persecution of the priesthood could not establish over the minds of

the people, was wrought by the personification of atheism in the

embodiment of the Goddess of Reason. When the reason that denied a

Godhead stood before them in a living and material form, the people

fell down and worshipped; the orgies of atheism in the face of that

half-naked bacchante form became universal.

This spirit arises, probably, from the theatrical nature of the

people. Individually each Frenchman seems to consider that he is born

to act a part, not only in the stage of life in general, but in his

own individual sphere, act a part as a comedian, a part he assumes,

not the part that Providence has destined for him; in fact, to use a

French expression, he must always _poser et faire de l'effet_. Louis

XIV. acted the comedy of royalty, not as if he had a conviction of his

real kingship, but as if he was "making believe;" he throned it always

like a tragedy king--he _posa_ on his throne. Even to the lower

classes--and perhaps they more than any other--the Frenchman of this

day, however quiet and estimable in private life, will _poser_ as an

actor, as soon as he has an audience, and shows himself "before the

face of men," be it in the _salon_, or the tribune, or at the street

corner. So strong is the desire for theatrical effect, especially

among the lower classes, that each _homme du peuple_ seems ever to be

striving to set up for a hero on his own little stage of existence,

even if that hero be a villain. Among the more reckless of them in

latter years, the mania _de faire parler de soi_ has frequently gone

as far as committing suicide or atrocious crime, in order to die with

_eclat_ or a _coup de théâtre_. The opportunities afforded to the

people by successive revolutions, of showing themselves off in

characters that have been applauded "to the echo" as noble and

sublime, have contributed to foster that craving for notoriety and

part-acting in the eyes of the world, which an overweening vanity of

character, and the desire for effect, have made a portion of their

habitual life. It may be a question even, whether, in scenes of

popular convulsion, the reckless courage of the French--unquestionable

as is that courage--does not arise from a sort of fancy that the whole

drama of contention they are acting is, in a manner, unreal--that they

are but actors on a living stage--that the whole, in fact, is a

theatrical part. To see them attitudinising on a barricade, with flag

and sabre raised aloft, flinging up their arms in picture-like

gesture, and sweeping back their hair to give effect to their tableau,

it might be natural to suppose so. With this theatrical mania, then,

so prevalent in all classes, it follows very naturally that the

outward show, the embodied sentiment, the symbol, in fact, should

assert such a powerful sway over their excitable minds.

Those, consequently, who know the character of the nation cannot but

be aware of the importance, in the guidance of the people, of the

symbol in which the sentiment is to be embodied. Those who do not even

reason upon this fact, feel it instinctively; and the importance

attached by both parties, the moderates and ultra-violent republicans,

to the symbols which each party strives to make predominate, is

visible in many of their acts. The one party is constantly

endeavouring to remove all such as recall to mind the recollection of

a bloody and destructive past; the other is as constantly using all

its efforts to renew and adopt them, and to make them the rallying

banner of the faction. The Republic, forced upon all France by the

active violence of a small minority in the capital alone, has been

accepted by the majority, partly from that feeling of resignation with

which most meet a _fait accompli_--partly from the desire to maintain

a _statu quo_, whatever it may be, for the sake of peace and

order--partly from the conviction that, under the circumstances, when

a dynasty so hastily fled in alarm before an insurrection, and left

the country to its fate, no other form of government was possible for

the moment. But let a symbol of the past be raised, of that past to

which so many look back with horror, and, _as yet at least_,

indignation and scorn will be shown by the better-thinking majority,

by whom the importance of the act, slight as it may appear in our

eyes, is instinctively felt and understood.

When Paris was, for many days and almost weeks, given up to the

fanciful caprices of a mob, that pocketed the public money and repaid

it by the fantastic diversions of its idleness--when it streamed about

the streets with banners, and flags, and ribbons and music, carrying

about bedizened may-poles, and grubbing holes on every _Place_, before

every public monument, in every street, in almost every hole and

corner of all Paris, in which to plant them, it was not the yelling of

the crowd, it was not the incessant firing of guns and letting off of

crackers by night as well as day, it was not the compulsory

subscription _à domicile_ for the expenses of a mob's fête of every

moment, it was not the threatening cry of "_des lampions_--illuminate

in our honour, or we break your windows," it was not the tumult, the

constraint, the menace that cast a vague terror over the public

mind;--it was the feeling that scenes of a terrible memory were about

to be acted over again;--it was the knowledge that such had been in

gone-by times the gay, green, laughing prologue to a hideous

tragedy;--it was the consciousness that the so-called trees of liberty

were symbols in the minds of a mob of an era of license, and riot, and

carnage--that the pike, and the sabre, and the axe were the

accessories of the gay picture, although still in the dimness of a

dark background--that the leaves those bare stems might bear were to

sprout, perchance, with spots of blood upon their young verdure. Men

looked askance: the symbol of a people's drunkenness in power was

waving before their windows: how far, they asked, was the sentiment

that thus darkly arose in their minds, predominant also in the minds

of the mob, when it raised that symbol? It was in vain they reasoned,

that the France of the nineteenth century was no longer the France of

the eighteenth--that the bloodthirstiness and the reckless cruelty had

passed away from the character of a people advanced in civilisation--that

the present had no analogy with the past: it was in vain they sought a

reassurance in the fact that the pale priest was dragged from the

church to bestow his blessing, with all the pomp of Catholic

ecclesiastical ceremony, upon the symbol, and give a seemingly

religious sanction to a people's fantastic rite of patriotism--that

there was consequently a feeling of holiness in the people's mind in

the accomplishment of that ceremony. On the contrary, the very mockery

alarmed: the very compulsory attendance of the clergy seemed to prove

that there was rather a desire in the mob to show its power than to

attach a sanctity, which it needed not otherwise in common life, to

the deeds it did: a terror, vague, ill-defined, unreasoned, but none

the less real, floated over every mind. The symbol flaunted abroad the

sentiment of the past. It was not until the authorities too late

issued decrees, to prohibit the further practice of these fantastic

allegorical popular manifestations, that confidence, or rather

forgetfulness of the uneasiness that such demonstrations of popular

sentiment had instinctively conveyed, began slowly to return to the

public mind. The trees of liberty stand, it is true, and flourish, and

put forth leaves, amid the flags, and ribbons, and withered wreaths,

and tricolor streamers, which flaunt, and twine, and flutter around

them; but it was not the fact--it was the sentiment that caused alarm.

As a symbol, however, they remain: and may yet re-evoke the sentiment

that for a while has been forgotten, and still act a part in the

future troubled chronicles of the streets of Paris.