The remains of this cavern (situated in Normandy) command the attention of
the lovers of history, not only from its antiquity, but also from its
gloomy recesses, having afforded a safe shelter to our weak and cruel King
John. Here he bade farewell to this province which he abandoned to the
French Knights, and from whom he carefully concealed every trace of his
retreat. The entrance is almost obscured, and tradition says it is so
artfully managed as to have the appearance of a passage to another. The
spot is barren, and it appears as if a thunder-bolt had burnt up the
verdure. The spirit of _Robert le Diable_ is supposed to haunt the cavern
in the form of a wolf, and advances uttering piteous cries, and
steadfastly gazing on its place of defence (the caverns extending to the
River Seine) reviews his former glory and conquests, and seems bitterly to
lament the present decay. In vain the peasants commence the chase; they
assert that the wolf though closely pursued always eludes the vigilance of
the huntsman. On the death of Richard I. of England, 1199, his Brother
John was proclaimed King of Normandy and Aquitaine; the Duchies of
Brittany, the Counties of Anjou, Maine, Tours and others, acknowledged
Arthur, John's nephew, as their sovereign, and claimed the protection of
the King of France, Philip II., surnamed Augustus; but he despairing of
being able to retain these provinces against the will of their inhabitants,
sacrificed Arthur and his followers to John, who in a skirmish with some
of the Norman Lords, carried them all prisoners into Normandy, where
Arthur soon disappeared: the Britons assert that he was murdered by his
uncle; and the Normans that he was accidentally killed in endeavouring to
escape. The death of their favourite Prince stung the Britons to madness,
as in him centered their last hope of regaining independence: an ardent
imagination led them to believe their future destiny connected with this
child, which inspired them with a wild affection for Philip, as being the
enemy of his murderer. They accused John before the French King of
Arthur's murder, and he was summoned as a Vassal of Normandy to appear and
defend himself before the twelve Peers of France. This command being
treated with contempt, the lands John held under the French crown were
declared forfeit, and an army levied to put it into execution. It was on
this emergency that John found a safe place of concealment in the cavern
of Robert the Devil.
* * * * *
LACONICS, &c.
(_Continued from page 53_.)
Generosity is not the virtue of the multitude, and for this reason:
selfishness is often the consequence of ignorance, and it requires a
cultivated mind to discern where the rights of others interfere with our
own wishes.
If commerce has benefited, it has also injured the human race; and the
invention of the compass has brought disease as well as wealth in its
train.
The days of joy are as long and perhaps as frequent as those of grief; but
either the memory is treacherous or the mind is too morbid to admit this
to be the case.
Without occasional seriousness and even melancholy, mirth loses its magic,
and pleasure becomes unpalatable.
It is unlucky that experience being our best teacher, we have only learnt
its lessons perfectly, when we no longer stand in need of them; and have
provided ourselves armour we can never wear.
Chastity in women may be said to arise more from attention to worldly
motives than deference to moral obligation: there is not so much
continence amongst men, because there is not the same restriction.
A resolution to put up calmly with misfortune, invariably has the effect
of lightening the load.
Conceit is usually seen during our first investigations after knowledge;
but time and more accurate research teach us that not only is our
comprehension limited, but knowledge itself is so imperfect, as not to
warrant any vanity upon it at all.
Extravagance is of course merely comparative: a man may be a spendthrift
in copper as well as gold.
We had rather be made acquainted at any time with the reality and
certainty of distress, than be tortured by the feverish and restless
anxiety of doubt.
A too great nicety about diet is being over scrupulous, and is converting
moderation into a fault; but on the other hand it is little better than
gluttony, if we cannot refrain from what may by possibility be even
slightly injurious.
A celebrated traveller who had been twice round the world and visited
every remarkable country, declared, that thought he had seen many
wonderful things, he had never chanced to see a handsome old woman.
It is difficult enough to persuade a tool, but persuasion is not all the
difficulty: obstinacy still remains to be brought under subjection.
A prejudiced person is universally condemned and yet many of our
prejudices are excusable, and some of them necessary: if we do not indulge
a few of our prejudices, we shall have to go on doubting and inquiring for
ever.
Scepticism has ever been the bugbear of youthful vanity, and it is
considered knowing to quarrel with existing institutions and established
truths; our experienced reflection regrets this inclination and we become
weary of distracting ourselves with endless difficulties.
In dreaming, it is remarkable how easily and yet imperceptibly the mind
connects events altogether differing in their nature; and if we hear any
noise during sleep, how instantaneously the sound is woven in with the
events of our dream and as satisfactorily accounted.
The unpleasant sensation that is produced by modesty, is amply compensated
by the prepossession it creates in our favour.
Public virtue prospers by the vices of individuals. The spendthrift gives
a circulation to the coin of the realm, while the miser is equally useful
in gleaning and scraping together what others have too profusely scattered.
Luxury gives a livelihood to thousands, and the numbers supported by
vanity are beyond calculation.
There is a distinction to be drawn between self-love and selfishness,
though they are usually confounded. Self-love is the effect of instinct,
and is necessary for our preservation in common with other animals; but
selfishness is a mental defect and is generated by narrowness of soul.
The difference between honour and honesty is this: honour is dictated by a
regard to character, honesty arises from a feeling of duty.
It is difficult to avoid envy without laying ourselves open to contempt;
for in being too scrupulous not to trespass on others we lay ourselves
open to be trifled with and trampled on.
That "familiarity breeds contempt" does not only mean, that he who is too
familiar with us incurs our contempt; but also that novelty being
indispensably necessary to our happiness we cease to admire what habit has
familiarized.
Poverty, like every thing else has its fair side. The poor man has the
gratification of knowing that no one can have any interest in his death;
and in his intercourse with the world he can be certain that wherever he
is welcome, it is exclusively on his own account.
If the poor have but few comforts, they are free from many miseries,
mental as well as personal, that their superiors are subjected to: they
have no physicians who live by their sufferings, and they never experience
the curse of sensibility.
Eloquence, engaging as it is, must always be regarded with suspicion. The
great use made of it in the history of literature, has been to mislead the
head by an appeal to the heart, and it was for this reason the Athenians
forbid their orators the use of it.
Conceit is generally proportionate with high station, and the greatest
geniuses have not been entirely free from it: what indeed is ambition but
an immoderate love of praise?
When we call to mind the humiliating necessities of human nature as far as
the body is concerned, and in our intellectual resolves the meanness or
paltriness of many of our motives to action, we may well be surprised that
man who has so much cause to be humble should indulge for a moment in
pride.
It is not so easy as philosophers tell us to lay aside our prejudices;
mere volition cannot enable us to divest ourselves of long established
feelings, and even reason is averse to laying aside theories it has once
been taught to admire.
A man may start at impending danger or wince at the sensation of pain: and
yet he may be a true philosopher and not be afraid of death.
The epicure, the drunkard, and the man of loose morals are equally
contemptible: though the brutes obey instinct, they never exceed the
bounds of moderation; and besides, it is beneath the dignity of man to
place felicity in the service of his senses.
A passionate man should be regarded with the same caution as a loaded
blunderbuss, which may unexpectedly go off and do us an injury.
There are many fools in the world and few wise men; at any rate there are
more false than sound reasoners; wherefore it would seem more politic to
adopt the opinion of the minority on most occasions.
Those who are deficient in any particular accomplishment usually contrive
either openly or indirectly to express their contempt for it: thus
removing that obstacle which removes them from the same level.
(_To be concluded in our next._)
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