received neither message, nor token, nor sign from the departed family,
nor can I ascertain from Peter or his wife, the obtuse menials who are
the sole occupants of this in some respects elegant mansion, whither
they have gone: whether they are loitering in their country seat, or
whether they have started on a longer peregrination. Paris is very full.
The streets are ill-kept and ill-lit, a strange contrast to the blaze
(at night) and tidiness (by day) of the London streets. It is a dingy
city, and I think it must certainly be insanitary. The French understand
no word of English, and if indeed one ventures to address them, all they
reply is: "Rosbeef, plom pudding," a form of address which they
consider facetious. The house is spacious enough, although
inconveniently distant from the centre of the city, but it has the
advantage of an extensive garden surrounded by high walls. As for
myself, I am well cared for by Peter and his wife. She talks at me with
great volubility, but I cannot understand a word of what she says.
French is an unmusical language, very sharp and nasal, but not
ill-suited to a backward people.
_July_ 14, 1790.--Went for a long walk in the city. The streets quiet
and deserted. Peter and his wife went out for the day. She is very handy
with her needle. I find altogether that the French are quite amenable to
reason, if well treated. Of course, one cannot expect them to work like
English people, but they are willing and do their best. It is
unfortunate they do not speak English. Received last quarter's salary
through the usual channel. No further views.
_March_ 4, 1792.--Went out in the evening with Peter and his wife. They
took me to the Opera House, having apparently received tickets from a
friend connected with theatrical affairs. _Castor and Pollux_ was the
name of the opera. The scenery was gorgeous, and the ballets very
skilfully performed. The opera was given in French, so that I could not
follow the words. Weather grey and dark. Boulevards as usual ill-lit;
but crowded with people coming from the coffee-houses, the theatres and
the out-of-door dining houses--all singing at the top of their voices.
Returned home between nine and ten.
_March_ 6, 1792.--Again to the Opera House to hear the _Alcestis_ of
Gluck, and to see the celebrated Vestris dance in a ballet called
_Psyche_. Scenery as usual gorgeous, singing nasal and most unpleasing.
_August_ 13, 1792.--Nothing worth recording. Spend most of the days in
the garden. Weather hot. French people vulgar and loud in their
holiday-making, partial also to fireworks, explosives, firing of guns,
etc. I now make a point of-staying at home on Feast days and holidays,
of which there are far too many.
_Sunday, September_ 2, 1792.--Read the morning service in the garden.
Sultry.
_January_ 21, 1793.--Shops shut this morning, although it is Monday. No
salary received for the last two quarters.
_November_ 10, 1793.--Sunday. Started out to walk along the river in
spite of the damp weather. Streets very muddy. A great crowd of people
near the Cathedral. Caught in the crowd and obliged to follow with the
stream. Borne by the force of the crowd right into the church. Deeply
shocked and disgusted at the display of Romish superstition. A live
woman resembling a play actress throned near the altar, representing no
doubt the Virgin Mary. Most reprehensible. Was obliged to assist at the
mummery until the crowd departed. Think I have taken cold.
_November_ 11, 1793.--Have indeed taken cold in consequence of
yesterday's outing. Remained indoors all day. Peter and his wife most
obliging. They made me some hot negus flavoured with black currant, not
unpalatable.
_November_ 12,1793.--Cold worse. Suffering from ague in the bones as
well. Shall not get up to-morrow. Peter's wife spent much time in
talking and screaming at me. Gathered from her rapid and unintelligible
jargon that she wished me to see a doctor. Shook my head vehemently.
Shall certainly not put myself in the hands of a French doctor. One
never knows what foreigners may prescribe.
_January_ 1, 1794.--Came downstairs for the first time since I have been
laid up. Made many good resolutions for the New Year. Among others to
keep my journal more diligently.
_May_ 30, 1794.--Walked in the garden for the first time since my
relapse. Peter's wife has nursed me with much care and tenderness. Still
very weak.
_July_ 30, 1794.--First walk in the city since my long illness. Feel
really better. Bought a lace kerchief.
_October_ 1, 1794.--The family, that is to say, the Countess and her two
daughters, arrived unexpectedly in the night. Countess simple and
kindly, can scarcely speak any English. Begin lessons to-morrow.
_October_ 2, 1794.--The eldest girl Amelia, aged seven, speaks English
but has been shamefully ill-taught during her stay in England (for it
appears the family have been in England!). She is sadly backward in
spelling: but she has a fair accent and is evidently an intelligent
child. Unfortunately, she has picked up many unseemly expressions. The
Countess suggested my learning French, but I respectfully declined.
Reading Pope's _Essay on Man_ in the evenings. It is improving as well
as elegant.
XX
FROM THE DIARY OF HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK, DURING
HIS STAY AT ENGLAND, WHITHER HE WAS SENT TO STUDY AT
THE UNIVERSITY AT OXFORD, UNDER THE SPECIAL CARE OF
POLONIUS
_Balliol College, Monday_.--Read aloud my Essay on Equality to the
Master. It began: "Treat all men as your equals, especially the rich."
The Master commented on this sentence. He said, "Very ribald, Prince
Hamlet, very ribald."
In training for the annual fencing match between the Universities of
Oxford and Cambridge. Doing my utmost to reduce my flesh which is far
too solid.
_Tuesday_.--Went to Abingdon for the day. When I came back I found that
havoc had been made of my rooms: both the virginals broken to
pieces--all the furniture destroyed, and all my pictures including a
signed portrait of Ophelia.
Have my suspicions as to who has done this. Shall first make certain and
then retaliate terribly. In the meantime it will be politic to conceal
my annoyance.
_Friday_.--Dined last night with a society of Undergraduates who meet
together in a Barn to discuss Falconry and French verse. Rhenish wine
served in great quantities. Feigned drunkenness in order to discover who
was guilty of taking liberties with my furniture. As I suspected,
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were the culprits. They as good as admitted
it in their cups.
Intend to be revenged some day, and that royally.
_Saturday_.--When we returned home from the barn last night, it was of
course necessary for me to keep up the false semblance of intoxication
with which I had started the evening.
This I did by improvising and singing quaint rhymeless couplets as we
strutted across the Quadrangle of the College. It so chanced that we
encountered the Dean, who addressed me. I answered, keeping up the part:
"Buzz. Buzz."
_Monday_.--A College meeting was held this morning and I was summoned to
appear on the charges:--
(_a_) Of having been intoxicated.
(_b_) Of having insulted the Dean.
(_c_) Of having persuaded and finally compelled the younger members of
the College to drink more than was good for them.
To which I replied _(a)_ that seeing that I was in strict training it
was obvious that the charge of intoxication was unfounded; (_b_) that so
far from insulting the Dean, I had addressed him in Danish, and that
familiar as I knew him to be with all the languages of Europe and
especially the Scandinavian tongues, he had probably not realized to the
full the exact shade of deference, respect, and awe which the expression
I used implied; (_c_) that as far as the charge of corrupting the young
was concerned, I was not ashamed to stand in the same dock with
Socrates, and I would cheerfully, if the College authorities and my
Royal parents thought fit, share the doom of my august master. Finally
I reminded the noble and learned assembly that were I to be expelled,
even temporarily, from the College I should be unable (_a_) to represent
the _Alma Mater_ with the rapier against the University of Cambridge,
who had a powerful champion of the noble art in Laertes, a
fellow-countryman of mine; and (_b_) I should not be able to row in the
College boat. I concluded by saying that certain as I was that my royal
parents would endorse any decision which should be arrived at by the
Master and his Colleagues, I was convinced that were I to be sent down
from the College, my royal father, in order that my studies might not be
interrupted, would immediately send me to Cambridge.
The net result of all this is that I am admonished.
Later in the Day I received a note from the Dean asking me to dine with
him next Thursday.
_Sunday_.--Breakfasted with the Master to meet the Poet Laureate, the
Archbishop of York, the Lord Chancellor, the French ambassador, and
Quattrovalli, a celebrated Italian juggler. The poet laureate read out
an Ode he had just composed on the King's sixth marriage. Very poor.
_Monday_.--Took part in the debate held by the College Debating Society.
The subject being whether Homer's Epics were written by Homer or by a
Committee of Athenian Dons.
Took what seemed to the audience a paradoxical view that they were
written by Homer.
_Tuesday_.--Gave a small dinner party in my rooms. Horatio and a few
others. Again compelled to feign intoxication, so as not to mar the
harmony of the evening. Burnt a small organ, and rather a complicated
printing press, belonging to a German undergraduate named Faustus, in
the Quadrangle.
_Wednesday_.--The master commenting on last night's bonfire said he
thought it was not humorous, and fined us heavily. Have as yet found no
opportunity of revenging myself on Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.
_Thursday_.--Coached by Polonius for two hours in Scottish history. Very
tedious. In the afternoon went on the river in my boat the "Ophelia."
Faustus has been sent down for trying to raise the Devil in the
precincts of the College. It appears this is strictly against the rules.
His excuse was that he had always understood that the College
authorities disbelieved in a personal devil. To which the Dean replied:
"We are all bound to believe in the Devil in a _spiritual_ sense, Mr
Faustus." And Faustus imprudently asked in what other sense you could
believe in him.
_Friday_.--Must really settle this business of Rosencrantz and
Guildenstern soon. It is beginning to prey upon my mind. They are quite
insufferable. Have lost one stone since the term began, which is
satisfactory. Fencing match is to take place next week, here.
_Saturday_.--The man who has the rooms opposite mine is a Spaniard. A
nobleman very cultivated and amiable. His name is Quixote. Consulted him
last night as to what to do about Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Quixote
said it was entirely a point of honour. That if I were certain they were
guilty, and certain likewise that they had purposely insulted me, I
should challenge them each, separately, to personal combat, with sword
and rapier. I pointed out, however, that whereas I was a champion
swordsman, and indeed had been chosen to represent the University, they
had no skill at all. Moreover, I considered that to challenge them to
fight would be doing them too much honour. Quixote said I must
indubitably, take action of some kind, or else I would incur the
suspicion of cowardice. At that moment--we were talking by the open
casement--I saw in the darkness, walking stealthily along the wall a man
whom I took to be Guildenstern. Seizing a bottle of white wine from
Xeres with which Quixote had entertained me, I flung it out of the
window on to the head of the skulker, but alas! it was not Guildenstern
but the Dean himself!
_Monday_.--Again appeared before a College meeting. Accused of having
wantonly wounded, and almost murdered the Dean. Protested my innocence
in vain. It was further suggested I was intoxicated. Lost my temper,
which was a mistake, and called the Dean a villain, losing control over
my epithets.
Sent down for the rest of the term. Polonius is very angry. He has
written to my father suggesting that I should not go back to Oxford, nor
seek to enter Cambridge either, but go to Wittenberg instead. Owing to
my abrupt departure the fencing match with Laertes will not come oft. No
matter, a day will come, when maybe I shall be revenged on Rosencrantz
and Guildenstern. We go to London to-day.