In the evening, the incessant volubility of Lascelles Hamilton awakened in

Sidney a wish to take a stroll through the town. On proposing this walk to

the Albanian guards, they immediately agreed to accompany the travellers,

and suggested a visit to the Mosque, which had been a Christian church,

and then a sojourn in the principal coffee-house in the bazar. The church,

now converted into the principal mosque of Gaza, is said to have been

constructed in the fifth century. It is well worth visiting, though there

can be no doubt that the coffee-house has an air of much greater

antiquity, if the marks of Decay's effacing fingers be a proof of age. The

manner adopted by the quarantine of Gaza for exhibiting the enforcement of

the sanatory regulations to the whole population, was an excellent

illustration of the effects of the influence of public opinion in Turkey.

Next day was occupied in preparing for the journey to Jerusalem. Sidney

had brought a letter from Cairo to a Christian Arab, named Elias es Shami,

so called because he was a native of Sham el Keber, or the great city of

Damascus. This worthy was the consular agent of some one of the European

powers, but affected to be consul for all. His house was ornamented with

five or six flag-staffs, and from these, on days of public rejoicing, the

standards of England and France were displayed at the corners farthest

apart. He declared himself, in his Damascene French, consul of all the

powers, or, as he phrased it, "_Je suis moi, consul, de toutes les

potences_." And it really did not require this certificate to convince

most of his visitors, that, like many of the trading consuls of the

Levant, he was somewhat of a gallows bird. In the position in which he was

placed, Sidney conceived this worthy consular agent might afford him some

advice.

On arriving at the house with the flag-staffs, Achmet was sent in to

present the letter. In spite of the quarantine, it was received and read

by Elias of Sham without difficulty. But though the consul lad no fear of

plague before his eyes, he had a strong aversion to hold any intercourse

with persons suspected of being spies by the officers of Mohammed Ali, and

Ibrahim Pasha. He accordingly positively declined the visit of Sidney, and

sent down his vice-consul, a tall youth with lantern jaws, to inform the

travellers in the middle of the street, that Mr Elias of Sham, the British

consul, could not recognise any traveller in Syria to be an Englishman,

who did not wear the English dress on his body, and a round hat on his

head. This communication was so completely in the classic style of English

diplomacy in the Levant, that Hassan's axiom concerning the sanity of

Elchees and Ambassadors, rushed to the recollection of Sidney, and he

perceived that even trading consuls felt bound to put a touch of folly ill

their official communications to vouch for their diplomatic authority.

Rather amused than discomposed by this reception, Sidney bethought himself

of another letter he possessed, to a Persian merchant named Ibrahim, and

called by Turks Sishman. Fat Abraham pretended to be Persian consul, so it

was proposed to try whether the Mohammedan had more of the trader, and

less of the diplomat than his Christian colleague. As the quarantine

regulations gave nobody any concern, it was determined to make this visit

as imposing as possible. Achmet arranged the procession, and marched

before the travellers as dragoman, himself preceded by two Albanian

soldiers armed to the teeth; the cook and two more Albanians followed in

the rear, and with the greatest dignity, the whole body moved through the

bazaar to the shop of Fat Abraham.

Ibrahim Sishman was found seated in his counting-house. This

counting-house, like most of the shops in a Turkish bazaar, bore a close

resemblance to the lion's den at the zoological gardens, the grating in

front being removed, and the floor raised about three feet above the mud

of the narrow street; if the pathway between the dens of the traders in

the bazaar of Gaza deserve to be dignified with the name of street. Fat

Ibrahim had very little the look of a Persian; instead of possessing the

genteel figure of that noble race, he was a squat fellow, with a large

mouth, a tallow face, and two arms hanging down from his shoulders at six

inches distance from his body, as if unable to approach nearer from some

electrical influence. He was, however, by no means very fat, so that his

nick-name of Fat Ibrahim was merely a distinctive epithet, borne as

Europeans bear the name of Black, Brown, White, or Green, without their

skin being of the colour of a dun cow, or a Brazilian parroquet. The

Persian dealt largely in tobacco and coffee on his own account, and in

various articles of other people's property, of which he exhibited

specimens on the walls of his den, for besides being a consul he called

himself a banker and general merchant.

He received Sidney and his companion with great affability, and as soon as

they were seated like a couple of tailors on his shop floor, he plied them

with pipes and coffee, and a stream of conversation which eclipsed the

volubility of Mr Lascelles Hamilton in the desert. He was by no means

deficient in wit, and talked of the scrape into which the travellers had

fallen by their accidental intercourse with Sheikh Salem, as the public

news of the bazar; while he induced them to recount their visit to his

brother consul, the Shamite, whom he ridiculed as a booby, who always

acted as a general merchant when he ought to act as a banker, and as a

banker when he ought to act as a consul. The Persian concluded by telling

Sidney, that he had now arrived at the right consular shop for protection.

Persia and England were the best of friends, and as the English consul

from Sham had been offering for French contracts, he hoped soon to display

the flag of England in his own courtyard.

A week was drawing to its close, and our travellers were still retained in

their state of quarantine at large. Sidney enjoyed himself walking about

and visiting the bazar, but poor Mr Lascelles Hamilton began to be alarmed

at the delay, and, strange to say, became thoughtful and silent. He

affected great anxiety for the fate of the companions he had left behind,

but Sidney suspected his melancholy arose from fear of losing his baggage.

He declared too that it was of the greatest consequence for him to reach

Jerusalem in the shortest space of time, and kept a small bundle

constantly near him as if ready for a sudden start should the opportunity

of escape present itself. The anxiety of Lascelles Hamilton had increased

to a nervous pitch, when late one evening Ringlady and Campbell were

suddenly ushered into the tower where our travellers were lodged. Their

delay had been caused in part by the Khamsin wind, and in part by their

sluggish movements.

Next morning, the whole party proceeded to pay Hafiz Bey, the governor of

Gaza, a visit, and obtain his authority to quit his government. Hafiz Bey

received them with great politeness, granted them every thing they asked,

but invited them to ride out with him to see two robbers impaled, and meet

a courier from Mohammed Ali with a small body of Bedoween cavalry. The

invitation was equivalent to a command; so although none of the party had

any curiosity to see the rare sight of an impalement executed by the

express orders of Ibrahim Pasha on two Arab soldiers, who had stolen a few

bushels of beans, still they were compelled to accept the offer without

any appearance of dissatisfaction. Lascelles Hamilton alone attempted to

excuse himself, and only joined the party when he perceived that his

absence would render him an object of suspicion to the Bey. The governor

mounted the whole party, and even Campbell, in spite of his aversion to

equestrian exercise, felt tolerably at home when he perceived that he

could place himself on a quiet looking steed with a round well-padded

cloth saddle.

The scene was well worthy seeing, though we must omit all description of

the impalement, which our travellers refused to witness. Hafiz Bey had

prepared a species of review, the fame of which he probably conceived

might tend to make Lord Palmerston pause before he launched his thunders

against Gaza. The meeting of the Bedoweens from Egypt with the Bedoweens

of Gaza was accompanied by a sham fight, executed with considerable art,

though consisting of little more than an extended combination of single

combats. The captain of each troop rode forward, and when they had

approached sufficiently near, one fired his carbine or pistol, and then

gallopped away; the other followed, and if he could gain on his adversary,

chose his distance to return the fire. Each horseman in succession from

both troops advanced, repeating the same manoeuvre, but often describing

circles in their flight or in their advance for the purpose of cutting off

the boldest of their adversaries, who might have ventured too far in the

eagerness of pursuit. It was only when this was successfully accomplished

that any attempt was made to close and use the sabre, though even in these

last and desperate encounters, the great object was rather to secure

prisoners than to slay enemies. The lance was evidently regarded by both

parties as a useless weapon. The meanest trooper of the desert was so

completely master of this unwieldy weapon as to avoid or parry its thrust

with perfect confidence, so that when Bedoween met Bedoween, lances were

laid aside.

The mimic fight, however, continued longer, and was extended over a much

greater space of ground than Hafiz Bey had contemplated. He evidently

began to grow uneasy, a circumstance which our travellers attributed to

the effect of the impalement on his nerves, though it really arose from

the fear he began to entertain that his severity in punishing theft had

wounded the sympathies of the Arabs. He accordingly despatched one of his

own Curds to request the Arab chief to draw nearer to the infantry, and

thus place themselves within the range of his artillery, and perhaps for

the purpose of enforcing this order, he directed his Curdish horsemen to

move towards the rear of the Bedoweens. The Arabs clearly disapproved of

the movement, and disliked the orders, so without deigning to salute Hafiz

Bey, both his own Arabs of Gaza and the new-comers from Egypt suddenly set

off at a gallop and soon disappeared among the hills towards the desert.

An endeavour was made to treat this incident as a part of the review, but

alarm soon seized both the spectators and the troops that remained, and

the Bey was obliged to scamper back to Gaza as fast as possible, lest some

treason should place another in possession of his government before his

arrival.

In the evening, the Franks were again summoned to pay Hafiz Bey a visit,

but neither Mr Lascelles Hamilton nor the accomplished Mohammed, the

dragoman of Mr Ringlady, could be found. Achmet too had fallen ill in the

morning, so that the party had to present itself before the governor with

diminished splendour. On their arrival at the divan, they beheld a Frank

in an European dress seated beside Hafiz Bey, and a consular cavas

standing near the door. Inquiries were soon made for Mr Lascelles

Hamilton, and when the Frank on the sofa heard that he was nowhere to be

found, he jumped up and made twenty inquiries one after the other in

English, as strongly marked with a foreign accent as that of Mr Lascelles

Hamilton, but by no means equal to it in choice of words or correctness of

grammatical construction. The worthy stranger then informed the travellers

that he was an agent of the British Consulate at Alexandria, sent to

arrest Mr Lascelles Hamilton for a variety of offences committed under a

variety of names.

The hue and cry was now raised, but no Mr Lascelles Hamilton was to be

found, and it almost appeared difficult to produce any evidence that such

a person had ever existed. Dozens of persons who had seen him that

morning, and every morning he had spent at Gaza, became alarmed lest they

should be in some way compromised by a connexion with him, and stoutly

denied that such a person had accompanied Sidney to Gaza. Sidney himself,

amused with the events of the day, boasted to Campbell that he would

achieve fame as a literary man by writing a novel in three volumes based

on the adventures of a single day at Gaza. In the mean time, Ringlady

became frantic on discovering, in the search for Lascelles Hamilton, that

he had lost not only his pearl of dragomans, the accomplished Mohammed,

but likewise the whole of his baggage, which the accomplished Mohammed had

doubtless carried off by mistake. To increase the grief of the party at

losing these two valuable companions, it appeared that the best part of

the baggage of Sidney and Campbell had also disappeared, but whether with

the Frank or the Mussulman, it was impossible to say. The night was spent

in vain endeavours to ascertain the direction in which the fugitives had

fled. Hafiz Bey sent out horsemen on every road, who probably did not go

very far from the fear of falling in with the Bedoweens. Achmet, however,

who now began to recover from his attack of illness, declared, that all

search would be useless, for he felt sure that his brother dragoman--the

father of a jackass, as he politely termed him--had attempted to poison

him in order to escape to the Arabs with the Frank Sheitan.

Day after day elapsed, and no tidings were heard either of the fugitives

or the baggage. The deputy consul from Alexandria informed the travellers,

that Mr Lascelles Hamilton had been the secretary of an English gentleman

of fortune, and during his patron's absence from home, he had thought fit

to decamp with numerous papers and a large sum of money. With this

provision, he had been travelling over the Continent under a variety of

names, and presenting himself at different places as a relation of various

distinguished families, proving his identity by the letters and papers in

his possession. He had escaped many times when even more closely pursued

than at Gaza. A courier arriving for the Alexandrian, informed him at

last, that Mohammed the pearl of dragomans had been seen on the road to

Egypt, beyond El Arish. As it now appeared that the quarry had doubled

back, in order probably to escape by sea from Alexandria as the spot where

his presence would be least suspected, the consular agent set off after

his victim. It was something like a lap-dog pursuing a fox. Rumours of the

Palmerstonian wars were now beginning to alarm the East, so that our

travellers found themselves in a situation of considerable embarrassment.

The sudden departure of their baggage was more frequently deplored by the

travellers than the loss of their companion's society. Part of their cash

had been lodged in their trunks--a fact not unknown to the observant

Mohammed--and their funds were now very low. Mr Ringlady had, however, a

letter for Elias, of Sham, whom he considered to be the English consul;

and though Sidney informed him of the reception he had met with on

presenting a similar letter, he trusted to his elegant appearance and

mellifluous voice for complete success in obtaining as much cash as he

might require to continue his journey to Beyrout.

Ringlady and Campbell, in new paletots and black hats, proceeded to wait

on the consul, banker, and general trader of Sham. That worthy, however,

had already arrived at the conviction that a war between Turkey and Egypt,

and between England and France, was inevitable, and that victory would as

inevitably accompany the arms of Egypt and Gaul. His interest confirmed

this conviction. As sometimes happens in the lax mercantile morality of

the consular system in the Levant, he was the agent of two rival banking

establishments, one supported by English, and the other by French funds.

The English capitalists being far away, and unable to exercise any direct

control over their funds, the Shamite considered it an excellent

opportunity for confiscating their funds. He termed the confiscation an

act of justice, for the English had intrusted him with their money though

they knew that he was already the agent of a rival establishment, and the

law declares that all acts contrary to the policy of trade are invalid.

The consul illustrated his argument in the following words:--"I am a

mule; I hired my labour to the French, and they loaded me with

money-bags. I worked, and worked, and worked. The English saw I could

carry more, so they placed money-bags on my back, and cheated the French

out of my labour. The burden is now heavy, and honour requires me to throw

away the money-bags of the English." The mule accordingly proceeded to

kick them off in the public road, but took care to place his own friends

on the spot to pick them up.

He nevertheless received Ringlady and Campbell with politeness, treated

them to coffee and long pipes, and discoursed on the state of Palestine.

He advised them to make the best of their way to Beyrout, informing them

that the climate of Syria was peculiarly dangerous to English

constitutions towards the commencement of the month of June. The most

experienced physicians had predicted a great mortality of Franks during

the ensuing summer, and Englishmen were observed to suffer most severely

from Syrian fevers. Mr Ringlady now introduced the business of their visit

in formal terms, but Campbell was so delighted with his new friend that he

exclaimed, "Ye're a friendly soul, Signor Console Elias; but we're no

feared for the climate; it's cash we want, and either Mr Ringlady or I can

gie ye a circular note on a London bank, or a bill on a hoose in Beyrout."

The face of Elias now assumed as profound a gravity as if he had been

suddenly called upon to decide on the fate of Syria. After some reflexion

he replied,--"Gentlemen, I regret to say that it is not in my power to

advance you any money, as you have no letter of credit especially

addressed to me. The letter I hold in my hand is only one of

introduction." In vain circular notes were exhibited, and letters, of

credit on Beyrout; Elias was inexorable. After Mr Ringlady had explained

at some length, and with great eloquence, every question of mercantile

law, and every principle of social duty connected with their wants, the

travellers were compelled to take their leave of their consular friend

without obtaining a farthing of his coin.

The travellers now held a council to decide on their future movements. At

this council, it was decided that Ringlady and Campbell should set off

next day for Jerusalem with the scanty supply of cash they possessed, and

from the Holy City transmit a supply of money to Sidney. Sidney's funds

were completely exhausted by the payments he was compelled to make to the

Albanians and Turks, who considered his quarantine had given them a right

to divide his purse. It was by no means prudent to dispute their

impositions, lest a pretext for delay should arise out of the dispute,

though, after paying all the claims brought against him, Sidney remained

with only a few dollars in his possession. The detention of a few days

more in Gaza he regarded with great indifference; and when he saw the

elegant Mr Ringlady set off with his quarantine cook installed as

dragoman, he could not resist quizzing the mellifluous lawyer on the

diminished splendour of his equipage, and contrasting his present figure

with the magnificent appearance of his train as it was marshalled by

Mohammed the pearl of dragomans under the walls of the renowned city of

Belbeis.

Sidney, as soon as his companions were departed, resolved to seek out a

private habitation, and thus avoid the expense, entailed on him by his

residence in the tower he had hitherto occupied. To effect this, he called

on his Persian friend Ibrahim Sishman, to secure his assistance in hiring

a room. The Persian possessed a house in the immediate vicinity of his den

in the bazaar, in which he occasionally lodged his correspondents when

they visited Gaza, and generally used as a storehouse for his tobacco and

coffee. His own dwelling and harem was situated in a distant quarter of

the town. He now offered Sidney the use of the empty house, telling him he

might occupy it as soon as he liked and quit it whenever he pleased. The

offer was made with a degree of good will that showed it was not a mere

compliment; so two hammals were set to work immediately to scrub the

floors with soap and water, and Achmet was sent to get Sidney's scanty

baggage removed to his new domicile.

While Sidney was detained at Gaza, he found himself compelled to pass a

good deal of his time seated cross-legged in Fat Abraham's den in the

bazaar conversing, with his host and the customers who stopped before the

spot, on the political and commercial news of Palestine. His host also

generally passed part of the evening with him under the pretext of

rational conversation, but more probably to avail himself of an

opportunity of imbibing a tumbler of strong punch. From the Persian,

however, Sidney learned a good deal concerning the state of Syria, and

perceived the full meaning of the warning Sheikh Salem had given not to

delay at Gaza.

The Moslem population of Syria and Palestine, particularly landed

proprietors and hereditary Sheikhs, were universally dissatisfied with the

avarice and extortion displayed by the enlightened and civilised

government of Ibrahim Pasha and his father Mohammed Ali. And it was now

well known that an extensive correspondence had been established by the

Porte with all the influential chiefs, for the purpose of exciting the

people to rebellion. The interference of Great Britain as an ally of

Turkey was considered certain, and Sidney, to his astonishment, found all

the intrigues of the Foreign Office and its restless secretary better

known to a Persian tobacconist at Gaza than to the British consuls in

Egypt.

On the other hand, Ibrahim Sishman explained to him that the Christians

were generally favourable to the Egyptian government. In his financial

oppression Mohammed Ali had placed Christian and Moslem on perfect

equality; but as the Moslem population was taxed with greater difficulty

than the Christian, he found it advantageous to employ this last as spies

on their neighbours, and preferred intrusting the financial administration

to their care. By this means, they were rendered the partisans of Egypt,

and as France was the ally of Mohammed Ali, they became the enemies of

Turkey and England. Many of the Christians were now employed in watching

the movements of the Moslem Sheikhs, and, to increase their estimation

with Ibrahim Pasha, they acted as spies on every English traveller who

visited Syria.

Ibrahim informed Sidney that the banker Elias had made a merit of refusing

to supply the Englishmen with funds at the divan of Hafiz Bey. But as

Mohammed Ali had by his last courier renewed his orders to treat

Englishmen with proper attention, Hafiz Bey had only laughed at his

suspicions, and consequently the Persian had ventured to entertain Sidney

as his guest, without incurring any suspicion of being engaged in

political intrigues with England.

The first week of this strange life passed away very pleasantly; but,

before the second was terminated, Sidney became tired of the waste of

time; and as no news arrived from his companions who had preceded him to

Jerusalem, he gave his host Ibrahim a bill on Beyrout, and made all his

preparations for quitting Gaza.

In the morning, when he had sent out Achmet to hire horses, and was

engaged in smoking what he hoped would be his last pipe at Gaza, an old

slave belonging to the household of the Persian presented himself. Sidney

stretched out his hand to receive the money for his bill, which he

supposed Ibrahim had sent, not being able to bring it himself at that

early hour; but, instead of a bag of money, the slave delivered to him a

letter and a bunch of keys. Sidney, supposing there was some mistake,

declined the letter and keys, and asked for his money. He could induce the

slave to utter no words but "Read it." This was not the easiest task in

the world, for Sidney was more familiar with the text of Makrizi than with

the epistolary correspondence of modern traders. After some trouble he

satisfied himself that the contents of the letter were nearly as

follows:--

"Prince of my esteem! Sovereign of my respect! Milord, Beyzade, and

Khan!--To be a good man like thy servant Ibrahim, profiteth nothing in an

evil hour. Thy host is compelled to fly to collect money for his friends.

He is in thy debt, but he places all his wealth at thy disposal, and will

arrange accounts at his return. Preserve his house and his fame as thou

lovest righteousness!--Thy servant and friend, IBRAHIM SISHMAN."

From this epistle Sidney could only collect one fact with certainty, and

that was, that his friend Ibrahim Sishman had decamped with the bill on

Beyrout, leaving him at Gaza without a dollar.

While he was meditating on this new misfortune, Achmet rushed into the

room, exclaiming, with the greatest vehemence,--"They won't let us go! Are

we slaves? Are we not Englishmen? Come to the Bey, Mr Sidney--come to the

Bey." As Sidney could extract nothing from Achmet but a rapid repetition

of these words, nor conjecture what relationship existed between the Bey

and the letter in his hand, to which Achmet pointed in a paroxysm of rage

which choked his utterance, to the Bey he resolved to go. He marched off

accordingly with the letter and the bunch of keys in his hand.

On arriving at the divan of Hafiz Bey, he found many of the principal

inhabitants of Gaza already assembled; and he had no sooner saluted the

Bey and the visitors, according to the formal ceremonial of Turkish

etiquette, than the governor said, with great gravity--"Now, here is the

Englishman, what have you to say?" Rodoan Aga, a fat old Mussulman, and

one of the principal contractors for provisioning the troops of Mohammed

Ali and the pilgrims of the Damascus Hadj in their passage, through the

Desert, opened the case.

Rodoan Aga said, that the much-esteemed Persian merchant Ibrahim of

Hamadan, called Sishman, had been suddenly compelled to visit Damascus, in

order to secure some money in danger of falling into the hands of the

rebel sheikhs, and that he had left the Frank bazerguian, or merchant, in

charge of his business and his magazines at Gaza. The keys of the

magazines and the letter of instructions were in the hands of the Frank,

and he, Rodoan, and several others present, held orders on the Frank both

for the payment and the receipt of various sums of money and bales of

goods. The letter written by Ibrahim to Sidney was now read before the

divan, and each man offered his remarks on it. All agreed that Sidney was

thereby named the lawful agent of Ibrahim, and that he could not refuse

the trust confided to him.

In vain the Englishman declared he was no merchant, and explained that

Ibrahim Sishman had decamped with his bill on Beyrout. In vain he

solicited Hafiz Bey to give him the means of continuing his journey to

Beyrout, where he possessed the means of paying every expense he might

incur. In vain, too, he offered to give his claim on Ibrahim either to

Hafiz Bey or to Rodoan. It was whispered about by his enemy the Consul

Elias that he was agent of the British Government, sent to purchase

provisions for an invading army; and Hafiz feared to allow him to depart

until he received precise instructions on the subject from Ibrahim Pasha

himself. He consequently recommended Sidney to wait a day or two for news

from Ibrahim Sishman; and concerning his departure he replied only,

"_Bakalum, we shall see_."

The discussion at the divan of Hafiz Bey lasted all the morning. Rodoan

Aga and the Moslems of Gaza retired to dine and take their mid-day nap,

while Sidney retired to his room to meditate on his embarrassed position.

Had he possessed a couple of horses, or money enough to purchase them, he

would, without a moment's hesitation, have put his foot in the stirrup and

left Gaza, its consuls, and its governor behind, and trusted to his good

fortune for finding his way to Jerusalem. But his empty purse rendered

every project of flight impossible. His wits being now sharpened by his

misfortunes, he easily perceived that Rodoan Aga was in league with his

host, Fat Abraham, and he had no doubt that the departure of the Persian

was really connected with the political storm which threatened Syria. Even

Hafiz Bey, he felt assured, possessed some knowledge of the intrigues of

the Sublime Porte against Mohammed Ali's domination, and made use of this

mercantile affair as a veil to other projects. The more Sidney reflected,

the greater he saw his danger to be; and yet he was only the more

convinced of his utter helplessness amidst the mesh of intrigues with

which he was surrounded. He became seriously alarmed at his position, as

soon as he saw that no exertions of his own could possibly improve it. He

fell into a reverie on the doctrine of predestination in the East, which

seemed to him, in his present situation, infinitely more rational than it

had ever appeared before. The moral and religious disposition of the Arabs

and Turks began to appear to him as much the result of the air and climate

as the plague itself; and there seemed as much danger of their affecting

the intellects of a traveller who delayed too long within the sphere of

their operation, as of the plague affecting his body.

His escape was really hopeless. No more travellers were likely to pass

through Gaza during the summer, and Hafiz Bey was not likely to allow him

to communicate either with Jerusalem, Beyrout, or Damascus. He threw

himself on his sofa in despair, and remained plunged in a series of

conjectures, each one more disagreeable than its predecessor.

Achmet, after placing his master's breakfast before him, had sallied out

to the bazaar to collect news. In about an hour he returned, and found

Sidney still overpowered with melancholy thoughts. "Mr Sidney! Mr Sidney!

the coffee cold," shouted Achmet.

"Curse the coffee!" replied Sidney, whose mind naturally enough reverted

to the magazine filled with coffee in the room below him, of which he had

suddenly become the commission merchant. But he rose up to see how Achmet

bore their mutual misfortune. To his astonishment, Achmet's black face was

radiant with joy. Amazed at the change, for when he had last looked at

Achmet he was in a furious passion at their detention, Sidney

said--"Achmet, you seem pleased to stay in this accursed spot, Gaza!"

Achmet rejoined--"Me no pleased--me no help."

"Well then, Achmet, bring me some warm coffee, and let me hear what

consoles you?"

Achmet soon appeared with a fresh supply of Mocha; and while Sidney was

proceeding with breakfast, he seated himself near the door on his heels,

as was his habit whenever he proposed holding a long conversation with his

master.

To Sidney's question, "Now, Achmet, tell me what I must do?" Achmet

replied--"You must keep Ibrahim's shop, Mr Sidney, to be sure;--you

merchant, me slave--plenty of tobacco--all go very good." He then placed

all the facts he had collected in the bazaar before his master's mind, and

unfolded his own thoughts in comments on them, concluding by declaring,

that Sidney must act as the representative of Ibrahim Sishman in the shop

in the bazaar, or submit to see some other person elected by the

inhabitants of Gaza to act in his place, and perhaps starve in a strange

land. As some consolation, Achmet assured his master that there could be

no doubt that the affairs of Ibrahim were really in a prosperous way, and

that in a very short time they would be able to collect money enough to

pay the bill on Beyrout, and then they could turn over the administration

of the trust committed to their charge to some other deputy. The picture

Achmet drew of Sidney seated like a tailor in the den in the bazaar,

doling out tobacco and coffee to the citizens of Gaza, was so comic, that,

in spite of all his embarrassments, Sidney burst into a hearty laugh.

However Sidney might dislike being a tobacconist in Gaza, his good sense

soon convinced him that Achmet had taken a very just view of his position.

Willingly or unwillingly, fate had predestined him to keep Fat Abraham's

shop. He felt, too, that if any thing must be done, the true mode is to do

it as well as possible; and without any more hesitation he took up the

bunch of keys and walked with Achmet to the shop, where he was soon seen

seated, cross-legged, poring over the books and accounts of the Persian

consul. In these researches Achmet afforded him valuable assistance; for

without his aid even the simple mysteries of Arabic book-keeping might

have remained an impenetrable labyrinth. Once engaged in mercantile

business, Sidney paid the greatest attention to his charge, in the hope

that he would thereby succeed in shortening the period of his compulsory

residence at Gaza. Even Rodoan Aga was so delighted with his proceedings,

that he advised him to settle down for life as a tobacconist.

Week after week now crept slowly away. No news arrived from Ringlady and

Campbell. Ibrahim Sishman gave no signs of his existence; Hafiz Bey

received no communications from Damascus; insurrections and disturbances

were heard of in every direction, and the names of Sheikh Salem and his

ally the Sheikh of Hebron were mingled with reports of a general rebellion

in Palestine.

In the mean time Sidney found the gains of Oriental commerce in its

regular channel through the bazaar of Gaza very small indeed; and though

he emulated the frugality of an Arab, he was unable to save the little sum

required to attempt to escape. He was by the flight of Ibrahim suddenly

burdened with the maintenance of his host's harem, and had discovered, to

his utter consternation, that he was bound to maintain two wives and four

children he had never seen. Every evening his matrimonial duties were

brought to his recollection before he closed his shop by the accursed

slave who presented him with the letter and the keys which had robbed him

of his liberty. That slave came and demanded five piastres, or one

shilling, for the maintenance of the harem next day; a few extra demands

were made at stated periods; and Sidney was himself astonished to perceive

that a household, consisting of eight or nine individuals, could live with

apparent satisfaction on the trifling sum of one shilling per diem. The

sum, however, moderate as it was, absorbed all the profits of the retail

trade, and the more extended commercial transactions of the Persian were

now interrupted by the disturbed state of the country.

In vain Sidney toiled to accumulate a sum large enough to pay his expenses

to Beyrout; his savings were always swept away by some unavoidable

payment. He at last began to despair, and fancy himself spell-bound on the

verge of the Desert; and the sad alternative of being compelled to pass

twelve years of his life as a tobacconist at Gaza--one of his relatives

having passed that period in the south of France a _detenu_ of Napoleon's

tyranny--continually presented itself to his imagination, and ended by

plunging him into a dangerous state of melancholy.

Determined at last to make a decisive effort to break his bonds, Sidney

resolved to despatch Achmet to Damascus with a petition to Ibrahim Pasha;

for he saw that without an order from that pasha there was very little

chance of his getting away from Gaza. Accordingly he made an application

to Hafiz Bey, at his public divan, to allow Achmet to accompany the first

courier he might despatch to Damascus; and at the same time he endeavoured

to send letters to inform the English consuls at Damascus, Beyrout, and

Alexandria of his unfortunate situation. Hafiz Bey did not venture to

refuse his request; but a new difficulty now occurred. Sheikh Salem had

assembled a considerable force in the mountains which bound the plain

extending from Gaza, to Jaffa, and kept the garrison of Gaza in such a

state of alarm, that Hafiz Bey declined sending away any courier until he

should hear that Ibrahim Pasha had reinforced the garrisons of Jerusalem

and Jaffa.

It was now evident that Sidney's anxiety was injuring his health, and his

condition excited the compassion of Rodoan Aga, who visited him every

evening to console him. Finding his attempts to persuade Sidney to settle

at Gaza vain, he one evening addressed him thus:--

"Thou art ill, and eager to quit us, Seid Aga?"

"If I fly to the desert, and take the lance of a Bedouwee, I will remain

no longer at Gaza," was the reply.

"Thou desirest to return to England?

"It is the country of my fathers--if I can escape from this spot, I will

hasten thither."

"Dost thou not see, O Seid Aga! that Hafiz Bey feareth to let thee depart?

He feareth that dog of a usurer, the consul from Sham, who placeth the

arms of England over his door, and lendeth money under their shadow at

eighteen per cent, and acts as a spy for the great Pasha."

"Hafiz may lose his head, and the usurer his money-bags, in the storm that

is now gathering," said Sidney in his wrath.

"Thou hast said it," quoth Rodoan Aga with much satisfaction. "NOW will I

reveal to thee how thou canst escape in spite of the Bey and the usurer,

and thou wilt aid us in England."

Sidney now listened eagerly to the plan of escape proposed by Rodoan. It

was, to suggest that Sidney should send a letter to Sheikh Salem,

conjuring him to assist in furthering his escape from Gaza, in order that

he might repair to Latakich to embark in the fire-ship of the Nemtsch.

"Doubt not," added the Aga, "that Salem will soon find means to accomplish

thy wish. I will send one for thy letter in an hour." Saying this, Rodoan

rose and shuffled out of the room.

It required no great stretch of sagacity for Sidney to perceive that the

Turkish party at Gaza now expected to derive some advantage from his

presence in England, and for that reason they favoured his escape. It was

not his business to point out to them the errors of their intriguing

policy, so he sat down to pen a letter to Sheikh Salem. Though short, it

was not very easily written, and it was hardly terminated ere an old Arab

entered his room, and said he was going to bring tobacco from Beit Mirsim

for Rodoan Aga, and came to ask for a letter, or teskereh. Something in

the sound of the voice was familiar to Sidney, and on scrutinising the

person of his visitor, Sidney recollected that he was one of the guides

who had attended them in crossing the desert. The letter was immediately

consigned to his care, with an exhortation to deliver it as soon as

possible into the hands of Sheikh Salem, and a good backshish as a weight

to impress it on the memory.

In a few days the proceedings of Sheikh Salem threw all Gaza into a state

of commotion. Rumours were spread that he had ventured to detain Osman

Effendi, the brother-in-law of Hafiz Bey, and a large sum of money

belonging to some of the principal inhabitants of the town. Early one

morning, Sidney was summoned to the divan of the governor, by a Chiaous in

full uniform. At this divan, all the civil and military authorities, and

most of the principal inhabitants of Gaza were assembled, all looking

particularly grave. After Sidney's entrance a long pause ensued, during

which he had time to reconnoitre this provincial assembly of Arabs. Seated

near Hafiz Bey, his eye fell on the figure of Hassan, the friend of Sheikh

Salem, who had weighed the intellects of European ambassadors in the

well-poised balance of his own common sense. The sight of the Arabic

philosopher cheered Sidney, who felt a conviction that he was now destined

to escape from the meshes in which he had been entangled by the mad

diplomacy of the trading consul of Gaza.

Hassan at length broke silence, addressing his words to Hafiz Bey, but

making their import interesting to all the assembled Sheikhs and Agas. He

announced himself as the envoy of Sheikh Salem of Nablous, and Sheikh

Abderrahman of Hebron, sent to make a long list of complaints against

Hafiz Bey and Osman Effendi; but he concluded by suggesting that means of

composing all disputes might be found, if Hafiz Bey would compel the

merchants of Gaza to undertake the administration of the affairs of

Ibrahim of Hamadan, called Sishman, and release Seid Aga the English

Beyzade, who was violently detained at Gaza, under the pretext that he was

a Frank bazerguian or usurer like the Christian consuls. The conclusion of

Hassan's harangue was in the clear and precise style of common sense, and

far removed from the misty sublime of Frank diplomacy. His words were, "If

Seid Aga, the English Beyzade, has debts in Gaza, Sheikh Salem will pay

them; if the English Beyzade wants money, or horses, or camels, Sheikh

Salem will furnish them; whatever obstacles oppose the immediate departure

of the Beyzade, Sheikh Salem will remove them; and whatever injury he may

sustain, Sheikh Salem will most assuredly revenge it. On his head, and on

mine, I avouch it."

In reply to this speech of Hassan, Hafiz Bey made one much longer and more

formal. A long discussion ensued, which occupied the morning. In the

evening it was resumed, and at last it was concluded by arrangement

between Hassan and Hafiz Bey, in which these two worthy plenipotentiaries,

like most European ambassadors, abandoned all consideration of the affairs

of their allies, and settled that part of the matter in dispute, as much

as possible to their mutual satisfaction. It was agreed that Sheikh Salem

should release Osman Effendi, and the money belonging to him and Hafiz

Bey, and that Sidney should accompany Hassan, and quit Gaza at daylight

next morning.

That evening Sidney gave twenty piastres to the slave from the harem, in

order that his two wives and four children, with their slaves, might feel

as much joy in getting quit of their Frank lord, as he did in obtaining a

divorce from them. The keys of the shop and house, and the books, the

tobacco, and the coffee of Ibrahim Sishman, were consigned to the care of

Rodoan Aga; and Sidney and Achmet moved off that very night to the lodging

of Hassan and his Arab attendants, in order to make sure of their powerful

protection.

Long before daylight they were on horseback, and the rising sun was just

gilding the humble minarets and the fragile buildings of Gaza, as Sidney

turned to take his last look of the spot where he had spent nearly three

months, seated crosslegged like a tailor, in its bazaar, acting the

tobacconist. It was already something like the idle vision of a morning

dream, exquisitely real, but ridiculously improbable. It was impossible to

take a last look of the place as the colouring of the scene changed

rapidly under the rays of the rising sun, without a feeling of melancholy;

so that it was not without an effort that Sidney turned his back for ever

on Gaza. He recollected the deep depression of spirits that had affected

him as he entered on a lovely evening; and he now quitted in a brilliant

morning of a Syrian summer, with a feeling of softened melancholy, hoping

that he left it a wiser man than he had entered its walls, and satisfied

that he could never forget the experience he had acquired in the little

den he had so long occupied in its bazaar.

Sidney's subsequent adventures in Syria were not very varied. He soon

learned that he was extremely fortunate in not accompanying Ringlady and

Campbell to Jerusalem. He now heard for the first time that they had been

murdered in an excursion to the pools of Solomon, before it had been in

their power to obtain a single dollar to transmit to Gaza. Sheikh Salem,

too, was prevented from meeting him on the road by other cares; but he

sent a messenger with a purse, and a handsome sabre, which now adorns

Sidney's library in Hyde Park Place. The messenger recommended Hassan to

turn back from Jamne to the desolate walls of Askalon, where a boat would

be found to convey Sidney to Latakieh. At Latakieh accordingly he arrived,

and immediately embarked on board the Austrian steamer.

As he was never one of the devoted admirers of the simplicity of the

administrative forms in the Ottoman Empire, nor even very enthusiastic in

praise of the simple virtues of the Arabic race, we presume that he does

not consider either the social or political condition of a nation in any

way dependent on its commercial policy; for surely, if he thought Free

Trade was destined to produce in Britain the effects it has produced in

Turkey, he would not have supported it. We have heard him observe of

Turkey, that in order to derive all the advantages conferred on the

Ottoman Empire by the freedom of commerce, it is necessary for a native to

emigrate, and become a foreigner. It is to be hoped we are not to be

compelled to pursue the same course, ere we can enjoy all the fruits of

our own legislation.

BYWAYS OF HISTORY.[16]

We have sometimes been disposed to regard with extreme impatience the

fragmentary manner in which history is now written amongst us. _Lives of

the Queens_--_Lives of the Kings_--_Lives of our Statesmen_--_Lives of our

Chancellors_--thus breaking up into detached and isolated figures the

great and animated group which every age presents. If our writers cannot

grapple--and it is indeed a herculean task--with the annals of a nation,

why not give us at least some single period, a reign or epoch, in its

unbroken entirety? If they cut up the old man of history into this

multitude of pieces, into what kettle or cauldron will they throw him that

will boil him into youth and unity again? The scattered members are all

that will remain to us. But our impatience on this matter would be very

fruitlessly expressed. Such is the mode, such the fashion in the gentle

craft of authorship. It were better, perhaps, to submit at once with a

good grace--take whatever is worth the having, come in what shape it will,

and keep our own good-humour into the bargain.

Amongst these fragmentary sketches, few have pleased us more than the two

small volumes that designate themselves as _Byways of History_. Indeed,

without pretending to do so, and notwithstanding their desultory nature,

they give a very fair picture of the great period of the middle ages of

which they treat, in its darker as well as its brighter points of view.

There is also more novelty in the anecdotes than could have been expected,

considering how well gleaned a field the authoress has had to traverse;

and there is a playfulness in the style which, to youthful readers

especially, will be found very attractive, though it may not always be

sufficiently pungent to stir the stiffer muscles that grow about the upper

lip of a sexagenarian critic.

"Byways" in history there are, strictly speaking, none at all; least of

all can the peasant war in Germany, the principal subject of these

volumes, be thought to lie amongst the secondary and less important

transactions of the past. Whatever facts throw light upon the temper and

modes of thinking of a bygone age, are of the very essence of history,

though they may not immediately relate to crowned heads or official

dignitaries. Yet, adopting the latitude of common speech, the title is

significant enough. It is not the actions of kings and emperors, or the

fate of nations and dynasties, that the fair historian undertakes to

record; and as such a narrative is generally looked upon as the highway of

history, she who diverges from it may be said to be traversing its byways.

Only the byways, be it understood, may be the very roads which a good

traveller would first and most industriously explore.

Ladies are said to hold it as one of their prerogatives to be a little

unreasonable in their exactions, and a little self-contradictory in their

sentiments. Our authoress appears, in one point, disposed to assert this

prerogative of her sex. In ordinary cases, we know of nothing more

impertinent than to appeal to the common process of litigious

argumentation against these fair despots of society; but we doubt whether

we should be acting even in the true spirit of gallantry, if we recognised

any such prerogative in the domain of literature. It is open to any writer

who thinks fit so to do, to disparage the present age by comparing it with

olden times. It is also open to him, if he should be so minded, to show

that these olden times, so much vaunted, were in fact far more culpable

than ourselves, even in those points where we are guilty. But to none is

it open--in the same book--to do both the one and the other; to disparage

the present by comparison with the past, and then prove the past to have

been ten times worse than the present. This is more than can reasonably

fall to the share of any one author, or authoress. He cannot have it both

ways. He cannot have the pleasure of putting the present age to shame by a

contrast with the past, and the pleasure, almost as great, of exposing in

their true colours the vices of a past that has been too indulgently

surveyed.

But something of this license Mrs Sinnett seems disposed to take. At p. 37

we have to submit, with the rest of our contemporaries, to the following

rebuke:--"When we hear it publicly proclaimed that it is a great thing for

a young nobleman to postpone '_his pleasures_' for a week or two for the

sake of performing a service to his country, we cannot but begin to doubt

whether, in the education of our privileged classes, we have really

improved much on the system of the 'dark ages.' _Then, at least, it was

not thought that any class had a right to make 'its pleasures' its chief

consideration._"

Indeed! Yet we are told in other parts that the landlords of those times

not only made their pleasures their chief consideration, but wrung by

violence the last groschen from the peasant's hand in order to procure

them. At p. 55, vol. ii., after an account of the pleasures of the kings

and nobles, we have the following description of the peasant:--"And what,

then, was the condition of the people all this while? 'Look here upon this

picture and on this!' All taxes and imposts fell, as a matter of course,

on the lower orders; the humble citizen, the laborious peasant, had to

toil and earn by the sweat of his brow, not his own daily bread, but the

means of luxurious indulgence to his insolent masters; yet if the wild

boar came tearing up his fields and vineyards, and the knight and his

followers dashed after him with a troop of horsemen dogs, he had no

redress, and dared not even kill the beast, lest he should interfere with

the pleasures of his lord.... New methods and pretences for extorting

money from the people were devised every day."

It would be easy to multiply similar quotations. The landlords of ancient

times, with whom it was plainly intimated we could bear no flattering

comparison, are held up, we see, to complete reprobation.

The difference between the bad landlord of ancient and of modern times,

(for we presume the good and the bad, the wheat and the tares, were sown

together then as now,) we believe to be this. The modern bad landlord

takes his rent--a rent obtained often by a ruinous competition for the

soil--and thinks no more of the matter; thinks nothing of the tenant,

whether he has offered a higher rent than he can well pay, or of the

labourer, whether the wages he receives are sufficient to support him in

health. The ancient bad landlord was a positive extortioner; he _did_ look

after his tenants or his serfs--to see if there was any thing more he

could take from them; he looked into the roost for the last hen, and

behind the barn-door for the last egg. When we censure the modern landlord

for being an absentee, reckless of his tenantry, we in fact tacitly demand

from him a higher strain of virtue than we exact from other wealthy

classes, who are allowed to receive without inquiry, and expend without

control, the utmost income which fortune and the laws have given them. He

is at worst the "sluggard king," indifferent to a world of which he knows

nothing, and absorbed only in the pursuit of his own pleasures. But the

bad landlord of feudal times had the active vices of the robber and the

tyrant.

Let no one study the middle ages in the hope--which some seem to

entertain--of extracting from _them_ the lesson peculiarly applicable to

ourselves. The feudal times are utterly past. Some of their forms, or some

shadow of their forms, may still linger amongst us; but their spirit is as

utterly past as that which animated an Athenian democracy, or the court of

the Great King. We must study our duty as citizens, as Christians, in the

circumstances around us, in the eternal Writing before us: we shall gain

nothing by the fantastic gloss, with its grotesque illuminations, which

the middle ages supply. This turning and struggling towards the past is

but the backward looking of those whom the current is still carrying down

the stream: it were wiser to look before, and on either side of them; they

will better see whither they are going.--

It will perhaps be thought that throughout these volumes the sympathies

of the authoress are a little too chameleon-like,--somewhat too mobile,

and take their changeful hue from the immediate subject, or the last light

thrown upon it. Now the knight, with his faith in God and his own right

arm, his self-reliance, his daring and devotion, claims from the lady, as

is most just, his meed of applause. But by-and-by she catches him upon his

marauding expedition, the ruthless spoliator of the burgher, the

contemptuous oppressor of the artisan; and she does not spare her censure.

One moment she appears to join in the regret that the age of chivalry is

_gone_! The next moment the same phrase rings differently, and when

contemplating the oppressed condition of the peasantry, she rejoices that

the age of chivalry _is_ gone! In one part she makes honourable mention of

the training the youthful nobleman received in the halls of the great,

where he acted as page; but cannot, in another part, refrain from a little

satire on this very system of training. "Noble young gentlemen," she says

p. 32, "who would not to save their lives have employed themselves in any

useful art or manufacture, had no objection to lay cloths, carry up

dishes, wait at table, hold horses, and lead them to the stables; and

noble young ladies did not disdain to perform many of the offices of a

chambermaid at a hotel, for a knightly guest."

We note this versatility of feeling, but hardly for the purpose of blaming

it; for indeed it is the peculiar characteristic of the middle ages thus

to play with our sympathies. They present so many and such different

phases, their institutions are capable of being viewed under such opposite

lights, that it requires more care and watchfulness than is perhaps

consistent with simple honesty of thought and feeling, to preserve one's

self from these fluctuations of sentiment. One who yields unaffectedly to

the genuine impressions which the history of this period produces, will

find his _Ohs_ and his _Hahs_ breaking out in a very contradictory manner.

That knight, with lance at rest which challenges the whole fighting

world--whatever can be tilted at,--who would not be that knight? But the

man cannot read; and thinks an old woman can bewitch him by her spells,

and that his priest, by some spell also, can absolve him. That monk, with

folded arms over a heart so well folded too--who would not be that monk?

But the man has mingled asceticism with his piety till he knows not which

is which; and let a woman in her youth and beauty traverse his path, he

crosses himself, as if not the angel of this world, but the demon of

another had appeared before him. In looking at these phantasmagoria of the

past, we must be content to see and to feel for the moment; there is no

stereotyped expression of face with which we can regard the whole.

We have soon exhausted our critical cavils, and shall look at leisure

through these volumes for some of those points which interested us during

their perusal. Amongst the first things we had noted for quotation is an

account of our old friend Gotz von Berlichingen--him of the Iron

Hand--which we somehow liked the better for there being no allusion to the

drama of Goethe. Nobody whom the information could in the least interest,

needed to be told that it was the hero of the drama whose real life and

adventures he was getting acquainted with. We find, however, on

re-perusal, that this account is too long to be extracted: we leave it

untouched for those who peruse the work; and shall make our first

quotation from the description of the Hanse Towns. Here is a curious

passage, which shows that the mere collecting together in towns, and

making some advance in the great art of money-getting, is no guarantee

against superstitions as gross and ridiculous as any that haunt the boor

in his cottage.

"With the horrors of superstition in the punishment of witches and

the like, most readers are familiar enough; and such as occur in the

registers of these cities, have little to distinguish them from

similar occurrences elsewhere. Sometimes, indeed, there is an entry

somewhat more noteworthy; as, for instance, of the arrival of 'The

Wandering Jew' at the Isar gate of the city of Munich. It appears,

that this rather remarkable visitor was not allowed to enter the

city, but he told those who went to see him that he had been seven

times round the world, and on being shown a picture of the Saviour,

readily vouched for the likeness.

"Another entry concerns a certain wolf, who had committed terrible

havoc, so that the country people, even at mid-day, were afraid to

cross the fields; but a still greater consternation was created when

the discovery was made that the wolf was no other than a certain

deceased burgomaster of unhappy memory, who as every body knew, had

stood looking out of an upper window of his house to watch his own

funeral. The night-watchman was ready to swear to his identity; and

as, putting all things together, no doubt existed any longer in the

mind of any reasonable person, the formidable wolf, when taken,

instead of being disposed of in the usual manner, was hung on a high

gallows, in a brown wig, and a long gray beard, by way of completing

his likeness to the burgomaster."--(P. 95.)

Those who indulge in, or applaud practical jests, should read on farther

in the same chapter (p. 102.) We heartily wish that the professors of this

species of wit were every one of them conducted in his turn into the

"Paradise" here described; of which it may be sufficient to intimate that

"it was provided with a bench and a good store of rods."

On monastic institutions, Mrs Sinnett has some very just and equitable

remarks.

"Monasticism was a resolute attempt to subject the outward to the

inward life; and through whatever devious paths it may have wandered,

it set out from the true and high principle, that the spiritual and

immortal man should attain dominion over the mere animal nature; and

it grounded itself on the undeniable truth that the indulgence of the

senses 'wars against the soul.' The objects it has in view are to us

also true and holy, though we may differ as to the means of their

attainment; yet even in these, the monks were not perhaps wholly

wrong. Solitude and silence are unquestionably amongst the means of

spiritual elevation; poverty is, in most instances, healthful to the

soul, a means of obtaining a simplicity good for both body and mind;

obedience is, beyond doubt, the school of patience, in which we best

learn to combat our original sins of pride and self-will; but we have

learned, from the experience of the Ascetics, a juster measure for

these things, which, perhaps, _a priori_, we might not have been able

to discover. They have tried the experiment for us; and now that its

history is before us, it is easy to determine that the attempt to

rend asunder the two natures so wonderfully combined in us, to put

asunder what God has joined, is one that cannot come to good.

Solitude, though often beneficial to full minds and active

intellects, is more than the vacuity of ignorance can support.

Poverty, pushed as it was by the Ascetics to the excess of

destitution, tends, it is to be feared, to blight both body and soul.

Obedience, carried beyond reasonable limits, leads to abject meanness

and hypocrisy, as the history of convents in general will abundantly

show. Yet, after making whatever deductions we fairly can for their

mistakes, we still find, in the history of these singular

institutions, much that is worthy of our deepest study; and the more

so, the more firmly we are convinced of the utter impossibility of

their restoration."--(P. 114.)

Restoration! Restore the Heptarchy! as Canning on one occasion exclaimed.

And yet we understand that of late there has been a gentle sigh, and some

half-formed projects for the revival of monastic institutions. We hear

from the preface to Maitland's "Essays on the Dark Ages," that a circular

was issued by persons of no contemptible influence in the church, headed

"Revival of Monastic and Conventual Institutions on a plan adapted to the

exigencies of the reformed Catholic religion." As Mr Maitland says of the

plan--it would be after all but "a playing at monkery." Where, we would

ask, is the irrevocable vow? Where is the unchangeable fate, the civil

death, that awaited the inmate of the monastic house? Where is the

superstitious admiration of the crowd without? Where all those religious

ideas that made renouncement of life so sacred and meritorious? And where,

moreover, is that insecure and unprotected condition of a half-civilised

age, which made the retreat of the monastery so precious to the wearied

and wounded spirit? You are charmed with an oasis in the desert;--you must

spread the desert first, if you would realise the charm. What are monastic

walls, to you,--who can take a lodging in Cheapside, and be as solitary,

as undisturbed, as utterly forgotten as if the grave had closed upon you?

Viewed strictly as a portion of the past, and in relation to all the

circumstances that gave origin and value to them, we confess we have a

partiality for the old monasteries. Some of the popular censures which are

still dealt upon them are founded upon erroneous ideas of the nature and

purposes of such institutions. They are blamed repeatedly for their

ignorance and their neglect of learning. They were not instituted for the

preservation or advancement of learning. Originally they were not even

ecclesiastical, but consisted of pious laymen, who wished to devote their

souls to God, by drawing them out of the mire of their daily lives.

Profane learning was more frequently regarded as a thing forbidden, than

numbered amongst the objects which might engage their attention.

"Solitude, _labour_, silence, and prayer--these were the elements of

monastic life; and the question was not, how the monk might most

effectually gather and diffuse learning, but--when, indeed, any question

came to be raised--whether he might lawfully cultivate learning at

all?"--(Maitland, p. 160.)

The charge of indolence, also--(the two epithets of "lazy and ignorant,"

generally go together, in the popular phraseology, when monks are spoken

of)--is made without any discrimination, and bestowed as well upon bodies

of men remarkable for their industrious and persevering cultivation of the

soil, as upon the pampered and corrupted monastery. Amongst the rules of

the Benedictines, labour figures conspicuously. In many cases it was the

hard work of emigrants who first subdue the soil, that was performed by

these sacred and secluded men. But, when an admiring world thought fit, in

its sagacity, to reward a voluntary poverty by endowing and enriching

it,--when the monastery became a wealthy landlord, with treasures of gold

and silver in its coffers--then, as might be expected, labour

declined,--the monk grew lazy, and the description which Mrs Percy Sinnett

quotes from an old author, was, no doubt, very generally applicable to

him. "Every other minute he comes out of his cell--then goes in

again--then comes out again to look if the sun is not near setting." The

world behaved towards the monk as an old gentleman we remember to have

read of in some play, who, charmed with the temperance which his young

friend had exhibited, rewarded it by putting his cellar of choice wines at

his disposal. He was afterwards indignant at finding that the virtue of

his protege had not increased under his kind encouragement.

The remarks of Mrs P. Sinnett, which we have just quoted, on monastic

life, usher in a very entertaining account of the origin and growth of the

"Abbey of Altenberg." Here is a fragment of it:--

"The half-decayed mountain-castle, where the community was now

established, was found to be in some respects unsuitable to its new

destination; and the Abbot Berno, therefore, with the consent and

assistance of the Counts of Berg, proposed to build a new convent

down in the valley, where already, on a pleasant meadow-land, stood a

chapel dedicated to the Blessed Virgin.

"When the monks were called together to consider of the precise spot

where the edifice should stand, it was found that they could by no

means agree about it; some thought it should be built at the northern

entrance of the valley, others that it should be at the foot of the

castle-hill; others, again, that it should be immediately on the

banks of the Dhun. In this dilemma, Abbot Berno, according to the

narratives of the monks, proposed what seems a curious method of

coming to a decision.

"Modern frivolity feels tempted to giggle when it hears that the

animal always in especial favour with the monks was the ass. His

simplicity of manners, humility of carriage, and usually taciturn

habits,--the sign of the cross which he bears on his back--the manner

in which he hangs his head, as the rules of most orders command the

pious brethren themselves to do,--the patience with which he submits

to discipline,--all this naturally recommended him to these devout

recluses. They were even ready, it seems, to regard him as a kind of

oracle in difficult cases.

"It was, we may recollect, not merely the spirit of monasticism, but

the spirit of all those ages, to see in what we call trivial chances

the ordination of a higher power. Do we not find, in the history of

Nurnberg, that in the fourteenth century, two hundred years after the

building of Altenberg convent, a worthy and respected burgher of that

city, one Berthold Tucher, of the renowned family of that name,

wishing to know whether it was the will of God that he should remain

in the world and marry again, or take holy vows and devote himself

to the monastic life did, after praying devoutly in the little chapel

in his house, 'at the corner of the Milk Market, there where you turn

into Dog Alley,' resolve to ascertain the Divine pleasure by the

simple method of tossing up a halfpenny; three times did he toss it,

and three times did it come up heads, and thereupon he accepted the

oracle, and went directly and fetched himself a wife.

"Even so did the monks of Altenberg now resolve to devolve upon the

ass the business which had proved too weighty for themselves. The

highly-honoured Neddy was conducted accordingly to the gate of the

castle, laden with the money to be expended for the building, and

with the insignia of the convent, and then left to take whatever way

might in his wisdom seem good to him. "Slowly and deliberately did he

pace down towards the valley, the monks following at a reverential

distance. Now and then the sagacious animal stopped, and cropped a

thistle, doubtless to give himself time for reflection, and

occasionally he stood still and looked around, as if to consider the

capabilities of the place. He went on till he entered a shady grove,

that afforded a delicious refuge from the burning rays of the

afternoon sun, and stopped where a bright rivulet, trickling from the

Spechtshard, and marking its course by a strip of the liveliest

green, fell into the beautiful Dhun. The monks watched him with

breathless expectation, for here they thought would be a delightful

spot, and they dreaded lest he should go farther. The respectable

animal, after due consideration, slowly stooped and tasted the water;

and then, that he might omit no means of forming a correct judgment,

began to try a little of the fragrant grass that grew in rich

abundance on the bank. At length he lay down, and having apparently

quite made up his mind, rolled over "heels upwards," and gave vent to

his feelings in the trumpet tones of a loud and joyful bray. His

sonorous voice was drowned in the exulting psalms of the monks--and

on this, the loveliest spot of the whole valley, the sacred edifice

was erected."

If the ass was a great favourite with the monk, it was still more so with

the populace. With no other animal was so much of the rough humour of the

middle ages associated. It might be worth consideration how far the

introduction of the ass in certain religious or semi-religious

festivals--as in the feast of the ass--has aided in investing him with

that peculiar grave humour which modern wits associate with him. _Apropos_

of this feast of the ass, we may as well correct a general error which

Robertson has led his readers into, when he describes it as "a festival in

commemoration of the Virgin Mary's flight into Egypt." The Virgin Mary

appears to have had nothing to do with it, and the ass from which the

festival took its name was not that on which she fled into Egypt, but the

ass of Balaam. We rely on the authority of Maitland, whose "Essays on the

Dark Ages" we have before alluded to--a not very amiable writer, by the

way, and far more acrimonious than the importance of his contributions to

our knowledge entitles him to be, but evidently a very formidable

antagonist to those who deal in loose and careless statements. "The

_dramatis personae_ of this celebrated interlude," he tells us, "were

miscellaneous enough. There were Jews and Gentiles, as the representatives

of their several bodies--Moses and Aaron and the prophets--Virgilius

Maro--Nebuchadnezzar--The Sibyl, &. &c. Among them, however, was Balaam on

his ass; and this (not, one would think, the most important or striking

part of the show) seems to have suited the popular taste, and given the

name to the whole performance and festival. I should have supposed, that

Nebuchadnezzar's delivering over the three children to his armed men, and

then burning them in a furnace made on purpose, in the middle of the

church, would have been a more imposing part of the spectacle; but I

pretend not to decide in matters of taste, and certainly Balaam's ass

appears to have been the favourite. The plan of the piece seems to have

been, that each of the persons was called out in his turn to sing or say

something suitable to his character, and among others, 'Balaam ornatus,

sedens super asinam,' having spurs on his heels, and holding the reins in

his hands, struck and spurred his ass, and a youth holding a sword in his

hand, barred his progress. Whereupon another youth, under the belly of the

ass, and speaking for the abused animal, cries out, 'Why, &c., &c.'"--in

the well-known terms of the colloquy.

"Indeed the ass," says the same writer in a note, "seems to be always a

favourite with the public, and to give the tone and title wherever he

appears. In the twelfth century, an order of monks was formed whose

humility (or at least their rule) did not permit them to ride on

horseback. The public (I hope to the satisfaction of these humble men)

entirely overlooked _them_, eclipsed as they were by the animals on which

they rode, and called it _ordo Asinorum_."

There is an account here of "Prussia in the Old Times," which will be read

with interest; the more so as we suspect it is a portion of history not

very familiar to English readers. We mean the period from the conquest of

Prussia, and its conversion to Christianity by the knights of the Teutonic

Order, to the year 1526, when Albert, Grand-master of that order, made a

treaty with Sigismund, king of Poland, with whom he had been at war, by

which it was stipulated that Albert should hold the duchy as lay prince,

doing homage--how times have changed!--_to the king of Poland!_

We shall devote our remaining space, however, to some extracts from Mrs P.

Sinnett's account of the peasant war, the subject which occupies the whole

of the second volume.

In every historical or biographical work which treats of the Reformation

in Germany, there will be found a short, and only a short, notice of the

peasant war, which broke out on the preaching of Luther, and of the fury

of the anabaptists and others; and in every such notice the reader will

find it uniformly stated that these disturbances and insurrections, though

assuming a religious character, were in their origin substantially of a

political or social nature, springing, in short, from the misery and

destitution of the lower orders. But we do not know where the English

reader will find this general statement so well verified, or so fully

developed, as in the little work before us. In every part of Germany we

see partial insurrections repeatedly taking place, all having the same

unhappy origin; and our wonder is, not that the preaching of the

Reformation should have communicated a new vitality to these

insurrectionary movements, but that, after being allied with religious

feeling, and religious sanction and enthusiasm, they were not still more

tremendous in their results.

Here is one of the earliest of these insurrections: it is a type of the

class. The chapter is headed

"THE DRUMMER OF NIKLASHAUSEN.

"Franconia, (the greatest part of which is now included in the

kingdom of Bavaria) was the smallest of the circles of the empire,

though excelling them all in fertility, and most of them in beauty.

The valley of the Maine, which flows through it, is so rich in

vineyards, that it has been said, it alone might furnish wine to all

Germany; and the river also opens for it a communication with the

Rhine, Holland, and the ocean, by which it might receive the produce

of all other lands. Towards the north, where the hills of Thuringia,

and the Pine Mountains are less productive, its comparative

barrenness is compensated by its riches in minerals and wood. It is,

in short, as a German writer says, 'a beautiful and blessed

land,'--yet here it was that the peasantry were suffering the

greatest extremities of want and oppression, and here began the first

of the series of revolts that preceded the great outbreak of 1525. It

was in the year 1476 that a shepherd lad of Wurzburg, named Hans

Boheim, but commonly known as Hans the Drummer, or the piper--for he

was in the habit of playing on both instruments at weddings, church

festivals, and such occasions--began to meditate on all he saw and

heard,--'to see visions, and to dream dreams;' and one day--it was

about the time of mid-Lent--there appeared to him no less a person

than the 'Glorious Queen of Heaven' herself. The life he had hitherto

led now appeared profane and sinful; he burned his drum in the

presence of the people, and began to preach to them to repent of

their sins, 'for the kingdom of heaven was at hand;' and he commanded

them at the same time to lay aside all costly attire, cords of silk

and silver, pointed-toed shoes and all manner of vanity. The people

hearkened to the new prophet, and great numbers came every holiday

flocking to Niklashausen to hear him. Soon he enlarged his theme.

'The Blessed Virgin,' he said, 'had not only commanded him to preach

the renunciation of all the pomps and vanities of the world, but

likewise to announce the speedy abolition of all existing

authorities; there should be no lords spiritual or temporal, neither

prince nor pope, neither king nor kaiser; but all should be as

brothers; that all taxes and tributes, tithes and dues, should be

done away with; and wood and water, spring and meadow, be free to all

men.'"

In reading this paragraph, one is at first struck with the superfluous

incongruity of preaching against "costly attire and silk and silver cords"

to the ragged and shoeless populace that formed the chief part of the

drummer's audience. But a little reflection suggests that, in the first

place, it gives a preacher a great hold over a mob, to inveigh against the

sins of their superiors, and that, in the next place, there is a very easy

transition from inveighing against the sins of the rich, to disputing

their privileges, and comtemning their power and authority.

"For months together, on all Sundays and holidays, was heard the

voice of the holy youth, the 'messenger of our Lady,' as he was

called, sounding from his pulpit--a tub turned upside down--and as

yet, notwithstanding all that he had said and done, in perfect

harmony with the parish priest. Two nobles even are named as having

been amongst his hearers, the knight Sir Kunz of Thunfeld and his

son. Gifts began to pour in--rich gifts in money, and jewels, and

clothes; and peasant women who had nothing else to give, made

offerings of their long hair. Forty thousand worshippers of the

Virgin were collected around Niklashausen; booths and tents were

erected to supply them with necessaries, though at night they had to

lie in the gardens or in the open fields. The enthusiasm rose even

higher; but the priests now began to discover that they were playing

with edged tools, and to hint that Hans Boheim dealt in the black

art; that his inspiration was of the devil; and that the said devil

it was, and no other, who had appeared to him in the white robes of

the Blessed Virgin, and had prompted this ungodly rebellion against

temporal and ecclesiastical authority. But the hearts of men were on

fire, and the feeble sprinkling only made them burn the fiercer. They

flung themselves on their knees before the holy drummer, saying, 'O

man of God! messenger of heaven! be gracious to us, and have pity on

us!' and they tore and parted among them fragments of his garments,

and he esteemed himself happy who could obtain but a thread of so

precious a relic.'"--(P. 19.)

Yes, the drummer of Niklashausen was their god for the moment. Yearning

for help, and unable to help themselves, such simple crowds are ready to

believe in any voice that promises a coming salvation. But now the Bishops

of Mainz and Wurzburg, and the Senate of Nuremberg, began to bestir

themselves. Hans Boheim, after concluding one of his exhortations, had

invited his followers on the next holiday to come without their wives and

children, and "to come armed." What would have ensued at the next assembly

we are left only to guess, for the prophet, while sleeping quietly in his

house, was, in the middle of the night, fairly kidnapped by the Bishop of

Wurzburg, and thrown into prison.

Some sixteen thousand of his disciples marched off to Wurzburg to set him

free. But the Bishop spoke them softly, and after some demonstrations of

violence, they began to retreat. "Group after group slowly retired,

scattering in different directions; but the Bishop watched his

opportunity, and when they had all peaceably turned their backs, he sent

out his men-at-arms who fell upon them, and cut many down, and took many

prisoners. Great numbers took refuge in a church; but, threatened with

fire and starvation, they at length surrendered. The prophet was burned to

death on a field near the castle of Wurzburg." _Exeunt omnes._

We pass on at one bound to the chief hero of these peasant wars, whom Mrs

Percy Sinnett undertakes, in the French phrase, to rehabilitate--in other

words, to wash a little white. That Thomas Munzer has had hard justice

dealt to him, we are quite disposed to believe. Both the great parties who

divided the world of letters between them--the Roman Catholics and the

Protestants--were decidedly hostile to him. The Roman Catholics would

dwell upon his enormities in order to charge them upon the Protestants;

the Protestants, anxious to escape so ill-omened a connexion, and show the

world they had no alliance with such enthusiasts, would spare no term of

abuse, and would not venture a single word in his defence. Robertson,

writing with a quite Lutheran feeling, expresses nothing but unmitigated

condemnation. He describes the projects of himself and his followers as

being little more than the simple madness "of levelling every distinction

amongst mankind." Nor will he allow him even the ordinary virtues of the

fanatic. "He had all the extravagance, but not the courage which

enthusiasts usually possess." According to Robertson, he was nothing

better than a madman, and a coward.

We think that Mrs Percy Sinnett has satisfactorily proved that Munzer was

not a coward, and that he is entitled to all that respect which is due to

those sincere and furious fanatics, who are perhaps the greatest pests

which ever appear in society; men who may die, for aught we know, with all

the zeal and merit of martyrs, but whom the world must nevertheless get

rid of, in what way it can, and as soon as possible.

Yet we like to see justice done to every historical character, and

therefore shall follow Mrs Sinnett through some portion of her biography

of Munzer.

"Among the true men of the people of the period who, whatever may

have been their faults, have suffered the usual fate of the losing

side, in being exposed to more than the usual amount of calumny and

misrepresentation, one of the most prominent is Thomas Munzer, who

has been made to bear the blame, not only of whatever befel amiss

during his lifetime, but even of the excesses of the fanatical

Anabaptists which occurred _ten years_ after his death; and the

Wittenberg theologians themselves contributed not a little to these

calumnies. Of the early years of this singular man (who was born at

Stolberg in the Harz mountains, probably in 1498) little is known

with certainty; but it is said on good authority that his father had

been unjustly condemned to death on the gallows by the Count of

Stolberg, whose vassal he was, and that this was the original cause

of that deep and burning sense of wrong which arose in the mind of

Thomas Munzer, and formed the key to much of his future life. He

studied at Wittenberg, where he gained a doctor's degree, and was

distinguished above his contemporaries for diligence and knowledge;

but previously to this, and whilst still a boy, he obtained a

situation as teacher in a school at Aschersleben; and afterwards at

Halle, in the year 1513, when he was only in his fifteenth year; and

had even at that age formed an association with some of his

companions, which had for its object the reform of religion. What

means were proposed for this end does not appear; probably they were

such as might have been expected from raw university lads; but the

mere proposal of so high an object implies a state of mind very

different from that of the mere vulgar, sensual, selfish fanatic,

such as he has been actually described."....

"In the year 1520 he was appointed to be first Evangelical Preacher

at Zwickau, having by this time, like some others, who had at first

warmly espoused the cause of Luther, become dissatisfied that the

Reformation seemed by no means likely to perform what it had

promised. In Thuringia, where Munzer was now beginning to attract

attention, the seeds of religious enthusiasm had been sown deep by

the doctrines and the fate of Huss; and through the whole fifteenth

century, a tendency to fanaticism and mysticism had been perceptible

in that country. The sect of Flagellants had maintained itself longer

here than elsewhere, and the persecutions which the Brothers of the

Cross had to encounter, the fires in which so many perished, had not

been able to destroy, though for a time they repressed, the

enthusiasm of the people. Now, under the influence of Munzer's

preaching, it burst forth into open day."

So it seems. In this place sprang up the Anabaptists, whose conduct became

so wild and fanatical, that the civil power thought itself compelled to

interfere. The most violent of them were seized and thrown into prison;

but the greater part left the city, some going to Wittenberg and others to

Bohemia.

To Bohemia also went Munzer. But he again appears in the year following,

(1522,) preaching in Altstedt in Thuringia. His violence against the old

religion seems to have been increased. After one of his sermons, his

audience rushed out to a chapel in the neighbourhood, famous as a shrine

for pilgrims, and not only destroyed all the images of the saints, but

burnt the chapel itself. We have an account of a sermon which he preached

here before the two Saxon princes, Frederick and John; and it certainly

exhibits a very striking union of the two master passions which animate

the class of men to which Munzer is described as belonging--the _odium

theologicum_, and the zeal for the reformation of mankind. "He exhorted

them to root out idolatry from the land, and establish the gospel by

force. Priests, monks, and ungodly rulers who should oppose this, were to

be slain; for the ungodly had no right to live longer than the elect

would permit them. He told, also, some home-truths to his noble auditors.

The princes and lords themselves, he said, were at the bottom of much

mischief: they seized on all things as their property; the birds in the

air, the fish in the waters, the plants upon the earth, all must be

theirs; and when they had secured these good things for themselves, they

were willing enough to publish God's command to the poor, and say, 'Thou

shalt not steal;' but for themselves, they will have none of it. They rob

the poor peasant and labourer of all that he has, and then, if he touches

the least thing, he must hang."

The prophet and the inspired man--for he claimed to be both--was shortly

after chased out of Altstedt. He went to Nurnberg, and was driven out of

Nurnberg. He had now entirely broken with Luther, who wrote to the Senate

of the town, cautioning them not to receive him. He wandered for some time

about southern Germany, preaching where he could find an opportunity, but

often hunted from place to place, and not knowing whither to turn. At

length he reached the town of Muhlhausen, the populace of which was

prepared to welcome him. But the Senate, alarmed at the tenor of his

discourses, forbade him to preach. Thereupon a great commotion rose

amongst the people; throngs pouring in from the neighbouring villages; and

the streets filled all night long with a restless and clamorous crowd.

Many of the patrician families left the city, the Common Council elected

Munzer for their chief pastor; a new Senate was chosen under the threats

and violence of the populace, in which Munzer and his friends were

included. Munzer for a time was supreme.

"This his solitary triumph, he gained on the 17th of March 1525, and

he immediately set about to reduce to practice, as far as possible,

the doctrines he had taught, and in which, however mistaken, he was

evidently sincere.... He had before taught that to please God, men

must return to their original condition of brotherly equality; and he

now urged that there should be community of goods, as it existed

among the primitive Christians. But it does not appear that he

attempted or wished to extend it farther. Many of his disciples

obeyed the injunction, and shared with their poor brethren at least

as much of their worldly possessions as was required to supply their

real wants. The rich fed the hungry, clothed the naked, and made

daily distributions of articles of real necessity, such as corn, and

common stuff for garments. Munzer's own dress was a simple cloak or

coat trimmed with fur, such as was then worn by citizens of the

middle class in many parts of Germany; but a beard of venerable

length and magnitude gave a sort of patriarchal air to his youthful

features; for we must recollect in extenuation of Munzer's errors,

that his age was still only about twenty-seven."

Melancthon has stated that Munzer lived at Muhlhausen in all manner of

luxury and profligacy, like a great lord, for more than a year. Mrs

Sinnett tells us that he passed there only eight weeks; and we are

disposed to conclude with her that the rest of the statement is as loosely

and carelessly made. Eye-witnesses describe Munzer as one who awed the

people by his presence, by the force of his character, and by a personal

influence which could have resulted only from "the great moral earnestness

which dwelt within him." His habits of life are declared to have been

simple and austere; and the tender attachment which he is proved to have

manifested towards his wife, Mrs Sinnett argues, was quite inconsistent

with the licentious course attributed to him.

The charge of cowardice, which is so conspicuously brought forward by Dr

Robertson, seems also to have but slender foundation. The "difficulty with

which he was persuaded to take the field," resolves itself into the having

been a degree more prudent, or a degree less rash, than his headstrong

companion, Pfeiffer; who, having had a dream wherein "he saw himself in a

barn, surrounded by a vast multitude of mice, on which he made a

tremendous onslaught," concluded that he should obtain as easy a victory

over the princes and nobles now arrayed against the fanatics of

Muhlhausen, and, therefore, urged Munzer to take the field. When the day

of trial came, "he who had never so much as seen a battle," found himself

the leader of an undisciplined, discordant multitude, who, even in point

of numbers, were not equal to the military force which was being led, by

experienced generals, against him. At this moment he behaved with

desperate energy; he quelled the treachery of one portion of his followers

by the immediate execution of the priest who had ventured to be their

spokesman; and he raised the rest from the consternation that had seized

them, by one of his violent harangues, and by that fortunate allusion,

which all historians have noticed, to a rainbow that suddenly appeared in

the sky, and which happened to be the device painted on his banner.

That the ensuing battle should be converted speedily into a rout was

inevitable. That Munzer, in the general flight, sought to conceal himself

from his pursuers, by hiding in a loft, can be considered no fair proof of

cowardice. It is what the bravest men have been reduced to do in the day

of disaster. No one who wears the oak leaf on King Charles's day thinks

that he is commemorating an act of cowardice in that prince, because he

concealed himself in the tree rather than show himself to his enemies. How

he comported himself in the last scene of all, does not here appear; but

it seems that the victors made a cruel use of their power. "He was given

over to the fierce Count Ernst of Mansfield, who 'went horribly to work

with him.' (_ist grauelich mit ihm umgegangen._)"

What can be done for the restoration of Thomas Munzer's character, Mrs

Sinnett is entitled to praise for having performed. But we must be

permitted to observe, that in speaking of the general purposes of this

fanatic and his party, she has been led a little too far, either by the

feeling of advocacy, which the subject has called forth, or by some of the

German authorities she has consulted. In particular, we think her

manifestly unjust to the memory of Luther, whom she heavily censures for

the part he took in this war between the peasant and the noble. Luther

compassionated the peasant, there can be no doubt; but Luther must have

seen--what surely every man in possession of his right understanding must

have seen--that there was no help to the peasant from insurrection and

war; and that prophets who were inspiring them with hopes of some great

revolution in society, with visions of equal and universal happiness, were

but leading them to destruction.

We shall hope to meet Mrs Sinnett again in some of the _by-ways_ of

history, walking with a somewhat surer step, and keeping her sympathies

under somewhat better control.

REQUIEM.

[To the Music of Mozart.]

BY DELTA.

I.

Gone art thou, in youthful sweetness,

Time's short changeful voyage o'er;

Now thy beauty in completeness

Blooms on Heaven's unfading shore:

What to us is life behind thee?

Darkness and despair alone!

When with sighs we seek to find thee,

Echo answers moan for moan!

II.

Not in winter's stormy bluster

Did'st thou droop in pale decay,

But mid summer light and lustre

Pass'd to Paradise away:--

Yes! when, toned to rapture only,

Sang the birds among the bowers,

Rapt from earth to leave us lonely,

Bliss was thine and sorrow ours!

III.

Mourners, solemn vigil keeping,

Knelt in silence round thy bed;

Could they deem thee only sleeping,

When to Heaven thy spirit fled?

Yes! that spirit then was winging

Upwards from its shell of clay,

Guardian angels round it singing--

"Welcome to the realms of day!"

IV.

Less when Eve's low shadows darkling

Shut the wild flowers on the lea,

Than when Dawn's last Star is sparkling,

Silence draws our thoughts to thee--

Thee--who, robed in light excelling,

Stood'st a seraph by the hearth,--

Far too bright for mortal dwelling.

Far--by far, too good for earth!

V.

Fare-thee-well! a track of glory

Shows where'er thy steps have been,

Making Life a lovely story,

Earth a rich, romantic scene:

Dim when Duty's way before us,

As the magnet charts the sea,

May thy pure star glowing o'er us

Point the path to Heaven and Thee!

GIACOMO DA VALENCIA; OR, THE STUDENT OF BOLOGNA.

A TALE.[17]

CHAPTER I.

Of all the students that assembled at Bologna, A.D. 1324, Giacomo da

Valencia was the most popular and the most beloved. His wealth, his

liberality, his noble spirit, his handsome person, his bravery, and his

wit, gave him a just title to this pre-eminence.

Of all the beauties of the town of Bologna, whose mission it was in the

same year of grace, 1324, to turn the heads and inflame the hearts of this

assemblage of students, none could be compared to Constantia, niece of

Giovanni D'Andrea, one of the most celebrated jurisconsults of his age.

Of course, then, they loved each other, this peerless couple. No. Only the

student loved. The lady was fancy-free. The perverse god, having shot

_one_ arrow forth--buried it up to the very feather--"would not shoot his

other." No prayers and no clamour could avail: he held it loosely in his

hand, letting its golden point trail idly upon the sand.

In vain had Giacomo been the most constant attendant upon mass; in vain

had he lingered hour after hour on the promenade to catch one look of

recognition; in vain had he courted every family she visited, and for the

last six months had selected his acquaintances on one principle

only,--that they were hers, and might introduce him to her presence. All

his efforts were fruitless--Constantia, so amiable to all others, so

sweet, so gentle, was cold to him. She would not love. Why not? What was

there wanting in our cavalier? Was it birth, or wealth, or nobility of

spirit, or personal beauty? No, nothing was wanting--nothing in him. But,

for her, the hour had not yet struck. It was summer all around, but the

heart of the virgin--the rose of Bologna--was still sleeping in its coiled

leaves, and not to day would it unfold itself.

But the passion of Giacomo was invincible: no coldness could repulse, no

denial reduce him to despair. Love cannot exist, cannot endure, say

reasonable people, without hope. True. _But a great passion bears its own

hope in its bosom._ Neither was it in the nature or temperament of Giacomo

lightly to relinquish any enterprise he had once undertaken. The following

incident in his college life will serve to show the ardent, serious, and

indomitable temper of the lover of Constantia. A French cavalier, lately

emancipated from the university of Paris, who, while there, had borne off

the prize from all--not, indeed, in scholarship, but for his unrivalled

dexterity in the noble art of defence,--had visited Bologna, and

challenged to a trial of skill the most renowned champion it could boast.

They would cross their rapiers, the challenge said, for the honour of

their respective universities. This proclamation of the Parisian, affixed,

according to custom, to the college gates, was no sooner read than all

eyes were turned to Giacomo. To him alone could the honour of the

university be safely intrusted; indeed, if he should decline the

challenge, it was doubtful whether any other would risk a trial of skill

from which he had retreated. Thus pointed out by public opinion as the

champion of the university, and solicited by his fellow students to

sustain its reputation in the high and noble science of defence, he

overcame the first repugnance which he felt to what seemed to him the

boastful acceptance of a boastful challenge. He and the Frenchman met. The

Frenchman manifested the greater skill; it seemed evident that the contest

would end in the defeat of the Bolognese. "Let us try," said Giacomo,

"with the naked rapier;" for hitherto the points had been guarded. That

such a proposition should have come from him who was manifestly the least

skilful of the two, seemed the result of passion, of blind anger at

approaching defeat. Mere madness! cried some of his best friends. But it

was not madness, it was not passion; it was deliberately done. He knew

that the earnestness of the combat would call forth all his own skill and

energy to the utmost; it might very probably have the opposite effect upon

his adversary. His reasoning was justified by the event. His antagonist

had no sooner accepted the proposition--no sooner had the pointed been

substituted for the guarded rapier, than the rival fencers seemed to have

changed characters. The French cavalier grew cautious; his rapid and

brilliant attack gave place to defensive and more measured movements.

While the Bolognese, whom his friends expected to see fall a sacrifice to

his impetuosity of temper, became more rapid, more self-possessed, more

bold and decisive in his play. He now very soon, and happily without any

fatal result to his antagonist, established his superiority, and

vindicated the honour of his university. When chidden for his rashness,

and what was thought a freak of passion, he answered that he never acted

in a more cool and calculating spirit in his life. "I did but burn the

ships behind me that I might fight the better. I am never so calm," he

added, "or so thoroughly master of myself, as when most in earnest; and

this is not generally the character of a Parisian."

Such was the serious, brave, and resolute spirit of Giacomo. But he had

other qualities than those which made him the most popular student bf the

university; and as a proof of this, we need only mention that he was the

intimate friend of Petrarch, at this time also a student at Bologna.

Though despatched to this university by his father for the express purpose

of prosecuting the study of the law, Petrarch was wrapt up in his Latin

classics and his poetry; and it was precisely in our brave and handsome

cavalier that he found the companion who most completely sympathised with

him in his pursuits, and most correctly appreciated his nascent genius.

These two friends had been walking together in silence for some time under

the long colonnades which then, as now, lined the streets of Bologna. A

more noble pair have rarely traversed those colonnades. The poet,

remarkable for his beauty, was in his youth very studious of elegance in

his dress; and the short velvet cloak, with its border of gold or silver

lace, was always thrown over his slight, but finely moulded figure, with a

grace which would have satisfied the eye of a painter. From time to time

he might be seen to brush away, or to shake off, the specks of dust which

had settled on it, or to re-adjust, by a movement intended to appear

unconscious, the folds of its drapery. His companion, taller, and of a

somewhat larger build, and far more costly in his attire, though utterly

unoccupied with it, walked "like one of the lions" by his side.

"My dear Giacomo," said Petrarch, breaking the long silence, "what has

befallen you? Not a word--certainly not _two_ in any coherent succession,

have you uttered for the last hour."

"Neither to-day, nor yesterday!" muttered Giacomo to himself, certainly

not in answer to his friend,--"Neither to-day, nor yesterday--perhaps, she

means never to go to mass again."

"What are you talking, or rather, thinking of?"

"What I am always thinking of, my dear Petrarch,--what I shall never cease

thinking of till it prove my destruction--which some spirit of divination

tells me that it will."

"Really, really, Giacomo," said his friend, "you show in this a most

insane pertinacity. Here are you, week after week, month after month----"

"I know it--know all you would say.--Good God! how beautiful she is!"

"Here are you--for I _will_ speak."--continued his youthful but grave

associate, "who are simply the most perfect cavalier in all Bologna--(one

would not flatter, but this physic is, in some cases, absolutely

necessary)--at once the boast and envy of the whole university--wasting,

consuming yourself away, in a perpetual fever after the only woman, I

take it upon me to declare----"

"Psha! psha! Tell me, if you would have me listen, what further can I

_do_? I have wooed her in sonnets, which ought to have affected her, for

Petrarch polished the verse. Nothing touches her. She is as obdurate as

steel. Not a smile--not, at least, for me--and for all others she smiles

how sweetly, how intelligently, how divinely! But by the Holy Cross! she

_shall_ love me! Petrarch, she shall!--she shall!"

"My dear Giacomo, you rave. Be a _little_ reasonable. Lover as you are,

stay on this side of madness. Love on--if it must be so--love her for

ever; but do not for ever be striving for a return of your passion. Take

home your unrequited love into your bosom--nourish it there--but do not

exasperate it by a bootless and incessant struggle against fate. For my

part, I can conceive there may be a strange sweet luxury in this solitary

love that lives in one breast alone. It is all your own. It is fed,

kindled, diversified, sustained by your own imagination. It is passion

without the gross thraldom of circumstance. It is the pure relation of

soul to soul, without the vast, intricate, unmanageable relationship of

life to life."

"To you, a poet," replied Giacomo with a slight tone of sarcasm, "such a

passion may be possible. Perhaps you care not for more heat than serves to

animate and make fluent the verse. Pleased with the glow of fancy and of

feeling, you can stop short of possession. I cannot! Oh, you poets! you

fuse your passion with your genius: you describe, you do not feel."

"Not feel!" exclaimed Petrarch "we cannot then describe."

"Oh, yes! you can describe. You fling the golden light of imagination,

like a light from heaven, round the object of your adoration; but, in

return, the real woman is translated herself to the skyey region of

imagination. She becomes the creature of your thoughts. You are conscious

that the glory you have flung around her, you can re-assume. Petrarch,

Petrarch! if you ever love, if you are constant to any woman from

Springtime to the last leaf of Autumn, it will be to some fair creature

who dwells for ever, and only, in your imagination, whom you will never

press to your bosom. You poets love beauty, you love passion, you love all

things fair and great, and you make a vision of them all. You sing them,

and there's an end."

"Well, well," said the poet, warding off the attack with a smile, "I have

brought down, it seems, a severe castigation on myself."

"Dear, dear Petrarch! let it teach you never again to give advice to a

lover, unless it be to show him how, or where, he is to meet his mistress.

Fool that I am! she is, perhaps, all this time in the Church of St

Giovanni." And without another word he darted up a street that led to that

same church, leaving his friend to follow or not, as he pleased.

CHAPTER II.

There was, indeed, something like perversity, it must be allowed, in this

firm refusal of Constantia to reward so devoted an attachment. Even her

stern, grave uncle, whose judicial functions were not likely to give him

much leisure or disposition to interfere with the love affairs of his

niece, had dropt a hint that the suit of Giacomo da Valencia would not be

displeasing to himself. Bologna could not have supplied a more fitting

match; our lover, therefore, was not guilty of presumption, though of much

obstinacy. It was his _right_, this blessed hand of Constantia--he felt it

was his right, and he would win it.

Some _one_, some _day_, she must surely love, he argued to himself, and

why not me? and why not now? Oh, could I but plead my passion, he would

say, alone,--pour it out unrestrained at her feet, she would surely see

how _reasonable_ it was that she should love, that she ought, that she

must! To his excited and impetuous mood of mind, it appeared that nothing

but the artificial barrier which the customs of society interposed in

their intercourse, prevented his success. He could never see her alone,

never speak unreservedly and passionately. The presence of others imposed

restraints on both; and if an opportunity occurred to speak without being

overheard, the few moments were filled with embarrassment by reason of

their brief and precarious tenure. Nay, what were a few moments to him who

had so full a heart to utter? "Oh, could I place her _there_!" he would

exclaim, pointing to the upper end of the spacious room he occupied, "and

there kneel down, and pray before her, as men do to their saints! Oh

Nature! Oh Heaven! you would not so desert me, that my prayer should be

fruitless."

Yes! if she were there alone, no other mortal near! This thought so

wrought within him, took so strong possession of his mind, that it led him

to a thousand projects for its realisation. What if he carried her off by

force from her uncle's residence, and brought her there? Surely the

humility, the passionate devotion with which he would entreat her, would

atone for the rash and violent means he had used to bring her within the

scope of his supplications; and the utter submission, and profound respect

of his manner, would immediately convince her that he had no design upon

her freedom of will, and that she might confide with entire safety to his

honour. And as to the feasibility of the project, popular and beloved as

he was in the university, there were numbers of students quite ready to

engage in any scheme he should propose, however hazardous it might be. It

would be very easy for him to organise a little band of the most faithful

and the boldest of his adherents, who, with a due mixture of stratagem and

force, would accomplish this new and harmless species of abduction.

The uncle of Constantia held, as we have intimated, a high judicial post,

and was sometimes absent from Bologna, administering justice amongst the

several dependencies of the republic. On one of these occasions Constantia

was sitting with a female friend, who had been invited to stay with her

during his absence from home. The room they sat in was one of those fine

old Gothic chambers, which the pencil of Haghe delights to reproduce and

restore for us; and to his pencil we willingly leave the description of

it. Constantia was seated on one of those tall arm-chairs, with straight

high back, which beauty then made graceful to the eye, and leaned her

little chin upon her doubled hand, as she listened to her friend, Leonora,

who was reading her a lecture upon the very theme which makes the burden

of our story, her coldness to Giacomo.

"What would you _have_? what do you _expect_?" was the triumphant close of

her harangue.

"What would I have?" replied Constantia. "Myself! I would possess myself

in peace and stillness--What do I expect? I do not live on expectation. I

love my present life--its calm, its contentment, its freedom. Why would

you help to rob me of these?"

"Freedom! So, then, you fear the tyrant in the husband. But, my dear

Constantia, where there are only two in the society, there is an even

chance for the tyranny."

"A pleasant prospect! But you mistake me, Leonora. It is not the husband

in his tyranny I fear,--I have not come to think of that; it is the lover

and his love! I would not be infected by the turmoil of his passion. I

dread it. Friends let me have and cherish. Leonora, be you always one of

them; but for this turbulent Love, may the lightest down upon his pinion

never touch me! How soft it seems, how light, as light and soft as the

down we rob the swan's neck of; but touch it, and it burns, and fans a

fever into the veins. I do love my own calm life, and I will keep it."