LITTELLS LIVING AGE. Fourth Series, No1 1478. October 5, 1872. From Beginning, Vol. XXVII Vol. CXV. CONTENTS. 1. THE STUARTS AT ST. GERMAINS, . 2. THE STRANG ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON. By William Black, Author of A Daughter of Heth. Part XV. 8. A VOYAGE TO THE RINGED PLANET, 4. THE DURGOMASTERS FAMILY; OR, WEAL AND WOE IN A LITTLE WORLD: By Christine Muller. Translated from the Dutch hy Sir John Shaw Lefevre. Part III DOMESTIC LIFE AND I~oNoMT IN FRANCE, THE PRESSGAO IN RussiA, . 5. 6. 7. ITALY ST. MARTINS SUMMER, FANNYS MUD PIES, MISCELLANY, Edinburgh Review, Macmillans Magazine, Cornhill .Magazine, Frasers Magazine, Frasers .Magazine, Spectator, Saturday Review, POET R Y. 2 j GWENDOLINE, 2 IN TIlE EVENING, PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL & GAY, BOSTON. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. FoN EIGHT DOLLARS, remitted directly to the Pablishers. the LIVING AGE will be punctually for. warded for a yeaf, tree 0/postaqe. But we do not prepay posta~e on iess than a ar. nor wuen we nave to pay commission for forwarding the money; nor when we club THE LIVING AGE with another pericdical. An extra copy of Tat Lsvsun AGE lO sent gratis to any one gettin,. up a club of Five New Subscribers. Remittances should be made by bank draft or check, or by post-olboc m ney-order, if possible. If neither of these can be procured, the money should be sent in a re,.istered letter All postmasters are ohii~,ed to re,.ister letters when requested to do so. Drafts, checks and money-orders shoald be made payable to the order of LITTELL & GAY. S 22 33 42 55 69 62 2 2 41, 54. 64 ST. MARTIN S SUMMER, ETC. 2 ST. MARTINS SUMMER. THE genial sunshine floods the pale blue sky, The sullen river wakes to glint and flash, The low winds whisper, tossing merrily The scarlet tassels of the mountain ash; The lingering roses, pale and faint and sweet, Smile, opening to the warmth their fra- grant breasts, And mid the dead leaves nestling neath the feet The violets peep to light from sheltered nests. Each mighty tree Octobers signet hears, Gleaming in hues of crimson, gold, and brown, As some barbaric monarch, dying, wears His richest robes and dons his brightest crown. A soft sad loveliness, a perfume rare, Seems round the Autumns parting hours to cling; A strange enchantment fills the brooding air, As through a dirge triumphant hope may ring. So, in some lives, w~ watch with reverent love, After long trials borne, long sorrows past, A hushed tranquility awakes, to prove Patience has wrought her perfect work at. last. But once, to glad the hot worlds restless strife, Comes childhoods April, youths impas- sioned June; The sweet serenity of waning life, St. Martins Summer, is its dearest boon. Tiusleys Magazine. FANNYS MUD PIES. UNDER the apple tree, spreading and thick, Happy with only a pan and a stick, On the soft grass in the shadow that lies, Our little Fanny is making mud pies. On her brown apron and bright drooping head Showers of pink and white blossoms are shed: Tied to a branch that seems meant just for that, Dances and flutters her little straw hat. Gravely she stirs with a serious look, Making believe shes a true pastry cook: Sundry brown splashes on forehead and eyes Show that our Fanny is making mud pies. But all the soil of her innocent play Clean soap and water will soon wash away: Many a pleasure in daintier guise Leaves darker traces than Fannys mud pies. Dash, full of joy in the bright summer day, Zealously chases the robins away, Barks at the squirrels, or snaps at the flies, All the while Fanny is making mud pies. Sunshine and soft summer breezes astir, While she is busy, are busy with her; Cheeks rosy glowing, and bright sparkling eyes, Bring they to Fanny while making mud pies. Dollies and playthings are all laid away, Nut to come out till the next rainy day. Under the blue of those sweet summer skies, NQthings so pleasant as making mud pies. Nursery ELIZABETH SILL. GWENDOLINE. WHITE as the silvery bow of lady-moon New bent in heaven: white as lilies fair That fling their radiance on the summer air: White as the hawthorn-flowers in leafy June White as the snowdrifts which pale winters noon Lights without melting. White as these art thou As fair a radiance gilds thine angel brow, And gifts thee with this worlds most graceful boon. We may not look beyond that golden door Now closed in heaven; but the loving seer Who gazed within it told in accents clear Of those who stand upon the amaranth floor, And haunt the glassy oceans glittering shore. They ever wear their robe of typal white; Scarcely more pure up in that home of light Than in the old-world life they lived on earth before. Tinsleys Magazine. IN THE EVENING. ALL day the wind had howled along the leas, All day the wind had swept across the plain, All day on rustling grass and waving trees Had fallen the useful trouble of the rain. All day beneath the low~hung dreary sky The dripping earth had cowered sullenly. At last the wind had sobbed itself to rest, At last to weary calmness sank the storm, A crimson line gleamed sudden in the west, Where golden flecks rose wavering into form. A hushed revival heralded the night, And with the evening time awoke the light. The rosy color flushed the long gray waves; The rosy. color tinged the mountains brown; And where the old church watched the village graves Wooed to a passing blush the yew-trees frown. Bird, beast, and flower relenting nature knew, And one pale star rose shimmering in the blue. So, to a life long crushed in heavy grief, So, to a path long darkened by despair, The slow sad hours bring touches of relief, Whispers of hope, and strength of trustful prayer. Tarry his leisure, God of love and might, And with the evening time there will be light! All the Year Round. THE STUATITS AT ST. GERMAINS. 3 From The Thlinburgh Review, chamber of the queen, the caskets of silver THE STUARTS AT SAINT GERMAINS.* and gold, the jewels which lay waitin~, for IT is long since the Stuarts have found her, together with the sum of 6,000 livres as industrious and disinterested a devotee dor, in a splendid casket, of which the key as the Marchesa Campana de Cavelli an was presented to her, were long the sub- English lady, as we gather from the intro- ject of talk of all the courts of Europe; duction to these volumes, by birth, though nor were the apartments of the Prince of Italy in the country of her adoption, and Wales into which the French Kin,, himself French appears to be the language of her conducted his little guest, fitted up with choice. The amount of pains and research less care. On the next day arrived the which she has bestowed on this collection dethroned king. The staircase is yet of documents, the first instalment we find pointed out, to the bottom of which the of what will eventually form a very con- dauphin descended by order of Louis to siderable addition to the mass of Stuart receive the royal guest, while the king records, must have been immense, and we himself awaited the unhappy monarch in doubt if anyone before has ever been so the Salle des Gardes. When James ar- prodigal of time and expense in the col- rived, Louis took him in his arms, as the lection of historic papers. former bowed low .before him, and em- In July 1864, the Marchesa tells us, she braced him again and again, after whieb arrrived at Saint-Germain-en-Laye, and he led him to the queen and presented him, stood in front of the old chateau. Accus- saying Madame, I bring you a gentleman tomed as she had been to meditate upon of your acquaintance whom you will be the ruins of Rome, and to live in imagina- glad to see. And then, to the surprise of tion with the people of the past, she the French courtiers, the King and Queen could not fail to call to mind the strange of England, in the joy of meeting, closely connexion of the gloomy and massive old embraced in the presence of all the world. edifice with the race of Stuart. Here had Nor did the French monarch omit to give Mary Queen of Scots shone in all the bril- himself the pleasure of conducting his haney of her unhappy beauty, and re- royal guest to the apartment of the in- ceived the homage of the court of the fant Prince of Wales, and of showing the Valois as the bride of the Dauphin, and child to his father, saying, Jeu ai eu from this place she bade farewell for ever grand soin; vous le trouverez en bonne to the gay chivalry of France, with a sad- sante. ness which seemed a presentiment of her Here, too, within these walls was boru tragic destiny. Here did Henrietta Maria, the last princess of the House of Stuart, the Queen of Charles I., seek a refuge the graceful and charming Louisa Maria from the troubles of the Fronde, when the the child of exile whose sweet attrac- axe sent her forth from the kingdom in tiveness is portrayed in the pages of which she had shared a throne to finish Hamilton, and whose premature death her days as a widow and in want in the added a new bitterness to the cup of country of her birth here, too, did an- affliction of her widowed mother. Here, other queen of England make her entry in too, did Louis XIV. say farewell and God tears as an exile, accompanied by her in- speed to his royal cousin, after havin,, fur- fant son, and led by the hand by the great nished him with ships, and men, and arms, monarch, who, with unrivalled generosity, and millions, when the English king was had done all that delicacy could su,,gest about to depart on his luckless expedition and munificence could supply to make the to Ireland for the recovery of his throne. fugitive forget the state of Whitehall and Monsieur, the French kin, said, je Saint James. The magnificent toilet vous vois partir avec douleur, cependant jesp?~re de ne vous revoir jamais; mais si ~ Les Derniers Stuarts a Saint-Germaain.ea-Laye. par malheur vous revenez, soyez persuad6 Documents inedits et authentiqnes pnises anx arch. que vous me trouverez tel que vous me ives publiqnes et privees par Ia Marqaese CAMPAaA laissez. n CAvELLI. Paris, London, and Edinburgh: 1871. 2 vols. 4to. I Here, too, thirteen years after the date 4 THE STUARTS AT ST. GERMAINS. of his flight from England, the dethroned Stuart monarch breathed his last, after that eventful interview in which Louis XIV. promised to recognize his son as king of England and to protect his interest. From hence, too, on the morrow, Mary Beatrice went to bury her widowed deso- lation in the convent of Chaillot, after having recognized her son as her king. Miss Strickland relates her arrival as follows: Mary Beatrice left St. Germains about an hour after her husbands death, attended by four ladies only, and arrived at Chaillot a quar- ter before six. The conventual church of Chail- lot was hung with black. As soon as her ap- proach was announced the bell tolled, and the abbess and all the community went in proces- sion to receive her at the ancient gate. The wid- owed queen descended from her coach in silence with her hood drawn over her face, followed by four noble attendants, and~ apparently over- whelmed with the violence of her grief. The nuns gathered round her in silence; no one of- fered to speak comfort to her, well knowing how tender had been the union that had subsisted between her and her deceased lord. The abbess kissed the hem of her robe, some of the sisters knelt and embraced her knees and others kissed her hand; but no one nttered a single word, leaving their tears to express how much they felt for her affliction. The tragedy of real life, unlike that of the stage, is usually a veiled feel- in0. The Queen (one of the nuns of Chail- lot has written in her account of the event) walked directly into the choir without a sigh, a cry, or a word, like one who has lost every faculty but the pnwer of motion. She remained in this mournful silence, this stupefaction of grief, till one of our sisters (it was the beloved Fran9oise Angdlique Priolo) approached, and, kissing her hand, said to her in a tone of tender admonition, in the words of the royal Psalmist, My soul, will you not be subject unto God? Fiat roluntas tua, replied Mary Beatrice in a voice stified~with slabs; then advancing towards the choir, she said in a firmer tone: Help me, my sisters, to thank my God for his mercies to that blessed spirit who is, I believe, rejoicing in his beatitude. Yes, I feel certain of it in the depth of my grief. The abbess told her she was happy in having been the wife of such a holy prince. Yes, answered the queen, we have now a great saint in heaven. Indeed, James died, as he had lived in his later years, in the most fervent spirit of piety, with forgiveness on his lips towards all whom he considered his ene- mies, and with messages of love for his daughters, whom he might be excused for regarding as unnatural children. There is no reason to doubt that his Catholicism was sincere, since he sacrificed everything on its behalf, and that his profession of religious toleration, although he endeav- oured to carry it into practice by uncon- stitutional means, was sincere also; but it was the toleration of an outlawed, not a dominant Church. So great was the im- pression which the piety of his latter days tnade upon the ecciesiastics around hint, and so strong was the conviction at Rome that he had lost his crown from his attach- ment to Catholicism, that there was some thought at one time of his being made a saint in the calendar. After the death of her husband, Mary Beatrice resolved to wear mourning for the rest of her life, and ever after she ap- peared in black. As the grief of this at- tached wife subsided into something like calm regret, the life of the dark old chateau assumed the gayest aspect which it knew during the time of its Stuart occu- pation. Mary Beatrice, as regent, and the mother of her son, shook off her natural aversion to politics, and carried on the negotiations with the Jacobite party; and as her son was as yet too young to be en- gaged in perilous expeditions, the heart of the tnother was at peace for a while. The young prince and princess, both attractive in form and face, engagin0 in ma nuers, and gay and sportive in tastes, filled the gloomny chflteau with the light of their joy- ous and advancing youth, and the glades of the forest rang often with their laugh- ter and were witnesses of their sports. The happy children forgot their exiled lot, and made a little Arcadia around them. Fromn the pages of the inimitable and gay Hamilton we learn that in the spring and summer the young prince and his sister exercised their fancies incessantly in the invention of some new sylvan pastime. Now they led their little court into the depths of the forest in search of wild flowers and strawberries; now they de- signed little pilgrimages on foot to some shrine or chapel withiu walk of the palace, ~TIE STUARTS AT ST. GERMAINS. 5 car~ying with them some light refreshment instructed that the interests of her son on which they could picnic in the forest forbade any such seclusion, arid she re- on their return; now they floated along a mained at the dreary palace alone. The joyous party on the bosom of the Seine, cares of her position were, however, im- and they never forgot in the month of mense. From the time of her arrival in June to make a party among the hay- France, her pension, to which she was en- makers, when the princess and her gov- titled from England by her marriage-con- erness, Lady Middleton, made rival hay- tract and in right of her dowry. was cocks against the Duchess of Berwick and stopped, and the money retained by Wil- her friends. Once we read of both prince ham of Orange, while she became a pen- and princess dancing among the masquer- sioner on the bounty of France; her pen- aders admitted to the terrace on Shrove sion, moreover, in the latter part of the Tuesday; and in winter the courts of St. reign of Louis was irregularly paid, and Germains and Versailles exchanged balls she was literally eaten up by the swarm of and receptions. starving English Jacobites who had plant- Often must the prince, in his after life ed themselves to the number at first of of disappointed hopes, when he was an ex- twenty-thousand on the bounty of the ex- ile even from St. Germains, have looked iled monarch, and were for ever clamour- back to this merry time, when even the ing for relief at St. Germains. The dis- widowed queen forgot her grief for a while tress of the queen became so severe that in smiles at the gay fancies of her son and she sold her jewels, with the exception of the charming dau~,hter who passed away the ring with which she bad been married in the springtime of life. But this happy and one other. While her compassion for period was of short duration. The prince the staiwing people around her was so was barely twenty when he was called to great that she sometimes rated her lady place himself at the head of his first Jaco- of the household for giving her too expen- bite expedition to Scotland; and from that sive a diet for dinner. She used to stint time the unhappy queen knew no more of herself in necessaries, look jealously to the the tranquil delights of maternity. Soon wear of her shoes and gloves, and ran in after the princes return from this his first, debt to the nuns of Chaillot for the rent unfortunate essay to regain the throne of of her apartments, in a sum which it does his ancestors, both he and his sister were not appear was ever paid. The death of taken ill with the small-pox; and the her protector Louis XIV. added another blithe-hearted and unfortunate young shade of gloom to her desolate existence.. princess, the delight of her mothers heart, She was, too, in her latter years much and the joy of the French as well as of the afflicted by recurring crises of a painful English inhabitants of St. Germains, was disease, that of cancer, to which she finally taken suddenly away. Then followed the succumbed. it was, indeed, a release from Peace of Utrecht, by the conditions of a life of pain when she died on the 7th of which Louis was constrained to deny him- May, 1718. self the privilege of any longer giving ref- The mother of the Regent, well known uge to the prince, who now began to be for her caustic turn of speech, had nothing called the Pretender; and from that time but good to say of Mary of Modena. the unhappy queen remained virtually childless as well as a widow, and saw her I write to you with a troubled heart, and beloved son but twice more in the course all yesterday I was weeping. Yesterday morn.. of her life. ing about seven oclock the good, pious, and She yearned now desperately to bury I virtuous queen of England died at St. Germains. her sorrows entirely in the convent of She must be in heaven. She left not a dollar for herself, but gave away all to the poor, main- Chaillot, where she spent regularly some taming many families. She never in her life months of every year, finding in her inti- did wrong to anyone. If you were about to tell Ii)ate communion with the inmates of the a story of anybody, she would say, If it be any house infinitely more pleasure than in the ill, I beg you not to relate it to me. I do not mock state of St. Germains; but she was like stories which attack the reputation. THE STUARTS AT ST. GERMAINS. As for her manner it is sufficient to re- be the centre of Jacobite intrigue. There call the expression of Lonis to his Court was, however, one project entertained by as she was leaving Versailles on her first Mary Beatrice which was achieved in the visit: See what a queen should be. year after her death, and this was the mar- Her mien, says Saint-Simon, was the riage of her son, about which she occupied noblest, the most majestic, and imposing herself for two years. The prince was in the world, but it was also sweet and thirty years of age at her death, and his modest. followers naturally objected to risk their Up to the date of the French Revolution, lives for a cau~e which might terminate even when the last heirs of the House of with himself. But it was not easy to find Stuart were excluded from France and a fittin~ wife for a disinherited prince of dwelt in Italy, the state-apartments of the such pretensions. A first attempt had chateau of St. Germains were kept up as been made to obtain as a partner for him they were inhabited by James and Mary, his cousin the daughter of Rinaldo dEste, and the decendants of the old Jacobite who had become Duke of Modena on the attendants of the exiled family oocupied death of the brother of Mary Beatrice; the rest of the palace. A lady, herself but the project was defeated by the in- descended from one of these, gave the fluence bron~ht to bear on the Modenese following account to Miss Strickland of Court by the House of Hanover. A see- the chateau as she remembered it before ond project of marriage was more success- the French Revolution : ful, although here, too, the House of Han- I was a very young girl when I saw the over exerted all its influence to prevent castle of St. Germains. There were apartments the unions The child of another exiled there ~till occupied by the descendants of King race Clementina Sobieski, the grand- James household. Among these was my fathers daughter of the saviour of Vienna, con- aunt, Miss Plowden, niece to the [Earl of Staf- ceived a romantic passion for the heir of ford, and my mothers aunt, also an old maiden the house of Stuart, and the marriage lady, sister to my grandfather, Lord Dillon. took place by proxy; but the princess was The state rooms were kept up, and I remember unfortunately living under the protection being struck with the splendour of the silver of the Emperor Charles VI., and George ornaments on the toilette of the queen. At the L prevailed upon the Kaiser to exercise French Revolution all were plundered and de- his power for the prevention of the accom stroyed. plishment of the union. The bride of James It was, indeed, the last request of Mary Stuart, aware of the toils which were being of Modena before she died in 1718 to the set for her, escaped away secretly from Duke of Orleans, that the descendants of Olau, where she then was living, with the the faithful followers of the House of Stu- intention of joining her husband at Bo- art should be allowed to retain possession logna; but English spies were then on the of their apartments till the restoration of watch all over the continent, and at Inns- her son to his royal inheritance. So the pruck she was arrested and thrown into a old palace of the Valois and the Bourbon convent. All the diplomacy of England and afforded, by the generosity of the French Austria was then set in motion to annul the kinds; as Miss Strickland says, a shelter marriage. The emperor engaged to demand and a home to the last relics of the Jacob- from the Pope its dissolution, and in case ite party, and was a Jacobite Hampton of refusal the imperial troops were to in- Court on the banks of the Seine till the vade the States of the Church, while the great catastrophe of the French Revolu- English fleet should bombard Civita tion. Up to that period the chamber in Veechia. As for the princess herself, she which Mary of Modena died was kept in was destined to a convent for life. The precisely the same state in which it was daughter of the Sobieskis outwitted all the during her life. Her toilette-table, with diplomatists of Europe by escaping from all its plate and ornaments, and four wax the hands of her gaolers, and reaching the tapers in gilt candle-sticks, were set out prince at Bologna, where she was married daily for use, and the Jacobite colony still anew. Medals were struck in honour of continued to keep the anniversaries of the the marriage, one of which exhibited the [louse of Stuart, such as the 29th of May, head of the princess on the face, while on and the birthday of the young Pretender, the reverse there was a figure of the bride and that of his brother the Cardinal, with arriving at Rome (typified by the Coli bonfires and rejoicings. seum and other ruins) in a Roman trium After the death of Mary Beatrice, the phal car drawn by two steeds in full ca- Court of St. Germains, ceasing to he the reer, with the motto above, Partuna,n habitation of the Stuarts, it ceased also to causarnque sequor, and below the words THE STUARTS AT ST. GERMAIN~. 7 Deceptis custodibus, in allusion to her flight tion of its property at the Revolution; from Innspruck. yet its buildings were not destroyed by Not less connected with the history of the Revolution but by the first Napoleon. the Stuarts than the palace of St. (4cr- On the birth of the Prince of Rome, the mains is the convent of Chaillot, the docu- founder of the new Carlovingian dynasty ments of which are now in the archives of determined to honour the event by build- France, and have been largely employed ing a palace for the King of Rome, which by Miss Strickland in her life of Mary of should be of a grandeur commensurate Modena; these documents the Marchesa with his ambition, and which should if Campana proposes to publish in full. possible, outstrip Versailles. No site James II. in his later years made fre- seemed to offer such advantages as the quent pilgrimages to the monastery of heights of Chaillot, in front of the Champs La Trappe, led thither partly by his de- de Mars, which commanded a view not sire for religious meditations, and partly only of Paris but of the windings of the by the affection and esteem which he felt Seine as far as St. Cloud and St. Ger- for the Abbd de Raucy, the converted gal- mains; and so the whole of the conventual laut and courtier, who was also the especial structures, chapel, and out-buildings were object of administration of Saint-Simon. So levelled to the ground, the gardens too the Queen loved to retire durin~ the ab- broken up, and the work commenced. seuce of James and after his death at fixed The stupendous fabric which he thus in- periods every year to the convent of Chail- tended to raise was of course never reared. lot. She had her own apartments there al- The foundations fell into ruins before the ways preserved for her, which Louis XIV. walls began to be erected, and the very had taken care to furnish; she lived in terms hill itself was almost removed at the time of affectionate familiarity with the nuns of the International Exhibition of 1867.* of the convent, making them confidants of Several catalogues are in existence of the her joys and her sorrows, and recalling pictures and works of art of the convent, the dreams of her youthful novitiate at from which it would appear that the es- Modena. Thus it is from the reports of tablishment was a veritable museum of re- the sisters of conversations taken from lics of the last three or four generations of her lips, and from her correspondence with the Stuarts. There were various portraits the inmates of the monastery, that the of members of the Stuart family, be~in- documents iu the Archives de France are ning with the Queen of Charles I.; and the composed. fine library contained likewise a mass of The convent of the Visitation at Chaillot Stuart records, a good part of which have was founded by Henrietta Maria, daugh- perished or been dispersed in the French ter of Henri IV. and queen of Charles Revolution. I.; in these walls she too had found a Another establishment hardly less in- congenial retreat from the sorrows of her teresting for its connection with the Stu- later years, and finally she left her heart art dynasty is the Scotch College in Paris, to the society. There was thus a peculiar in the Rue Foss6s Saint Victor. It was propriety in the convent becomin,, the ref- founded in 1325 by David, Bishop of Mo- uge of the griefs of Mary Beatrice, when ray; but its chief benefactor was James she could escape from the hollow mockery Beaton, the Catholic Archbishop of Glas- of empty state which surrounded her at gow, who, in the days of Mary Stuart and St. Germains. The nuns who sought re- James VI. of Scotland, was ambassador at treat here were members of the noblest the court of France. In the latter part of families of France, sprung from such fain- his life he took refuge in Paris from the ilies as the Montmorencies, the La Fay- stirring scenes which accompanied the up- ettes, the Ventadours, and the Gramonts. rise of Calvinism in Scotland. The Scotch It was at Chaillot that Madame de la College became the object of his chief Valli~re sought refuge at the time of her care; he deposited there not only a mass first escape from court, and here that Col- of ancient documents and papers relating bert came to recall her to court, at a time to the history of Scotland which he had when the duties of a minister of France brought over with him, but at his death included the management of the kings he left the college the whole of his posses- mistresses; the King of France, the sions. The exiled race of the Stuarts princes of the blood, court nobles, cardi- nals, and archbishops were among its fre- It was, too, on the heights of Chaillot that quent visitors. No vestige of the convent Henri III. reined in his horse in his flight from Paris on the day of the Barricades, and, looking now remains, since it suffered the fate of hack over the city which he had loved so deeply, all conventual institutions in the confisca- shook his hand at it with imprecations. 8 ,TIIE STITARTS AT ST. GERMAINS. finding in Paris the repository of the land in all that relates to the Navy from Catholic relics of Scotland, confided here 1660 to 1673; and before his dethrone- such papers and documents as they wis~s- ment he had progressed considerably in ed to preserve, and left also to it, in token his design of writing the history of his of affection, some portion of their bodily own life. Amid all the oversights nd remains. The University of Glasgow and negligences of the bewildered king, after the Advocates Library at Edinburgh still the news of the landing of the Prince of possess authenticated copies, made in 1771, Orange reached his ears, there was one of the Scottish charters and other docu- subject about which his solicitude was ex- ments which were preserved here. Some cessive, and that was his papers. In the of the charters having relation to lands midst of the whirlwind of revolt he might granted by the kings to the Archbishops lose his head and throw the Great Seal of Glasgow go back to the be~innin~ of the of England into the river, but his journals 14th ccntury. There was also a large he enclosed in a casket and confided to collection of original letters of Mary Queen Torriesi, Minister of Tuscany, with such of Scots, together with her will and codi- pressing recommendations, that the Italian cii written on the eve of her dbath. There diplomatist thought he was entrusted were moreover four volumes in folio of with the diamonds of the crown, and took papers, richly bound, all written by James charge of the deposit with corresponding II., containing his memoirs, beginnin with solicitude; after which the papers went the imprisonment of his father, and contin- the round of Europe, guarded with as jeal- ned to the year 1698. These historical ous care as if their weight were made up records were dispersed at the time of the of diamonds and rubies. French Revolution. A resident at the During these days of tumult the resi- Scotch Colle~e wrote to the Gentlemans dence even of an ambassador was not re- Magazine~~ in 1798, giving some account spected, and the house of the Tuscan of the manner in which this took place: Minister was sacked; but he managed to During our stay at the Scotch College it save the precious trust of the king from was decreed that the books of the library the general ravage of his mansion. He should be sold. The Vandals who had contrived to embark the sacred deposit on the direction of this aflhir were so little board a ship sailing for Leghorn, where acquainted with the value of this kind of it arrived safely, notwithstanding the risk objects, that the most precious manuscripts which the suspicion of its incalculable val- were sold by the hundredweight and de- no caused it to incur. At Leghorn two livered to the flames. Many of the pris- Tuscan galleys were appointed to convey oners took a share of the plunder. it to France, where it reached the hands The Abbl Paul Macpherson, afterwards of the author; and never hardly can it rector of the English College at Rome, be supposed that the MS. of even a royal was, by the aid of Alex~ nder Innes, the author was guarded with such jealous last Englishman who remained in the care. Scotch College, able, it appears, to save Some months before his death James the papers of Archbishop Beaton, and to addressed the following letter to the prin- make a selection of the rest of the histori- cipal of the Scotch College at Paris : cal documents preserved in the College James H. by the grace of God, & c. library; and it is perhaps from this source To our faithful and well loved M. Lewis that a number of letters of Mary Stuart, Innes, almoner of the Queen, our very dear part of the Beaton collection, and a mass spouse, and principal of our Scotch College at of other documents, came to the hands of Paris, greetIng. Dr. Kyle, the late Catholic Archbishop Being well persuaded that there is no place of Glas ow, fro in whom they passed to his where the original memoirs written by our successor. It is, however, undoubtedly hands can be in greater safety than in our from the. ancient collection of the Scotch Scotch College at Paris, where the kings our College that the Prince Labanoff acquired predecessors have already deposited several im- the considerable mass of unedited corre- portant pieces which have been preserved with spondence of Mary Queen of Scots of the greatest care, we have judged it fitting to which he has made use in his volumes, charge you with the preservation of the. above- Of all this collection the autograph me- named GririnsI memoirs, which will be deposited in the archives of our said Scotch College at moirs of James II. have, however, gone Paris, to remain there as a proof of our confi- through the most curious adventures. dence in and affection for the College. This James II. was fond of writing. lie even present is to serve with you and with your suc- published a book, while yet Duke of York, cessors for an authorizition sufficient for the re- called the Memoirs on the Affairs of Eng- taming of the above-named deposit. THE STUARTS AT ST. GERMAINS. 9 Given at our Court at Saint-Germain-en-Laye, the 24th of March, 1701, and the seventeenth of our reign. For the King, CARYLL. In the year 1707 James III., the Pre- tender, evinced, by a letter also addressed in his name by the same secretary, Caryll, to Mr. Innes, equal solicitude for the safety of the papers. After reciting that the memoirs of the late king had been de- posited in the archives of the Scotch Col- loge, and directing that they never should be removed without the orders of the king himself, Mr lanes was authorized to de- liver the portion of the memoirs relating to the year 1678 and the following years to certain persons at St. Gerinains, to be named by the king, to be inspected and then returned to the archives. In 1771 a letter of Alexander Gordon, the principal of the college, testifies to the care with which these documents were kept, and that no copy was allowed to be taken of them without the authorization of their proprietor. The papers were well preserved up to the time of the French Revolution. At the be~inning of this movement Lord Cower, British Ambassador, before qutt- ting Paris, proposed to Alexander Gordon, the principal of the college above men- tioned, to take charge of the manuscripts of King James, and to place them in safety somewhere in England. For some reason or other the proposition was not accepted. A little time afterwards Mr. Gordon, alarmed at the succession of visits paid to him and his college by the revolutionary chiefs, left Paris hastily. Lie gives sotne account of the events leading to his de- parture in a letter dated September 2, 1722, and adddressed to a friend: Would you believe that the 18th of August, the Scotch College was invaded twice by armed forces, and that the first time I was taken by four national guards to the section, in order to get me to take the new oath, which I absolutely refused to do. I consented to swear that I would undertake nothing against their liberty. equality, property (?) saying that was all I could promise. I quit Paris for some time. Before leaving the college, however, the principal confided the charge of it to Alexander lanes, a nephew of the former Abb6 Inues, the only Englishman then re- muining in the building. At the same period a Catholic priest named Stapleton, principal of the English College at St. Omer, and afterwards Catholic bishop in England, having paid a visit to Paris be- fore leaving France, was consulted by Mr. lanes as to the best way of taking care of the manuscripts of James II. Mr. Staple- ton was of opinion that if he could have them sent to St. Otner he could from thence pass them over to England with little risk. The papers were then des- patched to a French gentleman, a friend of Mr. Stapletons, in a parcel by a public con- veyance, and they all arrived safely to their destination. After which these an- oust documents underwent a series of fresh experiences till they finally perished. The French gentleman to whom they were en- trusted called Charpentier by Lord Holland in his preface to the History of England by Fox appears to have been really named M. Carpentier Lemaire, ad- ministrator of the district of St. Omer in 1793, who had several sons educated in the English College. He was arrested during the epoch of the Terror; and his wife be- ing left alone with these huge folio~, richly bound, with royal arms on the covdrs, in which the flours do [t,s of France were mixed with the emblems of England, be- came terribly fri~,htened at the thought of their bein~ discovered in her house, so she stripped the binding off the volumes and burnt the covers with her own hands. The manuscripts themselves she carried. off to St. Momelin, near St. Omer. where her husband had a country-house, and buried them in the garden. She did not, however, leave them there long. Her terror of royalist papers would not let her rest, so she dug them up again and burnt them altogether. Posterity, however, is in some measure compensated for the loss of those porten- tous documents by the abridgment which was made of them by the Abbe Innes, to whom the letters above cited were ad- dressed, and which forms part of the Stuart Papers at Windsor, and is the basis of the work of Dr. Clarke. This abridgment, it is supposed, was begun at the command of James II., and concluded. under the directions of James III.; and the note addressed to the Abbd Innes above referred to bore relation to the com- pletion of this abridgment. This abridg- ment itself forms several volumes, and was carefully preserved by the descend- ants of the Stuarts. At the death of Charles Edward, the young Pretender, they passed into the hands of the Abb6 Waters, Vicar-General of the En0lish Benedictines at Rome, who gave them up to the Prince Regent for a life pension; and the manuscripts were confided by the Prince Regent, for the purpose of publica- tion, to Dr. Clarke. Accordin0 to another 10 THE STUARTS AT ST. GERMAINS. version, however, accredited by the of them found their way into the library Quarterly Review of December, 1816, of Windsor Castle, and the story of t~e attributed to Mr. Dennistoun, the papers in way in which they arrived there was told question were confided to Father Waters by the late Mr. Woodxvard in the Gentle- by the Duchess of Albany to be delivered mans Magazine for February, 18J6. to Henry Benedict, Cardinal of York, and A certain Dr. Watson, who occupied Father Waters, who died immediately himself with hunting after Stuart relics after payment of the first instalment of in Italy, found a collection of papers at his pension, betrayed his trust in so dis- Rome in the garret of the Monserrato posing of them. They left Civita Vecchia 2alace, exposed to the air and the ravages in 1813, and Dr. Clarkes book was pub- of rats. The Abbate Lupi then possessed lished in 1816. them. They had been confided to Lupi by henry Benedict who, after the stir- one Monsignore Tassoni, who was the testa- ring adventures of a military youth, had mentary executor of Monsignore Cesarini taken refuge in the bosom of~the Church this last being the executor of the Car- found at Rome plenty of leisure for de- dinal of York. voting himself to the collection of me- Lupi, who had no notion of the value of morials of his fallen house. His museum the papers, with the permission of Tassoni, was composed of sceptres, crowns, jewels, sold them to Watson for 170 piastres. and decorations, the veil which Mary Watson, who was overjoyed with his por- Stuart had woven with her own hands chase, went about Rome vauntin~ the and worn on the scaffold, and a mass-book, value of his papers, and the money he illuminated with miniatures, which had would get for them from the Prince Re- belon~ed to the Princess Sobieska, and gent. This talk came to the ears of C~r- which the Prince left to George IV.; it is dinal Consalvi, who had been on intimate now in the library at Windsor . The terms with the Regent, and would gladly Cardinal, moreover, had caused his own seize any opportunity of rendering him life to be writen by his secretary, and this any obliging service. They dealt in those MS. is, it is believed, now in possession days as summarily in Rome in the matter of the Earl of Orford, while other Stuart of works of art as in other matters, and documents are also preserved in the semi- Consalvi summoned Dr. Watson to give nary of Frascati, where he had a villa. up the documents, and, on Watsons re- The Cardinal died in 1897, and at his fusal, put seals upon his rooms and senti- death all these family relics and papers nels at his door. In the end, the papers were scattered in different directions. were seized, and sent off in five large His last will was dated 1802, and the chests to the palace of the Governor of whole of his property was left upon trust Rome. The Cardinal offered to give back to Monsi~,nore Angelo Cesarini. The Watson his 170 piastres, but the latter re- trust upon which this property was left fused; and Consalvi, having heard already was disclosed to Cesarini by the last what interest the Prince Recent had at- Stuart on his death-bed; and Cesarini set tached to the papers he had received from down the nature of the trust in a sealed the Benedictine Waters, offered these ad- paper, which was not to be opened during ditional ones to the Prince, who accepted the lifetime of the Countess of Albany, them with many expressions of obligation. nor before certain property in Mexico had But the unfortunate Watson, who certain- been disposed of. This deed was signed ly had the merit of having unearthed the in 1898, and Monsigpore Cesarini died not documents, followed theni to England, bog after; the second condition upon and addressed the Regent with the story which the sealed paper was to be opened of his wrongs. The Prince ordered a sum was not fulfilled, even in 1831, but, on the of 5001. to be given to him. This the authority of the Pope, the seals were doctor refused; he claimed 3,0001., and re- broken, and it was found that the sole fused all compromise. The ill-starred man, heir of the last Stuart was the Propaganda sixteen years later, in 1835, put an end to at Rome. There was a certain fitness in his existence by hanging himself in the this the heir of the last Stuart was that Blue Anchor Tavern, St. Mary-at-Hill, Catholic Church for the sake of which the Thames Street. family had lost a throne. The history which the Marchesa Cam- The papers and memoirs, however, of ipana gives of her indefatigable searchings the Cardinal of York had been very and investigations on the track of Stuart loosely kept. They had been stowed documents form the most interesting por- away in garrets, and exposed to all kinds tion of her introduction to the documents of damage and depredation. A portion themselves; and in many cases the whole THE STUARTS AT ST GERMAINS. ii result of her researches was the knowledge the Convent of the English Benedictines, that nothing was discoverable with respect since the holders of the papers were afraid to the object in view. She has, for exam- of their being stopped at the gates of pie, been at great pains to discover the Paris. papers and documents which Mary Bea- What has become of all these papers? trice left behind her at St. Germains in Nothing leads us to imagine that they ever 1718, but without success. There can be came to the hands of Jimes III., and 1)ic- no doubt that the quantity of correspond- conson died at St. Germains in 1742. The ence and docnr~ents left behind her by the Marchioness Cainpana has made researches exiled queen, who was for many years re- in vain at St. Germains, at Versailles, at garded as the hea4 of the Jacobite party, Paris, and at Windsor, and has found no mnst have been very gre it, and much trace of them. The history of one cnn- curious matter was nudoubredly contained ous document which was assuredly among among them; but all have been scattered, them is sufficient to prove that the papers in spite of the precautions taken for their fell into the hands of persons i0norant of preservation by the Pretender. their character, and have either been de- When the queen died, her son James stroyed or dispersed at random. In the III. was at Urbino, from which place he British Museum is to be seen a pocket-. sent minute instrubtions for the arrange- book which belonged to the Duke of Mon- ment of the papers of his deceased moth- mouth, and which was seized npon his en. person after the battle of Edgemoor; some 1. All the papers in the handwriting of handwriting of James II. was in the vol- James III., the Duke of Mar, Mr. Nainne, nine testifying to its authenticity. It con- and Mr. Patterson, were to be placed care- tains a medley of notes, memoranda, ad- fully in a chest withont being read, ex- dresses, medical receipts, prayers, English cept so far as sufficed to verify the hand- and French songs, extracts from the his- writing, and sealed with the seals of the tory of En.,land, remarks on Holland, and four persons nopointed for this purpose charms 0ains t sorcery. Dicconson men- (the Earl of Middleton, lord high chancel- tions this pocket-book as having been br of the deceased queen; Mr. Sheldon, found among the papers of the queen, but her vice-chamberlain; the General Dillon; its history can be traced no further back and Mr. Dicconson, her treasurer), and than to a bookstall in Paris, at which it was confided to the care of Messrs. Sheldon purchased by an Irish student, from whom and Dicconson. it passed through several hands to the 2. All the State papers were to be cata- British Museum. The story of the Duke logued, the catalogue sent to James III., of Monmouths pocket-book is sufficiently and confided likewise to the care of Messrs. convincing of the haphazard way in which Sheldon and Dicconson. the documents must have been scattered 3. All financial documents were to be about, and the probability that they have treated in the same way. for the most part perished. 4. The correspondence of Mary Beatrice Immediately after the queens death, was not to be read at all, but placed in a however, some portions of her papers had separate chest, and consigned in the same been extracted from her cabinet, and that way, except the papers of the queen relat- surreptitiously through the instrumentality ing to matters of devotion, which were to of the English ambassador, Lord Stair, be confided to Father Gaillard. who had in his pay one Higgons, the 5. All the documents in cypher were to brother of Sir Thomas Higgons, the secre- be deposited with General Dillon. tary of the Pretender. Lord Stair, it will 6. The four dele0ates above named be remembered, kept a watchful eye on were to make an inventory of all the the court of the Jacobites, and once nearly books, furniture, jewels, plate, articles of succeeded in kidnapping the Pretender, toilet, carriages, and other property of the when the young prince, having been for- late queen. bidden France, came in disguise to pay a After the lapse of two years, Dicconson visit to his widowed mother at the con- became the sole depositary of the papers vent of Chailbot. A letter in the Public and documents of Many Beatrice, and the Record Office, addressed by Lord Stair to last account we have of them is in a letter Craggs, the Secretary of State, and addressed by him to James III., in which printed by the Marchioness Campana, he states that he holds the documents still shows that he had just succeeded in get- at the disposal of the king, but that he ting hold of two letters, and it is of course had nop been able, as doubtless he had probable he obtained more. been commanded to do, to deposit them at I Mr. Dennistoun, in the article of the 12 THE STUARTS AT ST. GERMAINS. Quarterly above mentioned, signalized ant they were offered to the Eglish the existence of another set of Stuart Government under Lrrl Grey for the Papers, which he calls the Malatesta sum of 1,0001. This offer was declined by Papers, and which appear also to have the Government but accepted by a book- come down from the coflecton of the seller of London of the name of Thorpe, Cardinal of York, and to have formed who sold them in detail at a considerable part of the documents in the possession profit, and a portion of these papers was of his testamentary executor, Monsignore purchased by the Royal Academy of Dub- Cesarini, one of whose nieces, a joint un. heiress with her sister, married the Comte Private collections of Stuart documents Sigismund Malatesta. These papers had are also not wanting in England, and have already begun to be dispersed by sale been laid under corftribution by the when Mr. Dennistoun found them. He Marchesa, who gracefully acknowledges succeeded, however, in purchasing a long her obligations to Sir Charles Murray, letter of James III., addressed to the our minister at Lisbon, Lord Stanley of Princess Sobieska. This was in 1815-46, Alderley, Ger~ral Craufurd and Sir but we find in this preface evidence that Charles Dilke, who possesses a collection in 1817 a collection of pictures, papers, of Caryll Papers, coming down from books, en~ravings, and bronzes, Which Caryll, the secretary of James II. and the belonged to the Cardinal of York, were friend of Pope. Italy naturally has fur- at a villa Muti, called Malatesti at nished no small proportion of these docu- Frascati, and of these nothing now re- ments; and first in importance comes the mains. However, the palaces of the great library of the Vatican, from which Cardinal of York, both at Rome and at have been taken the briefs of the Popes Frascati, were pillaged during the time of and the letters of the Stuarts addressed to the French invasion, and after this loss of the Pontiff, and the correspondence of property the last of the descendants of the Papal nuncio, Adda, whose presence James 11. before his death accepted peen- in England was almost as fatal to James niary aid of George III. II. as that of Peters, and which h~is in Another collection of Stuart Papers part been drawn upon by Mackintosh and remained in the hands of Sir David Macaulay. At Florence the archives of Nairne, secretary successively t James the Medici have been ransacked. The II. and James Iii. After the death of Grand Duke Como III. was much at Sir D. Nairne, they come in some mysteri- tached to the Stuarts, and the despatches ous way into the hands of Carte, the of his ambassadors, especially those of historian, and from him they passed to the Terriesi, who lent his carriage to the University of Oxford, and are now in the Queen Mary Beatrice on the night of her Bodleian, and a large number of these e~cape from Lambeth with the Prince of pieces was published by Macpherson in Wales. The Tuscan ambassadors at Paris, his two quarto volumes of ori~inal papers. moreover, Ricasoli, Delbene, and inferior Besides these, there are the Leeds. agents were in constant intercourse with Papers, coming from the Dake of Leeds, the Court of St. Gerrnains, and purvey- formerly Lord Danby and Lord Godol- ors of Stuart news to the Grand Duke. phin, and a mass of documents in the No Italian archives, however, are more Record Office. Trinity Colle~,e also, and rich in Stuart papers than those of the Royal Academy at Dublin, possess Modena, the seat of the family of the many valuable Stuart documents. With Queen, with the members of which she respect to Ireland, one curious collection was in constant intercourse. The brother of Stuart Papers was allowed to be of Mary of Modena especially remained dispersed in our own time. These were throughout life on the most affectionate papers of James II., of Tyrconnel, and terms with his sister till his premature other Jacobites, seized among the baggage death in 1091, and was ever in close cor- of the vanquished army after the battle respondence, and Rizzini, the Modenese of the Boyne. This collection must, from minister at Versailles, gives the most the catalogue of them still extant, have intimate details extant of the inner life been extremely curious, and contained the of the Court of St. Germains. The zeal history of the secret hopes and inachina- 4 the compiler has led her not to neglect tions of the Jacobites in the three Kin - ~ither Turin, Venice, or Geneva, and the doins, and the plans of the cabinet of I Imperial archives of Vienna have furnished Versailles. William of Orange placed a rich collection of papers containing the these papers in the hands of his secretary, correspondence of the Imperial aruhassa- Sir Robert Southwell, by whose descend- dor, Hoffmann, during the years 1688~1689 THE STUARTS AT ST. GERMAINS. 13 who gave a most circumstantial account widowed queen, and the Jacobite exiles, of t~e dvents which he witnessed during who all dreamed of an impending restora- the Revolution of 1688. tion, decided to disobey the kings injunc- From Spain we are promised the corn- tions in this respect, and the body, en- picte collection of th.e correspondence of closed in several coffins, was deposited, Ronquillo, the Spanish ambassador in unburied, in the Church of the English England with the Spanish ambassador at Benedictines, to await its further transia- Rome a correspondence, by the way, tion to the Chapel of henry VII. in West- wholly distinct from that already used by minster Abbey. The body of the Princess Mackintosh and Macaulay, and which is Louisa was also placed there near that of that which passed between Ronquillo and her father. The king died on the 16th of the Court of Spain. September, 1701, after having received, as But of all foreign countries, the richest is well known, a visit from Louis XIV., in Stuart papers is France. Of the who undertook to recognize his son, and French collections, the Marchesa Campana took leave of him with tears, saying that declares the mo:t curious portion to be he was the most virtuous and the most the correspondence of Renaudot, a secret outraged of monarchs. His body lay in political agent in corre~9ondence with all state in the same chamber in which he the princes of Europe and all the leading died. The offices for the dead were chant- Jacobites in the interest of the Stuart ed, and mass performed for a night and a cau5e. and also that of Colonel Ilooke, a day. The body was then opened and em- Jacobite agent for ever en route between balmed, and in the evening carried in pro- the Highlands and St. Germains. More- cession followed by the Duke of Berwick, over, the Marchesa, not content with hay- the Earl of Midileton, and other officers ing thus laboriously and patiently exam- of the court, and some priests in two med all the archives of Europe in the carria~es to Paris. The mourning proces- search after Stuart memorials, has expend- sion was escorted by royal gardes de corps ed such an amount of zeal - in the hunt carrvinc~ wax torches, and the road was after their bodily remains as we should lined with spectators. imagine has rarely been displayed even The funeral train halted at Chaillot to by a devotee of saintly relics; but she has deposit the heart of the king, and then met with small success. proceeded to the Benedictine Convent, To understand the way in which the re- where the deceased kings almoner, the mains of the Stuarts were scattered about, Abb6 Ingleton, delivered the coffin to the it is necessary to recall the strange practice prior, with a Latin speech, to which the which existed in for~ner times, in the case prior replied in the same tongue. The of eminent people, of directin~ by will that body was placed in the chapel of Lord certain portions of their bodies removed Cardigan, and shut off from the church in the process of embalmment, some of by an iron grating. A metal plate on the which, such as the brain and the heart, coffin was inscribed thus: were styled the noble portions, should Ici est le corps du tr~s haut, tr~s puissant, be extracted and left as legacies to the et tr~s excellent prince Jacques ii., par La grace various convents, churches, and institutions deDieu, Roy de la Grande Bretagne, n6 le 24 for which they felt affection. Such dispo- Octobre 1633, d6c~de en France an chiXean de sitions were made by James II. and Mary Saint Germain-en-Laye, le 16 Septembre 1701. Beatrice, and in the case of the Princess Louisa, we suppose, were directed by her This Benedictine convent, founded at mother. Consequently, the hearts of Paris under the regency of Anne of Au~- father, mother, and daughter were depos- tria, was, like all other convents, suppress- ited in the convent of Chaillot, the brains ed at the French Revolution, and what and lungs were to be given to the parish remains of the old building has been church of St. Germains, and the remainder transformed into a school. The body of of the interiors of the bodies were left to James of course shared the same fate as the Scotch College. While the bodies the other bodies of royal personages at that themselves were, in the case of the de- time, amid a curious piece of evidence has - posed king and princess, placed in the been published by Mr. Oliver coming English Benedictine Convent in the Fan- from an eyewitness who was a prisoner in bourg Saint Jacques, that of the queen the convent at the time the body was torn was buried in the convent of Chaillot. out of its coffin. This evidence was taken James II., indeed, had directed that his from an old Irishman, who testifies to the body should be buried in the parish church curious state of preservation of the body where he died. But Louis XIV., his when uncovered. 14 THE STUARTS AT ST. GERMAINS. I was a prisoner in the convent of English Benedictines, Rue du F~ubourg Saint Jacques, in company with the prior, about 1793 or 1794. In one of the chapels of the church the body of King James had been deposited, waiting to be translated to Westminster Abbey. It had never been interred, and was placed in a coffin of wood, enclosed in a first coffin of lead and a second of wood covered with black velvet. The sans culottes broke up the coffins to get out the lead to make bullets of it. The body remained exposed a whole day. It was bandaged, and looked like a mummy. When the saos culottes took it out it emitted a smell of vinegar and camphor, having been well embalmed. The state of preservation was perfect the hands and the nails very fine. I moved and bent ev- ery finger; I never saw finer teeth. A young lady, also a prisoner, wished to have one of the teeth, and I tried to take it out, but I could not, so firm was it. The feet also were in a good state. The face and the cheeks had not chanced. I tried to roll the eyes, and the balls were firm to my touch. The French and English prison- ers gave money to the sans culottes to get a sight of the body. These last said James had been a good sans cedotte, and he should be buried in a hole in the public cemetery like the other sans culottes. King George tried every means to find out where it was taken to, but could not do so. A mask of wax very like the face of the king was suspended to the wall of the chapel. The Benedictine Convent also contained a large collection of documents of the Stu- art family, including many autograph let. ters of James IT., Which also were dispersed or destroyed at the time of the French Revolution. The inner parts of the body of James II. were distributed as follows: his heart at Chaillot, his brain to the Scotch College, while his entrails were di- vided between the English College at St. Omer and the parish church at St. Ger- mains. Of these remains only those of St. Gerrnains have escaped dispersion, and these were discovered in 1824 by the work- men engaged in digging the foundations. of a new church on the site of the older structure. We learn from an extract of the rejster of the Municipal Council that three leaden chests were thus found, one of which bore an inscription t.o the effect that within were contained a portion of the flesh and the noble parts of the body of the very powerful, very excellent prince Jacques Stuart, second of the name, Kin~ of Great Britain, with his arms at the foot of the inscription. The other chests contained the entrails of the Princess Louisa, his daughter, and of the queen, Mary Beatrice. The curious epitaph which, existed in the church of St. Germain-en- Laye ran in part thus : Regi Regum Felicique Memorim Jacobi H. Mijoris B ritannim Regis qui sua hic Viscera Condi voluit Conditus ipse in Visceribus Christi Fortitudine Belhica nulli secundus Fide Christians cui non part Propter alteram quid non passus? Illa plus quam heros Ista Prope Martyr Moritvr vt Vixit Fide Plenvs eoqve Advolat quo Fides Ducit vbi nihil Perfidia Potest There was another more brief inscrip- tion to the memory of James on the pave- ment in front of the altar, and also a short inscription in memory of his daughter : Viscera Ludovic~ Marim Filim Jacobi Secundi Magn~ Britannim Regis Consummata in Brevi Explevit Tempora Multa Dilecta Deo et Elominibus Annos nata Prope Viginti Abit ad Dominum die XVII Aprilis MDCCXVI As soon as Geor~e P7., who as we have seen always took interest in the relics of the House of Stuart, heard of this discov- ery, he instructed the English ambassador to collect these remains and to inter them provisionally with all possible pomp, and very shortly afterwards the ceremony took place. It is strange to think of the hon- our paid in a foreign land by a forei~n population to a few handfuls of the dust of a throneless English king and queen and their daughter. From the ~ Annual Register of 1824 we learn that early in the morning a crowd gathered together at St. Germains to behold the translation of these remains of James II., and that the roads were thronged with people on foot and in carriages. The ceremony com- menced with a procession of priests in full canonicals, who performed high mass in a temporary chapel erected for service dur- ing the building of the new church. The interior of the building and the doors were hung with black, and a coffin containing the royal relics was placed on a cata- faique in the form of a mausoleum and richly decorated with mourning drapery, and surmounted with a crown of gold placed on a cushion of black velvet and covered with a veil of black crape. At the end of the ceremony the coffin was carried in great pomp to the altar, beneath which it was deposited by the chief per- sons of the funeral. These consisted of THE STUARTS AT ST. GERMAINS~ 15 the English and Sardinian ambassadors the latter were present in the name of the King of Sardinia, as the nearest re- presentative of the Stuart line Marshal Macdonald, Duo of Otranto, the Abbe Duke de Melfort, and other members of the English and French nobility, and the life guards of the King of France received orders to render royal honours to the re- mains of James. It is, however, to our present Queen that the construction of the actual monu- macnt P5 the memory of James II. iii a chapel of the Church of St. Germains is due. At the time of her first visit to Paris she had herself seen that the provisional tomb of James II. was in a dilapidated state, and she ordered another one to be made at her own cost. This monument of simple and stately design is of lofty dimensions, somewhat like the doorway of a Grecian temple, with two col- umns, one on each side, and with two win s of lower elevation. On its apex is placed a small effigy of St. George and the Dra~on. Lower down on the architrave is an inscription which denotes in a mod- est way to whom the structure of. the tomb is due Regio Generi Pietas Regia Lower down still on the fa9ade are the royal arms of En~,land, and beneath them is the inscription Ferale quisquis hoc Monumentum Respicis Rerum Humnunarum Vices Meditare. Magnus in Prosperis, in Adversis Major Jacobus LI. Anglorum Rex Insignes ZErumnas Dolendaque Fata Pio Placidoque Obitu Exsolvit in hac urbe Die XVI Septembris an. MDCCI et Nobiliores quiedam Corporis ejus Partes hic recondite Asservantur. On the wings are two inscriptions in Latin verse. The monument cannot be com- pared for taste and elegance with that which is well known to every visitor to the great basilica of St. Peters at Rome, erected in memory of the three last Stuarts, whose bodies lay interred in the vaults below, and which was raised to the last representatives of this English royal race by the genius of Canova by order of George IV. Cauova, however, it should be known, received no remuneration for the work beyond the payment of the cost of materials, having made an offer to George IV. to erect it on these terms. There is something peculiarly inter- esting in thus seeing the sovereigns of the House of Hanover consecrating with worthy memorials the remains of the royal race of Stuart, whose throne they have occupied for 180 years. By a strange coincidence, indeed, the marriage of Mary of Modena made a new link of relationship between the House of Hanover and the last Smarts. The common ancestor of the family of Este and of the Houses of Brunswick and Hanover being, as is well known, Azzo dEste, Marquess of Tuscany and Li uria, who married the heiress of the princely Bavarian family of the Wolfs or Guelphs, and had by her two sons; the eldest of these settled in Germany and founded the German Houses of the line, whilst the youngest settled. in Italy, and his descendants became Dukes of Ferrara and Modena. Ferrara was subsequently, in 1598, on the death of Alphonso II., without issue, seized by the popes on the pretence that Ferrara was a fief of the empire, although Aiphonso had bequeathed the duchy to his kinsman Cesar dEste. The dEste family, however, continued to rule at Modena. The marriage of James II. with Mary of Modena made therefore, as we have said, a fresh link between the Stuarts and the House of Hanover, inde- pendently of that which existed already by reason of their common ancestry in James I. Another fact, less known, is that the nearest representative branches of the House of Stuart in the present day are the House of Savoy and the ex-ducal family of Modena, since the granddaughter of Charles I., the daughter of Henriette dAngleterre, married Victor Amadeus, Duke of Savoy and the King of Sardinia. The great-grandson of Victor Amadeus, Victor Emmanuel I., had no sons, but his eldest daughter married the Duke of Mo- dena, father of the present ex-duke Fran- cis V. Therefore were it not for the Rev- olution of 1688, the line of James II. being extinct, the title to the crown by the laws of succession would be in Francis V., and failing his line, in the House of Savoy. In- deed, the Cardinal of York, styled on the Stuart monument at St. Peters Henry IX., left at his death his right to the crown of England to the Duke of Savoy, his nearest relation in the Stuart line. When Mary of Modena died in 1718 the Regent of France gave orders for the cel- ebration of her funeral with honours befit- ting her~rank; and according to her own request her body was deposited in the chapel of the Convent of Visitation at Chaillot, in the seclusion which she had so often found a solace for the cares of exiled royalty, to await the time of her sons res- toration, when it was to be transported to 16 TIlE STUARTS AT ST. GEEMAINS. England together with the remains of her were finally arranged when the Empress husband and daughter. She desired, too, of Germany died suddenly, and Leopold that her heart and other parts of her body resolved himself to marry the affianced should remain there for ever by the side bride of the Duke of York. Henry Mor- of the hearts of her husband and daughter. daunt, Earl of Peterborou~h, who already and that of Henrietta Maria, wife of was en roWe for the Viennese capital as Charles I. proxy of the Duke, was stopped in time The report of the commissioners ap- by Sir Bernard Gascoigne, the British am- pointed by the city of Paris at the time of bassador at Vienna, to prevent his appear- the French Revolution to take an inven- ance at the Austrian Court; and the Earl tory of the property of the suppressed re- was instructed to choose a wife for the ligious houses, gives an account of the state Duke from a list of several princesses for- of the coffin of Mary Beatrice at that period, warded to him. Lord Peterborough, who and of the preservation of the hearts in had served under the Duke in the viciori- cases of silver (that of James II. was of ons naval fight of Solebay, and who con- silver gilt, presented by Louis XIV.); but sidered himself no mean judge of beauty, no further record has been found by the seems to have been determined to procure Marchesa Campana of the remains in spite for his royal friend, the most agreeable of inquiries in various~directions, including princess he could in the matter of per- excavations made on the site of the old sonal charms; he spared no pains or convent aud searches into the catacombs fatigue of travel, and exerted much diplo- themselves. ~.f body of the queen has matic skill for the accomplishment of the vanished as ~noie of James II. and his purpose. No less than ten ladies were daughter have vanished, and no earthly named, to whom the Duke might have the trace remains of the last king and queen houour of proposing. There was the of the Stuart line beyond the few ashes sister of the Emperor, the Duchess of gathered together at St. Germains, while Guise, a cousin of Louis XIV., the Prin- there is now not even an . inscription re- cess of Wurtemberg, the Princess of Neu- maining to mark the memory of Mary of bourg, two princesses dElbceuf of the Modeun, or that of her daughter. House of Lorraine, a daughter of the Of the documents themselves in these Duke of 1~etz, a princess of Spain, and volumes, the earliest, which relate to the two princesses of the house of Modena. marriage of Mary of Modena, afford oppor- Louis XIV., in pursuance of his scheme tunity for correcting in some particulars of keeping the Court of England and the former accounts; while the instructions I (lirection of its politics in his own power, given to Lord. Peterborough and his de- actively interested himself in the marriacre spatches pre~ent a curious specimen of projects of the Duke of York; and both diplomacy in the negotiation of a royal Charles and James were anxious to fix marriage, upon a person who should be pleasing to Iii less than a year after the death of the French King. The earl entrusted Anne Hyde, the Duke of York determined with these delicate negotiations has left an to remarry. his first choice had fixed it- account of his mission in the Mordaunt self upon Susanna Armine, widow of Sir Genealogies, which testifies to his appre- Henry Bellasys, who was a steadfast mem- ciation of its gravity. This was a great ber of the Church of England, and to trust, he writes, to the performance whom James had indeed given a written whereof were requisite both honour and promise of marriage. When the Kino- discretion. The first, to render uncon~ however, heard of his brothers design, h0e. sidered all the advantages which might be remonstrated with him, and told him proposed to bias the person trusted against sharply that it was intolerable that he the interest and satisfaction of his master; should think of phayin~ the fool again at and the latter to find out and judge what his a0e. The King was not prepared to might be most expedient and agreeable to see the heir to the throne make again such! his humour and circumstances. The Duch- a match as had seemed scandalous even to ess of Guise and the Princess of Wurtem- Clarendon in the case of his own dauo-h- I bero both resided in Paris, and were the ter, and therefore, seeino that Jamaes first pers bent on remarrying, looked out for a b;~e I on the list whose aptitudes He saw the Duchess of for him among the courts of Europe. The Guise at court, and the Princess of Wur- first person on whom his selection fell was temberg in the convent where she resided. the Archduchess of Inuspruck, cousin of Of all the ladies proposed, Lo~.is XIV. the Emperor, and a treaty was entered was most favourable to the choicc of the upon with a view to marriage. Matters Duchess of Guise; but the earl found hnr THE STUARTS AT ST. GERMAINS. ~17 to be low and ill shaped; and even the pears by letters published in these voL hope of obtaining the favour of the King nines, did not regard with much favour of France could not make him recommend the marriage with the Princess of Wur- the match. At this point, a portrait of temberg, and was bringing influence to the Princess Mary Beatrice of Modena, bear, most probably through the Dnchess which had been sent to her relative the of Portsmouth, to get the royal brothers Princess of Conti in Paris, was shown to to turn their attention to the Princess of him by a Scotch Catholic gentleman in Neubourg, whom he preferred after the Paris, for the Catholic world generally felt Duchess of Guise. The Earl of Peter- interested in getting the Duke married to borough then proceeded to Dusseldorf; a Catholic princess, in the hope of and contrived, while nominally preserving strengthening in England the interests of his incognito, to have an interview with their Church. The earl was enraptured the Duchess of Neubour~ and her dau0h- at the sight of the portrait, and fell in ter. He found the princess short and in- love with it by proxy. It bore the ap- chum0 to be fat, and there did not ap- pearance, he writes, of a young creature pear in her discourse that great genius for of fourteen years of age; but such a light business and conversation for which she of beauty. such characters of ingenuity has been praised sfnce she was called to and goodness, as convinced the earl that sit on the greatest throne of Europe. In he had found his mistress aiad the fortune fact, the report of the e~ rL~was unfavour- of England. The earl procured conse- able; but this unfavoura eport turned quently an interview with the Abb6 Riz- out to the ultimate advautage of the zini, who was minister for the House of princess, for, thou0h neglected by the en- Este at Paris; but on inquiring about the voy of the Duke of York, she subsequent- two marriageable Modenese princesses, ly married Jamess former successful rival, was informed that both ladies had de- Leopold I., on the death of his second wife, voted themselves to a religious life, and and so became Empress of Germany. The were determined not to marry. These mission of Peterborough was, however, circumstances being reported to the Duke, notwithstanding his incognito, perfectly the earl was directed to devote his atten- understood at the Court of Dusseldorf, tions to the Princess of Wurtemberg. and the reinembrande of his slight, the The father of the Princess of Wurtem- spretce mmcm formce, is believed to have ber0 had been killed in the serVice of remained with her through life, so that she France in the wars of Flanders, and she conceived a violent enmity for the Duke lived under the protection of the French of York, which she imparted to her bus- Kino. She was handsome and tall, with band, who always remained inimical to grey eyes and brown hair, in all the bloom the interest~ of James II. The earl hay- and health of youth and a good constitu- ing rendered his report from Cologne to tion; and the earl, in his first interview London, was now ordered back to the with her, was so charmed with her ap- Court of France, where directions should pearance and conversation, that it ap- be sent him to marry and bring home the peared to him that he could not see or Princess of Wurtemberg. The earl re- hear of anything more suited for the pur- turned to Paris in all haste, but unforta- pose of his mission always excepting the nately his haste now outran his discretion, young Priicess of Modena. which had hitherto been excellent; for, The earl sent over his report to London, doubting nothing, he alighted at the con- and was it~structed to see further the Prin- vent of the princess, and told her of his cess of Wurtemberg, and to 0ive expecta- instructions. The poor princess, an or- tions to her friends that the choice would phan in a strange country, was enjoyed at fall upon her. Iloxvever, a change came the news, and could not conceal her satis- over the counsels of Charles and James, faction at the prospect of so great an ole- and the marria~e-maker was instrncted to vation. But unfortunately for her pros- go incogeito to Dusseldorf and report upon pects, a complete change had come ovcr the Princess of Neubourg, who dwelt there, the decisions of Charles and James since the Duke of York further telling him that the despatches had been sent to their en- if he did not feel satisfied that (this latter voy at Cologne, and a messenger had been princess) was a person in mind and man- de-patched to meet and inform him of it, ners calculated to make him happy, he but had missed him on the way. The should have immediate orders to re.turn mortification of the lady was extreme, and and bring home the Princess of Wurtem- the earl himself so vexed that he ~durst hero not see her again. The envoy laid all The fact was that Louis XIV., as ap- tIme blame omi the intri0ues of the Duchess LIvING AGIt. voL. xxvii. 1252 STM THE STUARTS AT ST. GERMAINS. of Portsmouth; but it is evident from these letters that it was Louis XIV. him- self who opposed the elevation of the princess of WTurtember~,, and that to his suggestions were due the new directions to the earl to proceed to Modena. The Earl of Peterborough consequently proceeded to Italy, with not only full powers from Charles II. and the Duke .of York to conclude a marriage with the Princess Mary Beatrice, but backed by all the authority of Louis XIV., whose am- bassador was instructed to assist him in every way possible; and Louis XIV. later sent special orders to the Marquis de Dan- geau at Modena to remove the difficulties which prevented the marriag~. The chief obstacle in the way was that which re- sulted from the aversion of the youn,, princess herself to the match, an aversion so strong that it seemed at one time in- vincible even to the influence of her mother. This aversion was founded on the inclination of the princess for a relig- ious life. It appears, however, from let- ters in these volumes that the first sugges- tions for the match were conveyed by the Duchess of Modena to Louis XIV.; her affection for her daughter, however, led her to take measures to stop all further negotiations as soon as she became aware of the strength of her daughters objec- tions, and it was only by the united influ- ence of Louis XIV. and the Pope himself, exerted in the one case on the mother, and in the other on both mother and daughter, that the match was finally bror~ght about. The Earl of Peterborough, indeed, when he had proceeded as far as Lyons incognito, found to his surprise that the Duchess of Modena, aware of his proceedings, had caused a messen~er to watch for him at Lyons and warn him of the hopelessness of his mission. The earl, however, en- couraged by Louis XIV., still proceeded on his journey, though it was not till the ground trad been specially prepared for him at Modena by the Marquis de Dan- gean that he ventured to present himself at the ducal court. The earl gives a rap- turous account of the charms of the prin- cesss at the time of his first presentation to her. She was tall, he writes, and admirably shaped; her complexion was of the last degree of fairness, her hair black as jet; so were her eyebrows and her eyes; but the latter so full of light and sweetness, as they did dazzle and charm too. There seemed given to them by nature a power to kill and a power to save; and in the whole turn of her face, which was of the most graceful oval, there were all the features, all the beauty, all that could be great and charming in any human creature. To all the compliments, however, of the earl and his excuses for pressing the suit of his master the young princess replied a little indignantly, that she was obliged to the Kind of England ~nd the Duke of York for their good opinion, but she could not but wonder, when there were so many princesses of more merit, who would es- teem that honour and be ready to embrace it, they should persist in endeavouring to force the inclination of one who had vowed~ herself, as much as was in her power, to another sort of life, out of which she never could think she could be happy; and she desired his excellency, even as he fancied with tears in her eyes, if he had any in- fluence with his master, to avert any fur- ther persecution of a maid who had an in- vincible aversion to marriage. Princesses there were enow in Italy, and even in that house, who would not be unworthy of so great an honour, and who, frdm the es- teem they might have thereof, would de- serve it much better than she could do. To this rebuff the earl replied with all the seductive arguments which his diplo- macy had at command, but with little suc- cess. The young princess could not recon- cile herself to banishment for ever from her sunny clime, from her relatives, and from the friends of her childhood, to be consigned to a land of strangers, and to the arms of a man of whose existence she had been un- aware till she was asked by him in marria,,,e. The English envoy complained the next day of the behaviour of the princess to Nardi, the Chancellor of the Duchy; but INardi told him he need not be under the least wonder on that account, since the ladies of Italy, when it came to be in earnest, were accustomed to have no will but that of their friends ; and if her mother were satisfied, she would soon be brought to a much more difficult matter than that. Mary Beatrice nevertheless evinced such invincible .antipathy to the marriage, that Charles and James inclined at one time to substitute for her her aunt, who was only ten years older than herself, and instruc- tions were sent to that effect to the Earl of Peterborough. However, by the time these had arrived the earl had such good hopes of bringing the treaty for the niece to a conclusion, that he proceeded with it. The Duchess of Modena was the first to yield, after being beset with solicitations on all sides, from ambassadors of Louis XIV., from cardinals at Rome, and from her own confessor, all praying her to ex THE STUARTS AT ST. GERMAINS. 19 ercise her maternal influence in the mat- She was, he writes, a very graceful per-. ter of a marria~e which promised so well son with a good measure of beauty, and so for the Church. The resistance of the much art and cunning that during all this daughter was finally overcome by a brief reign she behaved in so obliging a manner, and from the Pope himself, written in Latin. seemed so innocent and good, that she gained to the princess, and addressed, Dilect~ upon all that came near her, and possessed in Christo filite nobili puellte Marite Prin- them with such impressions of her, that it was Modinensi, assuring her of the long before her behaviour after she was queeu cipessre could make them change their thoughts of her. thankfnlnes~ to God into which the news So artificially did this young Italian beb ye of her marriage had affected him, of the herself that she deceived even the eldest and deep grief with which he heard of her op- most jealous persons both in court and in coun- position, and exhorting her to compliance, try; only sometimes a satirical temper broke The poor princess; who had declared out too much, which was imputed to youth and that she would throw herself in the fire wit not enou~h practised in the world. She rather than marry at all, and who hind la- avoided the appearance of a zealot or a meddler inented with sobs to the abbess of the Con- in business, and gave herself up to innocent vent of the Visitation at Modena that she cheerfulness, and was universally esteemed and had not been born in a cottage, must fain beloved as long as she was a duchess. yield, but nevertheless not without floods The theory of Burnet that this genth of tears and a last appeal to her mother. demeanour of Mary Beatrice before her Even, however, after the marriage by elevation to the throne was mere dissima- proxy had takeja place, and she had to set lation which she threw off on becoming forth in state for England, the poor child queen, or the assumption of Lord Macau- cried and screamed for two days and nights lay, based on a coarse pasquinade of the to put off the detested journey as long as tUne, that she was one of thoce characters she could; and it was only on condition which are better fitted for adversity than that her mother should go with her, and prosperity, receives no confirmation in the that she should go all the ~vay to Calais documents now before us; neither do we by land, instead of making use of the gal- believe is there the slightest trace of the leys sent for her use by Leghorn, by Louis revengeful Italian lady to be found in XIV., whose share in bringing about her any portion of her life. marriage she was acquainted with, that On the contrary, we find unvaryin~ she consented to start at all. proof of gentleness and submissiveness of Notwithstanding, however, the repug- disposition, of the tenderness of her love nance with which Mary Beatrice had re- as wife and as mother, of the deepest life- garded the union, and the childish symp- long affection to the relatives she had left loins of aversion which she is said to have behind in Ataly, and especially to her displayed at the first meeting with her brother with whom she had been reared, husband, she became in time sincerely at- and whom she never saw after leaving her tached to James; and amid all the mis- country, signs also of warm attachment to fortunes of dethronement and exile her friends, and of saintly resignation in ad- love remained for him an unfailing refuge versity. and consolation. Her conduct at the licen- The most remarkable quality in her let- tious court of Charles 11., with the excep- ters is the absence of all spirit of political tion of some condescension shown to the rancour, and they may be searched through mistresses of the kin ~, at the snggestion in vain for any expression of malevolence of a husband twenty-five years her senior, to those whom she might.well consider the was blameless, and she succeeded in win- enemies of herself and her husband, and fling the affections of all around her. The owing to whom when she was duchess evidence of Burnet, who later turned sh& was, with James, driven no less than treacherously against~her, and has regis- four times from England, twice to Brussels tered in his volumes a strin0 of silly stories and the Hague, and twice to Edinburgh, about the wife of his early benefaotor, and was obliged to perform the journeys may be accepted on this head. to this latter city at inclement sea~ons Burnet, who had later formed to him- and at the risk of life. James, indeed, on self a vulgar and stereotyped conception one occasion narrowly escaped ship- of the queens character, as one of unfath- wreck.* omable Italian duplicity, and never misses an opportunity of reviling her and calling * James himself writes in his Journal: The the revengeful Italian lady, gives duchess, notwithstandhi~ her late illness and vomit- her ing blood at sea, the short time it was designed the the following account of Mary of Mo- duke should sta in Scotland, and the king pressing dena her for that reason to remaiu at court, would never- THE STUARTS AT ST. GERMAINS. Althbugh she acquiesced in the politic~ 1~ since I left him now eight days ago. He sai~ views of her husband. yet her good een3e he should start the day after me, but 11 the made her aware of the imprudent part he seaports are closed, and I can neither see him was playing hy acting upou the counsels nor have news of him, since they will not even of Peters, and she opposed the influence let letters come throu~h. You can imagine in of the Jesuit so far as her unassuming dis- what condition I find myself, and I am sure if position would admit. The only distinct you saw roe, I should excite your commiserr- charge which has ever heen alleged against tion; my only consolation is to see that my son her, is that she was ind~rced to use her is well and grows every (lay in our affiict~ons. He alone is happy in not knowing his own mis- authority to secure some of the rich har- fortunes and to what stite he and his parents vest which Sunderland was making in the are reduced. Pray God for me, dear brother, sale of pardons to those concerned in Mon- that He may give me patience and resignation. mouths rehellion hut it is extremely since without the especial help of God I think I doubtful whether she was aware of the should go mad. way in which her name was heing used, I am pursuaded by all to go to Paris and to and very doubtful also whether any of see personally the King of France, from whom the money reached the pockets of any of I reecive a thousand favours; but I am not able her maids of honour, except that of Lady to decide to lete e the sea, anduntil I have some Anna Spencer, Sunderlands daughter. Af- news of my kin~, I am able to think of nothing ter the death of James II. at St. Ger- else. I am here with very few of my people, and I have none with me in whom I have confi- mains, notwithstanding her aversion to deuce but Donna Vittoria (Montecuccoli), ani political intrigue, she felt it her duty, dur- she with ice Pellegrina (Turini). is the only per ing the minority of her son, to act as the son I have brou~ht with me. head of the Jacohite party. Her wish had M. Rangoni and the Abb~ Rizzmni must been to retire into the convent of Chaillot; have atayed on the other side of the Channel, but this she was prevented from doing hy otherwise they would be here. I have no news the remonstrances of her confessor and of M. Cattaneo, but I hope I shall in Paris. I political adviser, thank you a thousand times that you have sent Among the letters which we have in him to me. How great a consolation it would these volumes of Mary Beatrice, the roost be for me to have you near me in so hard a con- interesting are those written to her broth- juncture; but I have desired this so often with- er, whose premature loss was not the out being able to attain it that I do not dare to least of the many afflictions which Ibli to hope for it even now. her lot Year by year after she quitted Dear brother, have pity on me, counsel me, and with your affection sustain your poor afflict- Modena she lived in the hopes of seeing ed sister, who, in whatever state she may fril, again this much-cherished brother, but will always love you finom her heart, and will be they never met from the tinac that they in all sincerity and affection wholly yours parted as child~ en. It will be seen in the following letter, written immediately af- ter her flight from England in 1688, how passionately, in the midst of her troubles she yearned for the consolation of frater- nal affection. Bouloene, 27 December, 1688. Dear Brother, You will be astonished with reason when you learn that I am in this country mind the manner in which I mim come. Having escaped h~ night with my son, and hav- ing had a very strong but favourable wind, in less than twenty-four hours we passed from London to Calais, from whence I came to this place, where I find myself in unspeakable anxi- ety on account of having no news of the king theless accompany him. And thou~h she was twen- ty years old, chose rather, even at the hazard of her life, to he a constant companion of the duke her hushands mtsfrtunes and hardships, than to enjoy her ease in any part of the world without him. But it was a sensible trouhie to his royal highness to see the duchess thus obliged to nnder~o a sort of mar- tyrdom for her affection to him, aud him, to humour the peevish and timorous dispositions of some coun- sellors, to be thus sent a sort of vagabond about the world. Saint Germains, 12 January, 1689. Dear Brother, If I should undertake to tell you all that has happened to me and the kin,, since our departure from London I should write a volume rmmther than a letter Content yommrself if I only give you news by this courier, which M. Rangoni is sen ding off, of what is roost importance, of our happy arrival in this place. My son and I arrived here on the 6th, mind the king on the 7th, mifter having made m esigla for hium and weep much, and not without cause. But God be thanked we are now safe and receive from this king many favours. The state of our affairs in England is wretched. Please God that it may change, and that He may give us patience in the meantime. lam expecting soon the Marchesa Bonifa- do, and from her you shall have news of all. I do not know what has become of the poor Ab- bfl Rizzini, nor have I news of the Marchesa Cattanco. Vol. ii. pp. 428, 429. 20 THE STUARTS AT ST. GERMAINS. 21 I finish, dear brother, in embracing you with all my heart. In the following letter of a much earli- er date Mary Beatrice gives news to her brother of the marriage of Mary, the daughter of James, with the Prince of Or- ange, a marriage destined to be fatal to the House of Stuart. The letter is a Proof of the good feeling of the Duchess towards the Princess who ousted her later from the throne of England. London, November 11. 1677. Dear Brother, ~I prayyou write to me as often as you can, since your letters give me great satisfaction. The most important news we have is the marria~re between the Princess M~ ry and the Prince of Orange, which the kinv caused to be published in the past week, and I think they xviii be married in two or three days, and then depart quietly. As for me, I am very sorry to lose her since I am very fond of her, and she certainly is a princess of great merit. This marriage is the reason that we have not yet taken mourning for Prince C~sar, since it is not the custom to wear black in fimes of joy and marriage. I conclude, and remain Your most affectionate sister, MARtA.t The following letter was written after one of those bereavements, of which the 1)uchess had to stiffer so uiany in losses of infant children: Dear Brother, I write this with tears in my eyes for the bad news I have to tell you of the loss of my dear son, whom it pleased God to take to Himself yesterday at midday. You can imagine in what affliction i am, and as great as was the joy which I bad when he was born, so great or even greater is the pang which I feel for his loss. But we must be patient. God knows what he does : let His holy will be ever accomplished. I should have been too happy if this my son had escaped. I, praised be God, am well in health, and should h ye been excellently wrll if this affliction had not arrived. This is the first time I have been abla to write, having only written to the Signora Madre to-day for the first tin~e since the birth of my child. Dear brother, I do not write at length the manner of the death of my son, that it may not afflict you more now, and hec use I do not wish to write too much at first; but you will hear from others. For to-day I finish, and remain at heart, Tour most affectionate sister, MARIA. A letter in English will show what pro- ficiency Mary of Modena had reached in * Vol. ii. p. 466. t Vol. 1. p. 202. ~ Vol. t. p. 206. the English tongue ;. the orthography it will be observed, is defective, but it is not worse, with the exception of the small is, than that of Lord Peterborough as we here find it, and that of the majority of the people of quality of the time and the queen, moreover, wrote French and Ital- ian with great purity, besides being fainil- lar with Latin. The letter from which the followino~ portion is taken was probably addressed to Lady Hawley. I shall not complaine this time that i have no letters from you, for within a very little time I have had three, in one of them you reproach me that i had not writt to you in a great while, but indeect i had been so lone without any leter from you that to revenge myself i did not writt neither. Now i see by what you writt me now that it was not of your fault so that here after will writt to you as often as i can tho i doubt not it will not be so often as i could wish, for if you knew the quantity of letters i have writt in England, besides Italy and Holland, i am sure you would plity me, tho i do think that the greatest pleasure next to that of seeing one s friends is to writt to them, which i do with great satisfaction, and am only troubled that have not more hands, for to be able to writt to the same body as often as I have a mind for having but one hand to write with and so many letters, i am forced to devide my friends and leave som for one post and som for the next. (Vol. i. p. 276.) The life of this unfortunate lady has been summed up in a few sentences by the Marchesa Campana, which will, we hope, dive a favourable idea of her style, and the romantic enthusiasm which led to the compilation of these documents. Harassed by all kinds of adversities, her virtue never gave way and never departed from the right line. Exiled, persecuted, obliged to seek an asylum in a foreign land, she excited the admiration of Louis XIV.. of the court, and of France, whom she edified by the innocence of her life and affected by die spectacle of un- deserved misfortunes. As a wife she was a model of conjugal love. Before lovin~ her hus- band with affection, she constrained herself to give him the love which duty imposed upon her. She loved him even in spite of the pangs of jealousy from which she was not spared. She aided him with her counsels, surrounded him with her cares in good and bad fortune. A widow at last she wept him to the last day of her life, and would not be consoled. A mother devoted to her children, she had the grief to see them all, saveone, taken away from her one by one by a premature death. The only one who remained became the child of exile, the consolation, and, at the same time, the anguish of his mother, who made his destiny her chief care, and regretted only for his sake 22 THE STP~ANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON. CHAPTER XXV. ARMAGEDDON. the loss of grandeur. She gave him neverthe- From Macmillans Magazine. less an education suit~d to the heir of a mi~hty THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A throne. It was for him she battled her whole PIJALTON. life against that implacable fatality which beset BT WILLIAM BLACK, AUTHOR OF A DAUGHTER the race of Stuart. OF HETH, ETC. As a Christianwho had imbibed from the breast of her mother the principles of a religion which elevates the soul from earth to thoughts of immortality, she drew from unmeasured con- fidence in God all the force she needed to endure the asperity of her fate and the injustice of men. She could feel indi~nation without sin, to use a biblical expression. She gladly par- doned her enemies for having robbed her of a perishable crown; for her faith promised her another of which no one could deprive her. She was less famous than Mary Stuart, since she had not the catastrophe of a tragic end; but she had not less to endure than that heroine of persecution. Married for motives of state in spite of her religious aspirations, havin passed ~through rude trials before arrivin~ at the throne, having been raised to its summit to be thence precipi- tated without recall, she knew the grief of having to survive almost the whole of her fami- ly, and had to endure fresh afflictions in her widowhood. She had a court, but of unreal, borrowed, aid precarious splendour; she was a queen without a sceptre, without a country, without a kingdom. The very title which was lavished on her in France only recalled too viv- idly the sad reality of the one she had lost in England. She had a son, calumniated from his cra(lle, saved by chance in his flight amid a thousand dangers; but she lived long enough to see a price set upon this cherished head, and the most illustrious partis Ins of his cause ex- posed to persecution and oppression, imprisoned, strippe(l of their fortune or of their life, or forced to partake with her of the bread of the stran,,er. (Vol. i. pp. 89.) Among other curious documents in these volumes, we may cite the papal briefs, addressed by Innocent XI. to the Duke and Duchess of York in 1697 (vol. i. pp. 302304), advising the former to mod- erate the excess of his zeal in the cause of the Catholic Ch~rch, as additional proof that his unconstitutional errors were al- ways disapproved of at Rome. Additional evidence is also to be found here of the adroit way in which the Prince of Orange contrived to attach both the Pope and the Emperor of Germany to his interests, always making professions of entire devo- tion to James II., until the moment ar- rived when he could take his place. The French alliance was, indeed, as prejudicial to the interests6 of James II. at the Vati- can and Vienna as it was in En,,land. But we imagine that the most novel por- tion of these documents will be contained in the future volumes. Let us go hence, my son~s; she will not hear. Let us go hence together without fear; K~ep silence now, for singin0-time is over, And over all old things and all things dear. She loves not you nor me as all we love her. Yea, though we sang as angels in her ear, She would not hear. BLOW, wind, and shriek, tempest! Let all the gases be lowered, and thunder roll through the gloom! Tremble, ye forests of canvas, where twi~ted oaks and shattered elms bear witness to the a0ony of the scene; and let the low music of the violoncello and the throbbing of muffled drums announce that dreadful deeds are bre wino! Alas! we had no such ~hrilling accompaniments to the tra0edy being enacted before our eyes ott the fair shores of Grasmere. The lake lay as blue and as calm as though no per- plexed and suffering human souh were by by its side; and instead of the appropri- ate darkness of a theatre, we had the far hills trembling under the white haze of the mid-day heat. Yet my Lady saw none of these things. Her heart was rent asunder by the troubles of the young folks under her charge: until I seemed to see in her speechless eyes a sort of de- spairin0 wish that she had never been born. And yet, I say to her you dont see the worst of it. If Arthur is driven away by Bell, a far more terrible thing will be- fall him. What? says Queen Titania, with the clear, brown eyes grown solemn. He will marry somebody else. Bah! she says, peevishly; is this a tii~e to be thinking of jests? Indeed, I know one who never dis- covered the joke of it. But dont you think that he will? I wish he would. Theres little Katty Tatham, now, would give her ears to marry him. You always fancy girls are very anx- ious to marry. I never asked but one, and I found her rendy enough. I refused you. You made a pretence of doing so. I wish that I had kept to my first reso lution. TilE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAFTON. 23 I wish you had, since you say so. But that was uttered was weighed beforehand. thats of no consequence. I saved you As for Tita, the poor little woman was from committing suicide, as I have fre- growing quite pale and fatigued with her quen tly told you. constant and nervous anxiety; until one The small creature looks up, and with of the party privately told her that if no an excellent calmness and self-composure, one else asked Bell to marry, he would says himself, and so end our troubles. I suppose you never heard of a young I dont know what to do, she said, man I thought him very silly at the sitting down and folding her hands on her time, myselfwho walked about all night, knees, while there was quite a pitiable cx- one night at Easthourne; and in the pression on her face. I am afraid to morning lone before my mamma was leave them for a moment. Perhaps now up aroused the servants, and sent in a they may be fighting but that does not letter a sort of ultimatum it was with much matter, for Bell cant have gone all sorts of vows of vengeance and de- downstairs to dinner yet. Dont you think spair. That young nian wasnt Arthur you could get Arthur to go away? Ashburton; but when you complain of Of what use would that be? lie went Arthurs mad follies~ away before; and then we had our steps Madam, I say to her, your sex pro- dogged, and letters and telegrams iu tects you: go and live. But when you say every town. No; let us have it out here. that I complain of Arthur, and in the 1 wish you and he would have it out next breath accuse me of always bringing between you. That poor girl is being forward excuses for him fri~htened to death. But what was the use of continuing the Say but one brief word, my dear, and argument? My Lady smiles with a fine Arthur will be feeding the fishes among air of triumph; confident that her ingen- the reeds of Grasmere before the morning. ions logic had carried the day, as in fact, But would you really like Bell to send it generally does. The man who endeav- Arthur off? Is he really to be told that ours to follow, seize, and confront the airy she wont marry him? They used to be statements made by a lady in a difficulty, pets of yours. I have seen you regard resembles nothing so much as & railway- them, as they walked before us along the train tryin~ to catch a butterfly; and who lanes with an amiable and maternal smile. would not back the butterfly? Is it all over? Would you like him to go We were now placed in an uncommonly away and never see us any more? awkward fix. The arrival of Arthur at Oh, I dont know; cries Tita, with the Grasmere had produced a complication anxiety and pity and tenderness in her such as we had not dreamt of; for now it eyes almost grown into tears. appeared as if the situation were to be That was a nice little project of hers permanent. We had somehow fancied with which we had started from the old that, as soon as he overtook us, some de- tavern in Holborn. It had been tolerably finite arrangement would be come to, set- successful. If Bell were not in love with thug at once and for ever those rival pre- the Lieutenant, there could be no doubt, tensions which were interfering with our at least, that the Lieutenant was hope- holiday in a serious manner. At last, my lessly and over head and ears in love with Lady had considered, the great problem Bell. It was a pretty comedy for a time; was to be finally solved; and, of course, and my Lady had derived an infinite pleas- the solution lay in Bells hands. But, now ure and amusement from watching the Arthur had come, who was to move in the small and scarcely perceptible degrees by matter? It was not for Bell, at all events, which the young folks got drawn toward.s to come forward and say to one of the each other. What would have been the young men Go! and to the otber beautiful pictures of English scenery we Stay! Neither of them, on the other had driven through, without two young hand, seemed disposed to do anything bold lovers in the foreground, trying to read and heroic in order to rid us of this griev- their fate in each others eyes, and afford- ous embarrassment; and so the first after- ing us elderly folks all manner of kindly noon passed away with some more walk- and comic reminiscences? ing, visiting, and boating in a stolidly It had all turned out very well; until and hopelessly reserved and dreary fash- suddenly, came the revelation that the ion. greatest happiness of the greatest num But every one of us knew that a mine ber had demanded a human victim; and lay close by, and that at any moment a here he was before us, with gory locks and. match might be finn0 into it. Every word piteous eyes, demanding justice. Never 24 THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON. before had my Lad~r fully realized what Yes, please. Tit~ would prob~bly have was meant in the final sending away of said so anxious is she to humour every- Arthur; and now that she saw before her body; but just then he added, in the same all the consequences of her schemes, she reckless and defiant tone was struck to the heart, and dared scarce- What if J tell you I am ~ oingto~et ly ask for some re-assurance as to what married? she had done. An awful consternation fell u mu us. Oh, she says, I hope I have done I Oh, says my Lady, in a hurried fash right. ion, you are joking, Arthur. You! Why should you assume any No, I am not. And when I present responsibility? Let the young folks ar- the young lady to you, you will recognize range their own affairs as they like best. an old friend of yours, whom you havent Do you think, if Bell had bcen willing to seen for years. break with Arthur, that your packing off To put these words down on paper can the Lieutenant to Germany would prevent give~ no i(lea whatever of the ghastly ap- her making the acquaintance of some other pearance of jocularity which accompanied man ~ And she has not hroken off with them, nor of the perfectly stunning effect Arthur. If she does so, she does so; and they produced. The women were appalled theres an end of it; but why should you into silence. Von Rosen stared, and in- vex yourself about it? differently played with the stein of his She was not to be comforted. She shook wine-glass. For mere charitys sake, I her head, and continued to sit there. with was (Iriven into filling up this horrible her eyes full of anxious cares. When, at vacuum of silence; and so I asked with length, she went off to dress hastily for what show of appropriateness marri~d dinner, it was with a determination that people may judge whether lie had from that moment she would endeavour formed any plans for the buying of furni- to help Arthur in every way she could. ture. That was the form which her repentance Furniture! Tis an excellent topic. took. Everybody can say something about it. If the youn~ man had only known that My Lady, with a flash of gratitude in her he had secured such a valuable ally! But inmost soul, seized upon the cue and said just at this time amid all our perplexity Oh, Arthur, have you seen our side- as to who should first precipitate matters board? what should the reckless young man do Now, when a young man tells you he is but startle us all with a declaration which about to get married, it is rather an odd wholly altered the aspect of affairs! thin~ to answer Oh, Arthur or Tom, We were seated at dinner. It was in or Dick, or Harry, as the case may he the private room we had en~a~ed an the evening light, reflected d have you seen our sideboard? But all from the lake that my Lady wanted was to speak; for outside, was shining upon Titas gentle Arthur, having accomplished his intention face as she sat at the head of the table. of startling us, had relapsed into silence. Bell was partly in shadow. The two young Of course he has seen the sideboard, men, by some fatal mis-chance, sat next I say for him. lie was familiar with the each other: probably because neither whole of that fatal transaction. wished to take the unfair advantage offered Why fatal?~ says the Lieutenant. by the empty seat next to Bell. You see we were getting en. Well, something had occurred to stir up Bell will you tell the history. No? the smoulddring fires of Arthurs wrath. Then I will for the benefit of all folks He had been treated with great and even who may have to furnish a house; and I elaborate courtesy by everybody but hope Arthur after the very gratifying more particularly by Bell during our announcement he has made will take afternoon rambles; but something had heed. evidently gone wrong. There was a scowl Oh, yes, says Arthur gaily, let us on the fair and handsomne face that was have all your experiences about house naturally pleasant, boyish, and agreeable matters. It is never too soon to learn. in appearance. He maintained a strict si- Very well. There was once a side- lence for somne little time after dinmier was board which lived in Dorking served; although my Lady strove to en- Here the Lieutenant begged to know tice him into the general talk. But pres- what piece of furnittire a sideboard was; ently he looked up, and, addressing her, and when that was explained to him, the said in a forcedlv merry way legend was continued: Should you like to he startled? I It was a very grand old sideboard of TIlE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF ~ PHAETOY. 25 carved oak, which had regarded the din- It was a most beautiful dress, wasnt ner-parties of several genertions from its it, Bell? says a voice. recess. At last, it had to be sold at pub- But far worse was to come. She be- lic auction. A certain agreeable and ami- ~an to acquire a taste for everything that able lady who lives on the banks of the was old and marvellous. She kept her river Mole, saw this sideboard, and was husband for hours stifling in the clammy told she might have it for a trifle of nine- atmosphere of Soho, while she ransacked ty-five guineas. She is an impressionable dirty shops for scraps of crockery that person. The sideboard occupied her were dear in proportion to their ugliness. thoughts day and night; until at last her During these hours of waiting he thought husband who is the most obligin~ per- of many things suicide among the num- son in the world, and has no other desire her. But what he chiefly ruminated on in life than to obey her wishes was the pleasing and ingenious theory here there were some interruptions at that in decoration everything that is old the further end of the table. Silence hay- is genuine, and everything that is new is n g been restored, the speaker went on to meretricious. He was not a person of say that the sideboard was bought. profound accomplishments It was the beginnin ~ of the troubles Hear, hear says a voice. of that wretchea man. When you have and so he could not understand an old oak siieboard that farmers wives why he should respect the intentions of will drive twenty miles to look at, you artists who, a couple of centuries ago, must have old oak chairs. When you have painted fans, and painted them badly, and old oak chairs, a microcephalous idiot why he should treat with scorn the in- would know that you must have an old tentions of artists who at this moment oak table. By slow degrees the home of paint fans and paint them well. He could this unhappy man underwent transforma- not acquire any contempt for a French tion. Rooms that had been familiar to vase in gold and white and rose-colour, him and homely, became gloomy halls even when it was put beside a vase some which ghosts of a cheerful temperament three hundred years of age which was would have fled from in despair. People chiefly conspicuous by its defective curves came to dinner,and sat in the hi~h-backed and bad colour. As for Italian mirrors chairs with an expression of resigned mel- and blue and white china, he received ancholy on their faces; and now and again without emotion the statement that all the an unlucky lady of weight and dimensions world of London was wildly running after would, on trying to rise from the table, these things. He bore meekly the con- tilt up the chair and save herself from fall- temptuous pity bestowed on him when he ~ng, by clin~in~ to the arm of the man expressed the belief that modern Venetian next her. For of course you cant have glass was, on the whole, a good deal more castors on old oak chairs, and when the beautiful than any he had seen of the old, stumps of wood have got well settled into and when he proposed to buy some of it the thick Turkey carpet, how is the chair as being more within the means of an to be set back? ordinary person. But when at last af- That is quite absurd, says a voice. ter having waited a mortal hour in a Everyone says our dining-room chairs din~y hole in a dingy thoroughfare near are exceedingly comfortable. Leicester Square he was goaded into Yours are; but this is another matter. rebellion5 and declared that he did not Now, the lady of the house did not stop at care a brass farthing, nor even the half of oak furniture and solemn carpets and se- that sum, when an object of art was made, vere curtains. She be~an to dress her- how it was made, where it was made, or self and her children to match her furni- by whom it was made, so long as it ful- ture. She cut the hair of her own babes filled its first duty of being ood in desi~n to suit that sideboard. There was noth- and workmanship and agreeable to the ing heard of but l~road lace collars, and eye, it seemed to him that the end of his black velvet garments, and what not; so conju~,al happiness was reached. Nothing that the boys might correspond with the short of a le~al meparation could satis curtains and not be wholly out of keepin~ the injured feelings of his wife. That she with the chairs. She made a dress for her should h ye to live with this Goth and own mother, which that estimable lady outer barbarian seemed to her monstrous. contemplated with profound indignation But at this time it occurred to her that and asked how she could be expected she might find some use for evemi such a to appear in decent society in a costume creature, considering that he was still pos- omily fin for a fancy ball. sessed of a little mhoney 26 THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON. You seldom omit to bring that for- down and struck one or two of those mm- ward, says the voice, or chords which presa~,ed one of the old and that there was a drawing- ballads, we found a great refu~e from our room to be transformed. Then he beheld embarrassment. We were in another strange things. Phantom curtains of black world then with Chloe plaiting flowers and gold be~an to steal into the house. in her hair, and Robin hunting in the Hidden mysterics dwelt in the black, yel- greenwood with his fair lady, who was low, and red of the carpet; and visitors such a skilful archer, and all the lasses paused upon the threshold for a moment and lads kissing each other round the May- to collect their wits, after the first stun of pole. With what a fine innocence Bell sang looking in. Then all the oil of Greenland of these merry goings-on ! I dare say a was enable to light up this gloomy chain- good many well-conducted young persons ber in the evening; and so there came would have stopped with the stopping of down from London mighty sheets of mir- the dancing, and never told what hap- rors to be let into the walls. Now, said pened after the fiddler had played Pack- this reckless woman to her husband, we ingtons Pound, and Sellingers Round. must have a whole series of dinner-parties But Bell, with no thought of harm, went to ask everybody to come and see what merrily on the house looks like. Then after an hour Oh, what a story! cries that voice They went to a bower, a gain. Bell, did you ever hear the like And played for ale and cakes, of that? I wonder he does not say we And kisses too put the prices on the furniture and invited Until they were due the people to look at the cost. You dont The lasses held the stakes. believe it, do you Count von Rosen ? The girls did then begin No, Madame, said the Lieutenant, I To quarrel with the men, do not believe any lady exists such as that And bid them take their kisses back one which he describes. And give them their own again! But he means me, says Tita. In fact there was a very bright smile of Then what shall I say? continues the young man. May I say that I have amusement on her face, and you could never seen not in England, not in Ger- have fancied that her singing was on the many any rooms so point of breaking into laucrhincr. f beautifully arranged or how in the colours as yours? And it was all could the girl know that my Lady was lookincr rather reserved at the mention of your own design? Ha! I know he is calling attention to that for the purpose that peculiar sort of betting? But then of complimenting youthat is it. the concludin~ verse comes back to the Of coarse, that mean-spirited younc~ realms of propriety; and Bell sang it man took every opportunity of fiatterin~ quite gently and tenderly, as though she, and cajoling Bells chief adviser; but too, were bidding good-bye to her corn- what if he had known at this moment ~anions in a frolic that she had gone over to the enemy, and Good night, says Harry; mentally vowed to help Arthur by every Good night, says Mary; means in her power? Good night, says Dolly to John; She could not do much for him that Good night, says Sue evening. After dinner we had a little To her sweetheart Hugh; music, but there was not much life or soul Good night, says every one. in it. Arthur could sing an ordinary Some walked and some did run, drawing-room song as well as another, and Some loitered on the way, we half expected him to reveal his sorrows And bound themselves by kisses twelve refused. The To meet next holiday in that way~ but he coldly And bound themselves by kisses twelve Lieutenant, at my Ladys urgent request, To meet next holiday! sat down to the piano and sang the song that tells of the maiden who lived im Mademoiselle, said Von Rose.n, coin- Winkel am Thore; but there was an ab- ing forward to her with quite a paternal sence of that spontaneity which generally air, you must not sing any more to-ni ht. characterized his rough and ready efforts You are always too ready to sing for us in music, and after missing two of the and you do not reflect of the fatigue. verses, he got over his task with an air of And as Bell stood rather embarrassed by relief. It was very hard that the duty of this exhibition of thoughtiulness, and as dispelling the gloom should have been Arthur glowered gloomily out from his thrown on Bell; but when once she sat corner, the Lieutenant made some excuse 27 THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAFTON. for himself and me, and presently we this perplexed and stammering Uhian, found ourselves ont by the shores of the who seemed bent on inflicting his anger lake, smoking a contemplati ye cigar under on his cigar. To introduce the spectacle the clear starlight, of two suffering women so as to secure Now, my good friend, he said, sud- the banishment of his rival was a very denly, tell me is it a lie, yes? transparent device, and might. have pro- Is what a lie? yoked laughtcr, but that Grasmere is That foolish story that he will be mar- deep, and a young man in love exceeding- ned. ly irritable. Oh, you mean Arthur. I had almost He says he is ~oing to mnarry some forgotten what he said at dinner. Well, other girl: what more would you like? perhaps it is a lie young men in love You dont want to carry off all his sweet- are always telling lies about something or hearts from the unfortunate youth? other. But it is not true. Heh I says the Lieutenant peevishly; Very well. you do know it is not true. How can it And you talk of carrying off his be true? sweetheart. Mademoiselle was never his Of course you want me to say that I sweetheart, I can assure you of that; and think it true you boys are so unreason- besides I have not carried her off, nor am able. I dont know anything about it. likely to do that, so long as this wretched I dont care. If he wants to marry some fellow hangs about, and troubles her much girl or other, I hope he may. The wish is with his complainings. Now, if she will perhaps not very friendly only say to me that I may send him away, Now look at this! says the Lieuten- I will give yo.u my word he is not in this ant quite fiercely, aud in a voice so loud part of the country, no, not one day long- that 1 was afraid it might reach the win- er. dows of the hotel that were now sending Take care. You cant commit murder a yellow light over the lawn: if he in this country with impunity, except in means to marry some other young lady, one direction. You may dispose of your why is he here? He has no business here. wife as you please; but, if you murder any Why does he come here to annoy everyone reasonable being you will suffer. and make himself miserable? He ought to Indeed, the Lieutenant, pacing up and go away; and it is you that should send down the narrow path by the lake, looked him away. really as if he would have liked to catch Bless me! Surely a man may come Arthur up and dash him against Mercators and stop at a hotel at Grasrnere without Projection, or some other natural phe- asking my permission. I have no ri~ht nomenon; and the more he contei;plated to forbid Arthur remaining in Westmore- his own helplessness in the matter, the land or any other county. He does not more he chafed and fuPaed. The moou ask me to pay his bills. rose slowly from behind the hills, and rau This that Madame says it is quite true, along the smooth surface of the lake, and then, says the Lieutenant, angrily, that found him nursing this volcano of wrath you care only for your own comfort! in his breast. But suddenly, as he looked When Madame says such things, she up, he saw the blind of one of the hotel- retains the copyri,ht. I~ont let her hear windows thrust aside, and he knew that you repeating them, if you are wise, or Bell was there, contemplating the wonder- you 11 ~et into trouble. As for myself, ful beauties of the sky. He ceased his this cigar is excellent, and you may let growlings. A more htiman expression your vexation take any shape that is caine over his face and then he proposed handy. I foresaw that we should soon that we should go in, lest the ladies should have two Arthurs in the field. want to say good-night. The tall young soldier walked up and down for a minute or two, evidently in great distress, and at last lie stopped and CHAPTER XXVI. said, in a very humble voice, My dear friend, I beg your pardon. I THE LAST OF GRAsMERE. do not know what I say when I see this Muss aus dem Thal jetzt scheiden, pitiful fellow causin~ so much pain to your Wo alles Lust und Kiang; wife and to Mademoiselle. Now, when Pas isi mein herbstes Leicieti, you look at them not at me at all Mein letzter Gang! will not you end~avour to do something? Dich, mein stilles Thal, He was no great hand at diplomacy, Griiss ich tausend NEal! 28 TIlE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON. Dis ist mein herhstes Leiden, Mein Ieizter Gancr! A STILL greater surprise was in store for us next morning. My Lady had taken leave to discredit altogether the story of Arthurs approaching marriage. She re- garded it as merely the wild and reckless utterance of vexation. For the young mans sake, she hoped that no one would make any allusion to this topic; and that he himself would allow it to fall into the rapidly running waters of oblivion. Now, he had on the previous day de- spatched a message to Kendal to the effect that the do~cart should be at once sent to him, if the cob had quite recovered. He proposed to accompany us as far as Pen- rith or Carlisle ; further than that he said he did not care to go. But as the trap was likely to arrive that forenoon, and as he had to see the man who would bring it, he beo~_ed us to start for our forenoons walk by ourselves a proposal which was ccepted with equanimity by the whole of our party. The young man was quite complaisant. My Lady was very atten- sive to him; atid we thought we should start for our ramble with the conscious- ness that we had left behind u~ no wretch- ed creature eating away his heart with thoughts of revenge. Somehow this mood passed rapidly away from him. The spectacle of Bell and the Lieutenant planning with a great joy the outline of our morning excursion seemed to bring hack all the bitterness of his spirit, lie was silent for a long time until, indeed, we were ready to eave the hotel; aud then, as he accompanied us to the door, he produced a lester, and said, with an affectation of carelessness By the way, I have a message for you. It was lucky I thought of going round to the pot-office this morning, or I should 1.rohabl~ have missed this. Katty Tat- ham (lesires to be remembered to you all, and hopes you will bring her back a piece oL~ Scotch heather to show that you went all the way. Ta-ta! He waved his hand to us, and went in. My Lady looked at me solemnly, and said nothing for a moment, until Bell had passed along the road a little hit, along with the Lieutenant. Is that another story, do you think? Do you believe Katty iLLtham is actually in oorrespondence with him? He did not say so. lie meant we should infer it, at all events: and that, after what he said last nioht Tita was dreadfully puzzled. She could understand how vexation of spirit might drive a foolish young mm into making a statement not wholly in accordance with fact; hut that he should repeat this le- gend in another way, and hring the name of a lady into it no. Tita could scarce- ly believe that all this was untrue. She hurried up to Bell, and placed her hand within the young ladys arm. Is it not strange that Katty Tatham should be writing to Arthur, if that was what he meant? Oh no, not at all. They are very old friends; arid, besides, she does all the letter-writing for her papa, who is almost blind now, poor old man. And what a nice girl she is, isnt she, Tita? Of course we were all anxious to per- suade each other that Katty Tathamn was the very nicest 0irl in all Enuland, al- though none of us except Bell had seen her for two or three years; and it was wonderful how this sort of talk bright- ened up the spirits of our party. The Lieutenant grew quite interested in Katty Tatham. He was nearly praising her himself, although he had never heard her name until that moment. In short, the four of us were ready to swear that this poor little Katty was just as pleasant and honest and pretty and charming a girl as was to be found anywhere in the world, or out of it, arid that it was most sin~ular that she had never married. Titii de- clared that she knew that Katty had had ever so many offers; and that it was not alone the frailties of her father that kept ner from marrying. She must have been waiting for some one, said the small woman, rather slyly. What a morning it was! As we walked rilong the white road, in the stillness of the heat, the blue waters of Grasmere glimmered through the trees. Never had we seen the colours of Bells Fairyland so intense. The hills in the distance had a silvery haze thrown over their pale purples, but here around us the sharp clear colotirs blazed in the sunshinethe deep blue of Grasmere, the yellow-white of the road, and the various rich greens and browns of the trees and the shore. And then, by and by, we came in sight of Rydal Watem. How different it was to the weird and gloomy lake we had found two evenings before lying buried between the hills. Now it seemed shallow and fair and light, with a grey shimmer of wind across its surface, breaking here and there THE STRANGE ADVENT~TRES OF A PTIAETON. 29 the perfect mirror of the mountain-slopes the young lady to marry him. and she re and woods. In the absolute silence fused; but he bore her no malice around us we could hear the water-hens He has taken care to have his revenge calling to each other; and out there since, says Tita. story. They sat amJng the reeds we could see them You the paddling about, dipping their heads into down to dinner on this summer evenina. the lake, and fluttering their wings. We Everyone was delighted with the view walked on to Rydal bridge, and had a but to this wretched youth it seemed as look at the clear brown rivulet rushing though the landscape were drowned iii down its narrow channel between the sadness, and the river a river of unut- thick underwood and the trees. We took terable grief. AU the trees seemed t~ the Lieutenant up to Rydal Mountthe ,be saying good-bye, and when the su.1 small house with its tree-fuschias standing went down, it was as though it would bright and warm in the sunshine and never li~ht up any other day with the light from the plateau in front beheld the of bygone days. The mist came over the great fair landscape around the silver- trees. The evening fell, slow, and sad, white lake of Windormere. We went np and grey. Down by the stream a single to the fails of Rydal Beck, and, in short, window ~vas lit up, and that made the mel- ~vent the round of the ordinary tourist ancholy of the picture even more painful, all for the sake of our Prussian friend, we until the young man, who had eaten noth- persuaded our~elve~. Bell was his guide, ing and drank nothing, and talked to and he looked as thoucrh he would h ave I people as though he were in a dream, felt liked to be led for ever. Perhaps he took as if all the world had grown desolate, away with him but a confused recollection and was no more worth having of all the interesting things she told him ; If I had only known, says Tita, in a but surely, if the young man has a memo- voice so low and ~entle that you could ry, he cannot even now have forgotten scarcely have heard it. th%t bright, clear, warm day that was And then, you know, the carriages spent about Rydal, with a certain figure came round; and he saw her, with the in the foreground that would have lent a others, come downstairs prepared to leave. strange and gracion? charm to a far less He bade good-night to the mamma, who beautiful picture. got into the carriage. He bade good- Is it not an odd thing. I say to Qieen night to her; and she was about to get in Titania, who has been pulling and plaiting too, when she suddenly remembered that wild-flowers in order to let the young folks she had left some flowers in the dining- get anead of us, how you associate cer- room, and ran back to fetch them. Before tam groups of unheeding trees and streams he could overtake her she had got the and hills with various events in your life flowers and was coming back through the and can never get over the impression that passage into the hall. It isnt ood- they wear such and such a look? ni ~ht, it is good-bye, we must say I 1 daresay its cjuite true, but I dont think he said somethin0 likn that and understand, she says, ~vith the calm irn- she held out her hand and somehow pertinence that dLtin~nishes her. there was a very strange look in her eyes, If you will cease for a moment to de- just as if she were goin0 to cry Bat, stroy your gloves by pulling those weeds. you know, there s no use in your crying I will tell you a story which will convey just now about it. my meaning to your small intellect. Tita is pretending to smile, but a certain Oh, a story, she says, with a beautiful tremor of the lips is visible; and so the sigh of resignation, narrator hurries on There was a young lady once upon a Now look here. For the next three time who was about to leave England and months for the soft-hearted creature go with her mamma to live in the south- had hurriedly whispered that she might west of France. They did not expect to return to England then that young man come back for a good many years, if ever haunted Richmond. He pretty nearly they came back. And so a youn~ man of ruined his prospects in life, and his dices- their acquaintance got up a farewell ban- tion as well, by continual and solitary quet at Richmond, and several friends dining at the Star and Garter. He could caine down to the hotel. They sat in a have kissed the stone steps of that hotel, room overlooking the windin~s of the and never entered its vestibule without river, and the soft masses of foliage and blessing the white pillars and blank the far landscape stretching on to Windsor. walls. He spent hours in writing letters Inc young man had, a little before, asked therev 30 THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON. So that the Barritz boatmen wondered why so many envelopes should have Rich- mond postmark, says Tita though how she could have learnt anythin0 about it goodness only knows. and haled out every complaisant friend he could lay hands on to nioon about the neighbourhood with. But the stran~e thing is this, that while he was in love with the vestibule of the hotel, he never saw the twilight fall over the Rich- mond woods without feeling a cold -hand laid on his heart; and when he thinks of the place now with the mists coming over the trees and the river getting dark he thinks that the view from Richmond- hill is the most melancholy in all the world. And what does he think of East- bourne? That is a very different thing. He and she got into the quarrelling stage there In which they have successfully re- mained to the present time. But when she was young and innocent, she would always admit that she had be- gun the quarrel. On the contrary, s-he told stories in order to please him. That motive does not much control her actions now-a-days, at all events. Here Tita would probably have deliv- ered a crushin0 reply, but that Bell came up and said What! you two children fighting again! What is it all about? Let me be umpire. He says that there is more red in the Scotch daisies than in the English daisies, says Tita, calmly. It was well done. Yet you should hear her lecture her two hoys on the enormity of tellin,, a fib. How sad Bell was to leave the beautiful valley in which we had spent this happy time! Arthur hadgot his doe-cart; and when the phacton was brought round, the Majors cob was also put-to, and both vehicles stood at the door. We took a last look at Grasmere. Dich, mein stilles Thal ! said Bell, with a smile and the Lieutenant looked quite shame- faced with pleasure to hear her quote his favourite song. Arthur did not so well like the introduction of those few words. lie said, with a certain air of indiffer- eace Can I give anybody a seat in the dog- cart? It would be a chan,e. Oh, thank you; I should like so much to ,,o with you, Arthur, says Tita. Did you ever see the like of it! - The woman has no more notion of consider- ing her own comfort than if she had the hide of an of b-eing, am she is, about t-he most sensitive creature in the world. However, it is well for her if she will permit me to say so that she has people around her who are not quite so impulsively generous; and on this occasion it was obviously necessary to save her from being tortured by the fractious complainings of this young man, whom she would have sympathized with and consoled if the~ffort had cost her her life. No, I say. That wont do. We have got some stiff hills to climb present- ly, and some one must remain in the phaeton while the others walk. Now, who looks best in the front of the phacton? Mamma, of course, says Bell, as if she had discovered a conundrum; and so the matter was settled in a twinkling. I think it would have been more cour- teous for Arthur to have given the phaeton precedence, considering who was driving it; but he was so anxious to show off the paces of Major Quinets cob, that on start- ing he gave the animal a touch of the whip that made the light and high vehicle spring forward in a surprising manner. Youn man, reflect that you are driv- ing the father of a family, I say to him. Nevertheless, he went through the vil- lage of Grasmere at a considerable rate of speed; and when we got well up into the road which goes by the side of the Rothay up into the region of the hills, we found that we had left Tita and her company far behind. Then he began to walk the cob. Look here! he said, quite fiercely; is Bell going to marry that German fel- low? How do I know? I answer, aston- ished by the young mans im inudence. You ought to know. You are her ~uardian. You are responsible for her To you? No, not to me; but to your ow.n con- science; and I think the way in which you have eutraped her into making the ac- quaintance of this man, of whom she knows nothing, doesnt look very well. I may as well say it when I think it. You ou~ljt to have known that a girl at her age is ready to be pleased with any novelty; and to draw her away from her old friends I suppose you can explain it all to your own satisfaction but I confess that to me I let the young man rave. He went on in this fashion for some little time, ~ THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON. 31 momen~arily more reckless and vehement and absurd in his statements. If Tita had only known what she had escaped. But after all, I say to him, when the waters of this delude of rhetoric had abated, what does it matter to you? We have allowed Bell to do just as she pleased; and perhaps, for all we know,, she may re- gard Count von Rosen with favour, al- though she has never intimated such a thing. But what does it matter to you? You say you are goin~ to get married. So I shall! he said, with an unneces- sary amount of emphasis. Katty Tatham is a very nice girl. I should think so! Theres no co4uet- ry about her, or that sort of vanity that is anxious to receive flattery from every sort of stranger that is seen in the street You dont mean to say that that is the impression you have formed of Bell?~ And here all his violence and determi- nation broke down. In ~ tone of absolute despair he confessed that he was beside himself, and did not know what to do. What should he do ~ Ought he to implore Bell to promise to marry hhn? Or should he leave her to her own ways, and go and seek a solution of his difficulties in marry- ing this pretty little girl down in Sussex, who would make him a ~ood wife and teach him to forget all the sufferings he had gone throucrh? The wretched young fellow was really in a bad way; and there were actually tears in his eyes when he said that several times of late he had wished he had the courage to drown himself. To tell a young man in this state that there is no woman in the world worjh making such a fuss about, is useless. He rejects with scorn the cruel counsels of- fered by middle ace; and sees in them only taunts and insults. Moreover, he ac- cuses middle age of not believin in its own maxims of worldly prudence; and sometimes that is the case. At all events, I say to him, you are unjust to Bell in going on in this wild way. She is not a coquette, nor vain, nor heart- less; and if you have anything to complain of. or anything to ask from her, why not go direct to herself, instead of indulging in frantic suspicions and accusations? But but I cannot, he said. It drives me mad to see her talking to that man. If I were to be~,in to speak to her of all this, I arri afraid matters would be niade worse. Well, take your own course. Neither my wife nor myself have anything to do with it. Arrange it amon0 yourselves; only, for goodness sake, leave the , women a little peace. Do you think I mean to trouble them? he says, firing up. You will see. What deep significance lay in these words was not inquired into, for we had now to de cend from the dogcart. Far behind us we saw that Bell and Count von Rosen were already walking by the side of the phaeton, and Tita talking to them from her lofty seat. We waited for them until they came up, and then we proceeded to climb the steep road that leads up and alon~ the slopes of the mighty Helvellyn. Mademoiselle, said the Lieutenant, who is it will say that there is much rain in your native country? Or did you alarm us so as to make this surprise all the better, yes? Indeed, there was scarcely a flake of white in all the blue overhead; and, on the other side of the great valley, the masses of the Wythbnrn and Borrodailp Fells showed their various hues and tints so that you could almost have fancied them transparent clouds. Then the road de- scended, and we got down to the solitary shores of Thirlmere, the most Scotch-look- ing, perhaps, of the English lakes. Here the slopes of the hills are more abrupt, houses are few and far between, there is an aspect of remoteness and a perfect si- lence reigning over the still water, and the peaks of mountains that you see beyond are more jagged and blue than the rounded hills about Windermere. From the shores of Thirlmere the road again rises, until, when you come to the crest of the height, you find the leaden-coloured lake lying sheer below you, and only a little stone wall guarding the edge of the precipitous slope. We rested the horses here. Bell began to pull them handfuls of Dutch clover ~nd grass. The Lieutenant talked to my Lady about the wonders of moun- tainous countries as they ap~3eared to peo- ple who had heenbred in the plains. Ar- thur looked over the stone wall down into the great valley; and was he thinking, I wonder, whether the safest refuge from all his troubles might not be that low-lying and silent gulf of water that seemed to be miles beneath him? When we were ,about to start again, the Lieutenant says to Arthur If you ~re tired of driving the dog- cart, you might come into the phae~on. and I will ~lrive your horse on to Keswick. Who prompted him to make such an of- fer? Not himself, surely. I had formed a tolerable opinion of his good-nature; but 32 THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETJN. the impatient and fretful manner in which he had of late been talking about Arthur rendered it highly improbable that this suggestion was his own. What did Bells downcast look mean? Thank you, I prefer the dogcart, says Arthor. coldiv. Oi, Arthur, says Bell, youve no idea how steep the hill is, going down to Keswick, and in a dogcart too I suppose, says the young man, that I can drive a dogcart down a hill as well as anybody else. At all events says the Lieutenant, with something of a frown. you need not address Mademoiselle as if that she did you.harm in trying to prevent your break- ing your neck. This was getting serious; so that there was tiothing for it but to bundle the boy into his dogcart and order the Lieutenant to change places with my Lady. As for the writer f these pages the emotions he experienced while a mad young fellow was driving him in a light and high dog- cart down the unconscionable hill that lies ab& ve Keswick, he will not attempt to de- scribe. There are occurrences in life xvhich it is better to for et; but if ever he was tempted to evoke maledictions on the hot-headedness, and bad temper, and gen- eral insanity of boys in love Enough! We got down to Keswick in safety. Noxv we had got among the tourists, and no mistake. The hotel ~vas all alive with elderly ladies, who betrayed an astonishing acquaintance with the names of the moun- tains, and apportioned them off for succes- sive days as if they were dishes for lun- cheon and dinner. Tiac landlord under- took to get us beds somewhere, if only we would come into his coffee-room, which was also a drawing-room, and had a piano in it. He was a portly and communicative person, with a certain magnificence of manner which xvas in~pressive. He be- trayed quite a paternal interest in Tita, and calmly and loftily soothed her anxious fears. Indeed, his assurances pleased us much, and we began rather to like him; although the Lieutenant privately re- marked that OIicqnoI is a French word, and ought not, under any circumstances whatever, to bepronounced Clickot. Then we went down to Derweutwater. It was a warm and clear twilight. Be- tween the dark green lines ofthe hed~es we met maidens in white with scarlet opera-cloaks coming home through the narrow lane. Tlaen we got into the open, and found the shores of the silver lake, and got into a boat and sailed out upon the still waterz, so that we could face the wonders of a brilliant sunset. But all that glow of red and yellow in the north-west was as nothng to the strange gradations of colour that appeare I along the splendid range of mountain- peaks beyond the lake. Frotn the remote north round to the southwest they stretched like a mighty wall; and whereas near the gold and crimson of the sunset they avere of a warm, roseate, and half- transparent purple, as they caine along into the darker regions of the twilight they grew more arid more cold in hue and harsh in outline. Up there in the north they had caught the magic colours so that they themselves seemed but light clouds of beautiful vapour; but as the eye fol- lowed the line of twisted arid mighty shapes the rose-colour deepened into pnr- ple, the purple drew darker and more dark, and greens arid blues began to ap- pear over the wooded islands and shores of Derwentwater. Finally, away down there in the south there was a lowering sky, into which rose wild masses of slate- coloured mountains, and in the threaten ing atid yet clear darkness that reigned among these solitudes, we c(sul(I see but one small tuft of white cloud that clung coldly to the gloomy summit of Glaramara. That strange darkness in the south boded rain; and, as if in anticipation of the wet, the fires of the sunset went down, arid a grey twilight fell over the laud. As we walked home between the tall hedges there was a chill dampness in the air; and we seemed to know that we had at last bade good-bye to the beautiful weather chit had lit up for us the blue waters and green shores of Grasmere. rNote by Queen Titania. I begin to think that the old lady in Nottinghiamshire had some excuse for what she said, althou~h she need nit hm ye expressed herself so rudely. Of course it is impossible to put clown all that we spoke about on those happy days of our journey; hut when all the ordinary talk is car rfully ex- clreded, ~nd everything spiteful retained, I can- not wonder that a stranger should think thit my husband and myself do not lead a ve:y pleascot life. It looks very serious when it is put iii type; whereas we have been driven into all tins nonsense of quarrelhin~ merely to tern per time excessive sentimentality of those young folks, which is quite amnmesimeg in its way. In- deed, I arm afraid that Bell, although she has never said a word to that effect to me, is far more deeply pledged than one who thimmk~ lie has mm great insight into such affairs has airy notion of. 1 am sure it was none of my doing. If Bell had told rue she was enga~ed to Arthur, A VOYAGE TO THE RINGED PLANET. 33 The legend is as true, I undertake, As Tristram is, or Lancelot of the Lake.] nothing could have given me greater pleasure. immersed in a profound darkness, which In the meantime, I hope no one will read too seemed so much the more awful that literally the foregoing pages, and think that in around us was almost vacant space. As our house we are continually treading on lucifer in our former journey the sounds of earth matches and frightening everybody by small gradually subsided into perfect stillness; explosions. I suppose it is literary art that compels such a perversion of the truth! And though again as we passed the confines of as for Chapter Twenty-six which has a great the air what had seemed stillness appeared deal of nonsense in it about Richmond i to us as uproar by contrast with the si- should think that a very good motto for it would lence of interplanetary space. We passed be two lines I once saw quoted somewhere. I rapidly onwards, directing our course al- dont know who is the author; but they said most exactly towards Saturn, (now shin- ing very conspicuously in a somewhat barren portion of the constellation Sagit- tarius), but giving our attention chiefly to the orb which we had so lately left. For we were curious to know how the earth would appear when viewed from its night- From The Cornhull Magazine. side. We could readily recognize the A VOYAGE TO THE RINGED PLANET. earths shape because the stars were now AT midni~ht on the 9th of July, 1872, shining with great splendour, in numbers Saturn bein~ at the time due south and enormously exceeding those which can be not far above the horizon, we set forth on seen from the earth on the darkest and clear- our voyage across the depths of space est night; and there was a vast circular which separate this earth from the Ringed disc of darkness where stars were blotted Planet. The voyage we were now under- from view by the earths ~,lobe. We could takin~ was of far greater extent than that see this dark disc gradually contracting to the sun which I have already described, like the pupil of an eye, as we travelled Nearly nine times as far we were to travel, onwards, and we could in some sort esti- and that not towards the glorious centre mate our position by noting the dimen- whence light and heat are dispersed to the sions of this gigantic eye, whose iris was members of the planetary scheme, but to the star-be-spangled sky, while its pupil regions where his influence is diminished was the great globe itself which men in- a hundredfold, where for aught that we as habit. yet knew an unendurable degree of cold Presently, as we travelled onwards, the may prevail, and where life must exist un- moon appeared on the left of the earth. der conditions altogether different from So soon as her full disc was uncovered we those with which we were familiar. Yet I saw her as a fine sickle of light. But to must confess that, deeply as I had been our astonishment the rest of her disc was interested when we set forth. on our jour- parti-coloured. The part farthest on the ney to the sun, I was yet more interested left was perfectly black, its outer outline on this occasion. Wonderful are the only distin,uishable because projected on mysteries of the sun, stupendous his bulk the starlit sky. This part formed a black and might, past conception his glory; yet sickle almost exactly opposite to the sickle the human sympathies are more directly of true moonlight. But between the affected by the thought of what may exist white and black sickles lay a half-lit space in worlds resembling our own. The of a bluish green colour. This colour was grandeur of the universe is incomprehensi- well marked, and we were at some loss to ble, the glory of God is insufferable; account for it, until X. pointed out that but in other worlds we may find creatures this part of the moons surface was illu- as imperfect as ourselves; there we may minated by the earthshine chiefly coming witness phenomena tuat we can under- from the Pacific Ocean, whence doubtless stand because they are comparable with proceeded the beautiful tint which was those already known to us in such spread over the middle of the lunar disc. worlds, in fine, we may find safety from Passing farther away, we saw that the the persecution of the infinite. left side of the earths disc began to be It was with a strange feeling that we illumined by a faint light receivet from watched the earth gradually passing from the moon. Elsewhere, however, the disc our view. It was night. Our course was of the earth continued,, perfectly dark, directed towards the darkest region of the until we began to approach the orbit of heavens, and as the faint lights which the moon, when we could perceive that all shone from towns and villages beneath us round the earths disc a deep red light was grew undiscernible with distance, we were making its appearance. Before long we LIVE~G AGE. VOL. XXVII. 1253 34 A VOYAGE TO THE RINGED PLANET. saw that this was actual sunlight. The earths globe at this time presented a mar- vellous appearance. Its apparent diameter was about four times as great as the moons (not as then appearin~ to us, hut as she appears when seen from the earth); but all around this large dark disc we could see a ruddy light of extreme bright- ness, and growing gradually brighter as we receded. At length, while the earths disc was still ten or twelve times larder than that of the sun or moon as seen from the earth, we could perceive that the red li0ht was as bright as the risin~ sun. It was indeed actually the sun, rising into our view; but instead of rising opposite one part only of the earths dark disc, the sun was rising (if I may use the expression) all round the earth; only in one or two places the bright red ring was interrupted, and opposite these regions the red glare beyond was somewhat fainter. But what seemed to us an amnazin -eircumstance was to see the sun actually transformed into a red ring of light, having an apparent diameter more than three times greater than that he ordinarily presents. This must appear so incredible, that I fear many may he disposed to consider that we were in some way deceived; or even in consequence of the doubts thus suggested, to disbelieve this narrative altogether but it is my intention to describe what we actually witnessed, without inquiring how far it may seem likely or unlikely to those whom this narrative may reach. I would willingly enter upon Xs ingen- ious explanation of the spectacle now pre- sented to us, as well as of the varying aspect presented by the sun as our distance grad- ually increased. But I am told that it is desirable for me to turn from the narra- tive of these phenomena, in order to pre- sent the record of that part of our jour- ney which relates more particularly to the planet Saturn. Let it suffice, then, to mention that the bright ring of light which was for the nonce our sun, con- tracted gradually in diameter as we re- ceded, increasin,, continually in brightness. Later we reached a stage on our journey when the earth began to be presented as a vast black disc upon the solar face, now no longer ma~nified by the effect of the earths atmosphere. This black disc grew smaller and smaller, until presently an- other smaller disc the moons ap- peared along with it on the suns face. At this time we had passed somewhat beyond the path of Mars, and we turned from the further contemplation of the earth and moon, ia order to give all our attention to the circumstances of our journey towards the ringed planet. Saturn now appeared much brighter than we had ever before beheld him. Our course thus far had carried us almost di- rectly towards him, though a very slight deviation northwards had to be made so soon as we ceased to direct our path by keeping the earth on the middle of the suns face. We had had a special object in this, as X. was very desirous of study- ing the varying appearanca of the earth as we so travelled. Now, however, we trav- elled directly towards the rich golden orb of Saturn. We could not at present see the ring, hor, indeed, any sign that the planet is not like other planets. Saturn shown there before us, distinguish edonly from the stars by his superior brightness, and a certain indescribable contrast be- tween his light and theirs. For though the stars were not twinkling, but shining with purest ray serene, yet was there somethin, in the stellar li,ht which caused it to differ unmistakably from that of Saturn. It may have been partly, per- haps, that, owing to the exceeding swift- ness of our onward flight, we unconscious- ly recognized the comparative nearness of Saturn; and were thus impressed by the distinction between 4~he light from suns millions of times farther from us, and that from an orb which, vast thou,h it is, is yet insignificant compared with the least of the suns which people space. We passed through the zone of aster- oids, and I could tell you much that would interest you respectin,, these small bodies; but it will be better to reserve such de- tails for anottier occasion. Let it suffice to mention that astronomers have not yet discovered the thousandth part of this family of small planets. Even crossing the zone at one particular point we saw more asteroids than astronomers have yet counted; though certainly hundreds of those we saw were so small that astrono- mners could not hope to see them with the telescopes at present in use. Not even the largest that we passed presented any signs of being inhabited or fit for habita- tion. But the asteroids are not fragments of a larger planet. Every one of these bodies is as well rounded an orb as the earth on which you live. Swiftly we traversed the enormous gap separating the outermost part of the zone of asteroids from the path of Jupiter. Al- though this planet was on the opposite part of his orbit, we could recognize our approach to his course by a circumstance which caused us no little surprise. W~ A VOYAGE TO TUE RINGED PLANET. 35 found many small comets travel1in~ slant- ermost satellite, we could perceive that the ways across our path in this neighbour- golden colour, which had formed so beau- hood. Probably they belong to a system tiful a feature of Saturn, caine from cer- or family of comets which have been at- tam parts only of his globe; or rather, a tracted from their former course round the much deeper tint, a burnin~ cinnamon (so sun by the mighty energy residing in Ju- to describe at once the intensity of the col- piters mass, and have thenceforth con- our and its peculiir hue). came from cer- tinued to circle in paths crossing that of tam zones of the planet. Even these zones the giant planet. If so, their real number seem mottled, insomuch that we were pre- must be enormous; for, of course, we only pared to find that on a nearer approach saw a few of those which happened at the their tint would be found to result from a time to be roundin~ the pjrt of their path mixture of various colours. But between near Jupiters orbit, or rather, near that them were zones quite differently tinted. part of Jupiters orbit which we crossed The actual aspect of the planet may be in journeying to Saturn. thus described: the great central zone, When we were within about ninety mil- . occupyin~ the position of the planets lions of miles from Saturn, we began to equator, was of a bright yellow, so flecked recognize the shape of the Saturnian rmne s. with spots of pure white that when we The planet was now a glorious object. It had been somewhat farther away it had was sl~ining far more brightly t~han Jupiter appeared almost perfectly white. Then or Venus when at their brigh~tes.; and its came on either side zones of a rich purple rich golden yellow hue distinguished it flecked with yellow spots, between which from all that we had hitherto seen in the were the burning cinnamon bands al- heavens. There was no orb within our ready mentioned. But the purple of the view, save the sun alone, which could be zones became more. and more bluish the compared with this golden oval in splen- farther the zones were from the equatorial dour, though the whole of the celestial belt., Close by the north pole were sev- sphere, spread over with a bundred thou- eral narrow zones of a delicate blue; and sand stars, was open to our coatemplation. the pole itself was occupied by a wide re- Behind us lay the sun, whose disc was gion of rich cobalt blue, flecked with pur- barely equal to the seventieth part of the I ple and olive-green spots. The southern orb he shows to the earth. Directly in polar regions were as yet concealed from front lay Saturn, looking nearly as large i our view by the rings. There was a symn- as the sun, though infinitely less brilliant. metry and beauty in the whole aspect of Besides these two orbs, the heavens pre- the planet which cannot be described. sented only bright points of light; and The rings added largely to the effect; the earth we had so lately left was now al- they also presented a singularly charming together undiscernible. arrangement of colour. We could already Impressed with a sense of utter loneli- perceive that the outer rin~, was divided ness for save where some vagrant me- into two distinct rings, and also by several teor flashed past us, we sa# no created circular gaps not extending completely thing within ninety millions of miles, we rotind, while the chief ring (thc second exercised the powers we possessed to their great ring inwards) appeared very singu- utmost, in order to reach the planet which larly striped by a series of dark concentric we recognized for the time being as a markings. Both these rings shone with a home prepared for us. Saturn grew under yellow light, the dark markings present- our view, 5Q swift was our onward flioht~ i a ug sepia tint, while the great division his ring-system became more and more between the two rin ~s, instead of being clearly discernible; and his satellites could black as we expected, was of a deep bro~vn- now be clearly distinguished from the purple colour. Somewhat similar, but star-bespangled background over which more richly purple, was the so-called dark hitherto all but the two brightest had been ring except that where it crossed the plan- lost. We had determined to pass straight to cts disc it appeared to shine with a full the planets globe, a course which would brown colour. The shape of the globe, carry us above the nearest part of the and even the fi~,ure of certain markings ring-system. I say above, though in upon it, could be distinctly seen through reality above was below, and below was the dark ring. We even thought that we above, stripped as we were of gravitat- could trace the shape of the globe through in ~ body. We were in fact to pass athwart the inner part of the second bright ring, the northern face of the rings, and subsequently we found that we had As we neared the planet, though as yet~ not been deceived in this respect. we were far beyond the path of the out- In order to avoid confusion it will be 36 A VOYAGE TO THE RINGED PLANET. well that I should omit farther reference at present to what in reality occupied no small share of our attent:on as we ap proached Saturns globe. The marvellous aspect of the rings must be described far- ther on. For the present I shall speak only of the globe of thefplanet. To our amazement we found, as we drew nearer to Saturn, that his whole surface presented a scene of indescribable agita- tion. The white clouds on the equatorial belt appeared and changed in shape and vanished with startling rapidity. And the whole of this belt seemed opalescent, the colour and bri~htness of the different parts varying continuously. These changes had not been noticed by us when we were at a greater distance, because they did not affect the general lustre or colour of the zone, or even of large portions of its ex- tent. But now they were perfectly dis- tinct, and each moment growing more marked in character. I do not know how I can better illustrate the nature of the changes taking place in the great equator- rial belt, than by comparing its appearance to that of shiftin0 clouds of steam strongly illuminated by concealed fires. The neigh- bourin~, belts were rqually changeful in as- pect; but they presented at all times a much greater depth and variety of colour. It was as though not white steam-clouds, but clouds of coloured gas were illuminat- ed by a continually changing glow. The colours were even more variegated near the planets poles; though here the changes were less rapid and remarkable. The general blue colour of these regions seemed to be due to the presence of an overhang- ing pall of blue vapour, through which from time to time a purplish glow could be recognized in certain spots. These appearances were so remarkable, and seemed so obviously to belong to the planet itself, and not to be caused by the varying effects of the suns light, that we determined as we drew near the planet (and when we were already past the inner edge of the dark ring) to circle round Saturns globe so as to reach its unil- lammed side, before passing beneath the planets atmosphere. We did so, penetrating into the vast shadow projected by the planet into space. instead, however, of the black darkness which might have been expected, we found that all the part of the planet which at the moment was turned from the sun, was aglow with a somewhat dull luminosity, lii~e that of fire shining through smoke or vapour. There was ro night, and seem- in~ly no rest on the half of the hemisphere turned from the sun. Occasionally, we could eveu see an intense luminosity spreading over wide regions of the planets surface, and then presently sinking into a dull glow as of heated metal. This was in the planets equatorial regions; though at rare intervals a somewhat similar phenom- enon could be recognized along other zones. The polar regions alone were dark, save where a very faint and dull luminosity became momentarily apparent. But this light was even ~ainter than the dull glow constantly man~est over the equatorial and neighbouring zones. We began to perceive that whatever else of interest we might find in the globe of Saturn, we need certainly not look for livin~ creatures there. It was plain that we were about to visit a region where na- tures forces were working too int9nsely to admit of other and less active forms of force. We become cognizant indeed of another circumstance, which confirmed this impPbssion. As we approached the globe of Saturn, we could perceive that myriads of meteors and small comets were circling close around him, or streaming in upon his surface. They travelled mnuch less swiftly than those which we had seen in the suns neighbourhood: butstill their velocity was enormous, insomuch that their fall upon the planet or their swift rush through his atmosphere would have sufficed to destroy all living creatures on his globe. But the fiery glow of so lar~e a proportion of Saturns visible surface, seemed of itself sufficient to show that it could not be inhabited. When at length we passed within the Saturnian a~tmosphere, which extends but a small ~istance relatively above his visible surface, we obtained at once the most convincing evidence that he cannot possibly be the abode of life. Immediate- ly a strange uproar surrounded us, less intense but scarcely less appalling than that which prevails within the solar atmos- phere. Repeated reverberations seemed to announce either the collision of enor- mous masses or the occurrence of tremen- dous volcanic outbursts. But the most characteristic of the noises which greeted us was an intense and persistent hissing, as though steam were rushing from a mil- lion outlets at once. Passing to the illuminated portion of the planet and remaining on the equa- torial zone we found ourselves still un- able to tell whence this hideous noise pro- ceeded. On all sides of us were immense masses and columns of whitish vapour; some rushing violently to vast distances A VOYAGE TO THE RINGED PLANET. 37 above us. others sinking, others quiescent subterranean forces at work here, and to in position, but rapidly chan~in~ in figure. their partial relief from the action of gray- Directing our perceptions towards the ity~ yet it seems chiefly to be occasioned depths beneath us, we could recoguize no by the downpour of cometic and meteoric sign of any surface. We passed down- matter over this zone. Even during our wards for hundreds and hundreds of miles, short stay the dense atmosphere around until we had lost the light of the sun, and above us was roused more than once which was replaced by the continually in- into tremendous whirlwinds by the arrival creasing glow of the fires we were ap- of enormous masses of matter from with- proaching. At length, as we passed out. But though local peculiarities of this through a layer of clouds, which could sort exist, yet, in a general sense, it may scarcely have been less than twenty thou- be said that the whole bulk of Saturn is sand miles below what we had regarded as instinct with fiery energy, rendering, it al- the surface of the planet, we suddenly be- together unsuited to be the abode of liv- held a scene so startling that we stayed ing creatures, or at least of creatures re- our course as by common consent to gaze sembling any existing on the earth. If upon it. We at length saw the true sur- creatures of another kind exist there, we face of Saturn. And what a surface! For could recognize no sign of their presence. land and water we saw glowing rock and If there are intelligent beings there, their molten lava. Vast seas of fire, tossed by intelligence is not such as huntan intelli- furious gales whose breath was flame, co- gence can communicate with. We agreed ruscated with a thousand colours as their that so far as the evidence before us went condition underwent continual change. and as I have told you our powers of Then over a wide extent of those oceans perception were limited Saturn, like the the intense lustre would die out, to be re- sun, is altogether uninhabited. It is the placed by a dull almost imperceptible scene of an intense physical activity, but glow, where the surface of the fiery ocean no form of vital energy exists there, nor was changing into a crust of red-hot rock. are any of the processes at work there But then came fresh disturbance; the due to the actior~ of any form of intelli- crust broke in a thousand places, showing gence. the intensely hot sea beneath. Fragments We passed from the burning surface of of red-hot rock, many miles in extent, were Saturn, through his intensely heated and tossed hither and thither by the raging most perturbed atmosphere, sharing a corn- sea. Nor were these the only evidences mon sense of regret that our journey had of an intense energy. For from time to as we thought been fruitless. We had in- time the rush of the hurricanes which deed seen much that was wonderful, and raged over the molten oceans was hushed much that we had hitherto had no concep- into comparative stillness as volcanic ex- tion of; but we had set out on our voyage plosions took place, the least of which with the hope of discovering other living seemed competent to destroy a ~vorld. Enor- creatures in Saturn, and we had found not mous volumes of steam and of other im- only that none such exist, but that this prisoned gases were flung upwards with giant orb is altogether unfit to be the irresistible force, bursting their way abode of life. We agreed, however, to through the overhanging canopy of cloud, carry out our original plan, to visit the and passing to hei~hts where from our rings and satellites before returning to the present standpoint they were wholly lost earth. The- rings, naturally, received our to view. attention in the first instance. We should have wished, perhaps, under So soon as we had passed beyond the at- other circumstances to extend our survey mosphere of Saturn, we found that during over the rest of Saturns surface; though our stay the planets swift rotation had from what we had already witnessed, we carried the region we had been visiting to felt well assured that the whole planet is a considerable distance from the place it the scene of a turmoil and confusion re- had before occupied. We had indeed been sembling that now before us. At the poles only some three hours under the veil of indeed there is an approach to quiescence, clouds which form the surface of the plan- and it would even appear that before many et as he appears to terrestrial astrono- ages are past, the polar Saturnian regions mers. But three hours in Saturn, at his may be fit to be the abode of living cren- real surface, corresponds to nearly half a tures. On the other hand, the equatorial day on the earth, though observers on the zone of Saturn seems to be in a state of earth (mistaking the cloud-regions for his abnormal activity; and though this may surface) call his rotation-period ten hours. be in great, part due to the intensity of the Accordingly we were at a loss at first to 38 A VOYAGE TO TilE RINGED PLANET. know precisely where we were. And I were travelling the same way round, would note in passing that none should though not in perfectly circular paths, undertake such voyages as ours without a so that there were no direct encounters. considerable share of astronomical knowl- All that happened was that, from time to edge, lest haply havin~ lost sight of the time, a tiny satellite would overtake anoth- world they had left, they should be unable er and come into contact with it. And to rediscover it. Where we were, there even such collisions seemed to be softened was indeed little risk of this, as the rings by the atmospheric surroundings of these and satellites indicated sufficiently the p0- bodies. sition we were in. We had but to look But as we traversed the width of the towards the heavens to se.e the tiny but dark ring and approached the main edge brilliant orb which is the sun of Saturn, of the great bright ring, we perceived that and at once we knew where Saturns rota- one atmosphere envelopes the whole of tion had carried us. the ring system, insomuch that collisions We now passed to the so-called dark taking place in one part of the system are rin ~,. This rin is, however, no darker, in audible in other par ~. Now the hri~ht one sense, than the others. The seeming rings consist, like the dark ring, of millions darkness and brightness of the rings are of minute satellites, but these are spread not at all due to the darkness or brightness much more densely. Risin~ for a few inn- of the matter composing them. The fact ments out of the atmosphere of the rmn~s really is, that the dark ring consists of a we could perceive that the dark back- number of very small bodies, all travelling ground of sky was readily discernible nearly in the same level, and so widely through even the brightest part of the scattered that one can see through the ring; and passing down again through the ring the deep blue background of the sky. atmosphere and so beyond to the, other This deep blue background, combined with side of the ring, on which the sun was not the yellowish red light which these bodies shining, we found that not only could the reflect, produces the purplish brown colour dark background of sky be perceived, but which terrestrial telescopists recognize in that it was possible to recognize the con- this ring. stellations through the Saturnian rings! But when we reached the ring we found But although it may be conceived from this that the small satellites are immersed in a circumstance that the satellites composing vaporous envelope, not formin0 atmos- even the brightest parts of the rings are pheres for the satellites severally, but con- not very closely set, yet collisions are very stituting a somewhat flattened .ring of va- numerous in the brighter zones of the pour throu0h which they travel. They ac- rings. When we were passin0 through tually carry with them, however, consider- one of these zones the reverberations were able masses of this vapour; and hence almost continuous, and were at times so some very remarkable effedts follow. For tremendous that we could readily under- though the satellites are severally minute, stand their being audible even in the dark their vapour-coats extend pretty widely, ring, ten thousand miles away. and thus, though collisions rarely occur in In passing, I must not omit to notice a this ring between the actual satellites, their circumstance which struck us as interest- vaporous envelopes are continually en- in0. When we passed through the rin~s countering, so that the general atmospheric to a great height above their level, we ring is loaded with detached vaporous would readily trace the motions of the sat- masses which only diffuse themselves very ellites composing the rings. But as we gradually into the surrounding and munch approached the level of the rings again, rarer atmosphere. the rapidity of these motions prevented us When we actually entered this atmos- from discernin0 the separate satellites, un- phere, we found that a noise as of a mighty less we chose to follow tlwir course. When whirlwind continually prevails within it, we remained still, they flashed past in such while, from time to time, thunderous re- sort as to cause the ring to assume the ap- verberations are heard which echo and ic- pearance of a net-work of bright streaks, echo as though they would never cease. of greater or less length according to the We were at some loss to conceive the greater or less rapidity with which the cause of this tumult, since we could per- particular satellite producing any streak ceive that collisions between satellites were was moving. The continual change of few and far between. Nor, indeed, were appearance of this net-work as the several such collisions of a nature to cause any streaks shifted, was one of the most bean- such uproar as occasionally arose. For it tiful si0hts I ever remember to have wit- was worthy of notice that all the satellites nessed. It reminded us in some degree of A VOYAGE TO THE RINGED PLANET. 39 the appearance presented when a cairn sea is traversed by series of cross-ripples, whose sun-illumined crests form a shifting network of light. 1 After traversing the width of the inner bright ring, we reached the so-called gap between the rings. But this is no real di- vision. It is very similar indeed to. the dark ring, and only appears darker than the neighbouring rings because it is occu- pied by few satellites, whereas they are formed of many. It is remarkable, how- ever, that during the time of our stay in this part of the ring-system, we did not perceive a single satellite within it whose course was parallel to the sides (or, if one may so speak, the shores) of ~he dark ring; every satellite we saw passed from the in- ner bri~ht ring outwards or from the outer brin ring inwards; and moreover, every such satellite returned to the ring from which it had come not one passmn0 athwart the whole breadth of the dark re- gion. We passed through the outer bright ring, noticing nothin~ that in any remark- able degree distinguished it from the inner bright ring. In both thes~ rin~s the satel- lites showed a tendency to travel in lon,, flights, so as to form as it ~vere subordinate rings, or rather parts of rings, for these flights nowhere extended more than a few thousand miles in length. All the most interesting part of our voyage was now as we supposed past. We had only to pay a hasty visit to each of Saturns eight satellites, and then to re- turn, heartily disappointed~ so far as our main object was concerned, to the world we had left in such high hope. As Mimas, the innermost satellite, was close by the part of the ring-system we had now reached, we passed over at once to this small orb. Prepared to find in Mimas a miniature moon, even less interestin0 than it mni~ht otherwise have been, because we knew now that it could serve no useful part to living creatures in Saturn, our amazement will be conceived when we discovered as we approached that Mimnas is a miniature world. We saw before us land and water; we could perceive clouds floating in the Mirnasian air; and presently as we passed the confines of this air, we began to hear the sounds of busy life. Descending through a cloud veil which hid from our view the land and water immediately be- neath us, we saw at length the beings of another world! At first all was perplexing to us. We perceived living creatures utterly unlike any with which we had hitherto been fa- miliar. They were busy in their several ways, but the nature of their ways and the object of their actions we could not com- prehend. It would only confuse those whom this narrative will reach to describe all that we saw, or to attempt to explain how what we saw became gradually intel- ligible to us. The forms of life are prob- ably almost as numerous in Mimas as on the earth; and the relations between the several orders of living creatures are as interesting and as complicated. It would require a whole treatise to present aright all that a Huxley or an Owen in Mimas could teach about the living creatures which exist there. It is clear that to con- vey accurate ideas respecting the whole economy of another world would be quite impossible, unless those to whom we com- mit this narrative were prepared to devote a whole volume to such matters. But certain circumstances may be relat- ed, as likely to prove interesting to the in- habitants of another world. The Mimasians are somewhat smaller than men, but like men, they carry the head erect, and have four chief limbs, two upper and two lower, the latter chiefly used in progression. The trunk is shorter in proportion to the total height, and the frame appears to be more muscular and powerful. It is difficult, however, to form a judgment on this point, because the cir- cumstances under which these beings live are altogether unlike those which prevail on the earth. Indeed, so soon as we had learned that Mimas is inhabited, we expect- ed to find the creatures living here either ~igantic in stature or else of surpassing agility, simply because we knew that Mi-. mnasian gravitation must be very much less energetic than the attraction of gravity on the earth. But we found none of them to exceed in dimensions the creatures most nearly correzponding to them on the earth; while there is nothing very remarkable about the activity of any Mimasian ani- mals. It would seem likely that the ques- tion of actual strength and activity de- pends quite as much on other circumstances as on those which have usually been con- sidered by writers on the subject of other, worlds. We thought, for instance, we could recognize in the slowness of respira- tion among the Mimasians, in the small quantity of air drawn in at each respira- tion, and in the relative rarity of thei rair, sufficient reasons for the small degree of activity which they displayed nuder condi- tions which would enable men to spring with ease to thrice their own height. 40 A VOYAGE TO THE RINGED PLANET. But it was in the configuration of the to its. He does not indeed shine very con- head that these bein~,s were most marked- spicuously; the light he gives being such ly distinguished from the human race. as I have already described in speaking of The ears are lar~e and quite round, some- our approach to his globe. But the Mma- what resemblin~ conch-shells, and capab sians have to shade their heat-eyes (so to of changing in shape so as to ~ather in a name the feature already mentioned) when greater or smaller~quantity of sound as the the vast orb of Saturn is in the fulness of Mimasian may desire. But the most re- his meridian heat-glow. Particularly is markable feature of the Mimasian face con- this the case when he is high above the ho- sists of two orbits immediately above the rizon, at this heat-noon. For, owin to the large eye-orbits, and occupied by a series inclination of the axis of Mimas to the of delicate thread-like appendages radially plane in which this world travels round arranged. For a long time we were quite Saturn, the orb of the latter has a variable unable to understand what this feature course on the Mimasian sky. Most per- might signify, especially as the Mimasian 1 plexing are the relations thus presented. animals exhibit a like peculiarity, though For Mimas turns once on its axis in about with characteristic differences of structure, six hours, and travels once round Saturn We found at length, however, that the fea in something short of twenty-three hours; ture represents a sixth sense possessed by so that even while Saturn is passing across the Mimasians, and bearing the same rela- the Mimasian sky, he can be seen to tray- tion to heat which eyesight bears to light. erse a large space among the stars. X., By means of this peculiar sense the Mima- who, as you know, is well versed in terres- sian can as readily distinguish the shape trial astronomy, expressed the opinion that of objects which approach him, as a man Mimasian astronomy must be difficult to can tell the shape of an object lying within master. the range of his vision. But the sense However, the Mimasians, though good enables the Miinasian to ascertain more observers (their instruments I shall de- than the mere shape of objects, for while scribe on another occasion), have as yet his eyesight enables him to distin~uish the very imperfect ideas respecting astronomi- appearance of objects, this sixth sense tells cal subjects. They suppose Mimas to be him of their constitutiot and physical con- the centre of the universe; and though dition. It is also as available in the dark- some of the more travelled Miinasians est Mimasian night as in full day. maintain that Mimas is either a ~1obe or a The axis of Mimas being inclined as cylinder in shape, yet the majority conceive well to the level in which Saturn travels as that its surface is quite flat. to the plane of the ring-system (in which The ring of Saturn presents a very re- plane, as you are aware, Mimas circles), markable appearance in the Mimasian sky. they have two chief seasonal influences. It extends over an enormous arc, insomuch During the long Mimasian year (the same, that in certain Mimasian latitudes when of course, as the Saturnian) the suns mid- one end (or what looks like one end) day altitude changes much as on the earth; of the ring-system is on the horizon, the only the four quarters of the year are each other is overhead. The satellites com- rather more than seven of our years in posing the ring are not discernible from length. But these chances do not greatly Mimas; and as the ring Where it crosses affect the Mimasians, though they com- the globe of Saturn cuts off a portion of monly live some ten or twelve years, that his heat, which they reco.,nize with is from about 300 to about 350 of our their heat-eyes just as accurately as we years. (X. supposes their remarkable should recognize the eclipse of a por- longevity to be due to the slowness and tion of the sun; they call the cool zone. limited extent of their respiration.) Their Some of them very positively maintained, chief season-ruler is Saturn himself, who until of late, that the ring is a phenome- supplies th~m with an enormous amount non of the Mimasian atmosphere! These of heat. Indeed, the heat supplied by ill-advised astronomers have been shown S iturn is so gre at that (as we afterwards to be mistaken, however; and it is now learned) the inhabitants of Tethys, Dione, admitted by all that the ring is an append- and Rhea hold life to be impossible not on- age of Saturn. ly in Mimas but in Enceladus, the next in I must leave to another occasion a fuller order of distance from Saturn. It will be description of what we saw and learned understood how important a part the heat in Mimas. It will be as well also that for of Saturn plays in the economy of Mimas, the present I should say nothin~ respect- v;h~n I mention that he looks about nine ing the creatures which inhabit Enceladus, hundred times as large as the sun appears Te~hys, Dione, Rhoa, Titan, and Japetus, 41 A VOYAGE TO THE RINGED PLANET. for already this account has extended to a sufficient length. Let it be sufficient for the present to remark that all these satel- lites are inhabited, and that the peculiari- ties which distinguish their inhabitants from each otliwr and from those of Mimas, are as remarkable as those which distin- guish Mimasian creatures from the inhabi- tants of the earth. Hyperion, which terrestrial astronomers regard as a satellite travelling between the orbits of Titan and Japetus, the giants of Saturns satellite family, is not an in- hahited world. It is, indeed, but the largest of a na:, of satellites travelling be- tween Titan and Japetus, and bearing somewhat the same relation to the remain- ing seven satellites that the ring of aster- oids bears to the primary planets of lhe solar system. It will interest you also to learn that both Titan and Japetus are attended by small moons, Titan by three, Japetus by five. These orbs, thou~h exceedingly small by comparison with ex en the least of the Saturnian satellites, yet reflect a considerahie amount of light to their re- spective primaries; for they travel on or- bits of very limited extent, and thus ap- pear large. The nearest of Titans moons, for instance, appears about seven times as large as our moon; yet it is not more than 230 miles in diameter. Ttie inhabi- tants of Titan are persuaded that their moons are the abode of living creatures, but this is not the case. AMONG the famous sights of Smyrna which are seldom seen by casual visitors are the Tomb of Tantalus on the opposite side of the bay, and the Lake of Tantalus in the chain of Sipylus. According to the classic historians, besides the rock-cut image of Cybele, here there was once a city of Tantalus, which was destroyed by an earthquake. Since the eruption of Vesuvius the lake has been sensibly affected. This lake, the crater of a .volcano supposed to be extinct, and amid volcanic formations, is reputed to be fath- omless, although an English naval officer settled that point many years ago. At this time of the year it is a place for pic-nics from the summer- town of Bournabat, but now sight-seers and tourists are proceeding thither because the two peaks above the lake are visibly sinking. Not only so, but two fissures have opened, from one of which warm water flows, and in the other ruins are to be recognized of a fine city. Such is the local report we have received. On the other side of the city of Smyrna are the volcanic peaks of the Two Brothers, and it is much to be feared after late disturbances of the district some fearful earthquake again awaits the city. Atbennum. EFFEcTs OF TIlE ERUPTION OF VEsuvIus ON VEGETATION. Sig. G. A Pasquale contributes to the .dccademia delle Scienzeftsiche e maf he matiche of Naples a paper on the effects of the recent eruption of Vesuvius on the plants in the neighbourhood, of which the following is a ri- sumi. The newest vegetation has suffered from contact with the ashes, though the effect has been neither a scorching nor drying-up. The action has not been a mechanical one, for a mere closing of the pores of the epidermis could not have caused death in so short a time. The cbs- ing of the pores and stomata undoubtedly pro- duces a secondary effect, but only after the lapse of some days. No change has been ob- served simil r to that produced by the vapour of boiling water. The action of a high dry tem- perature occurs only in places in the immediate vicinity of Vesuvius. Neither an acid nor an alkaline reaction is shown by any change of colour, except a few instances of a change to blue of rose, orange, or violet coloured organs, which might be attributed rather to an alkaline than an acid reaction; but these are few and doubtful. Many phenomena concur in pointing to chloride of sodium as the chief agent in the destruction of vegetable tissue. The salt was present in sufficient abundance in the falling ashes to be readily discernible to the sight, and is also met with as an effiorescence on the ashy soil. A CORRESPONDENT of the Madras Mail, quoted by the Times of India, says that on the night of June 15 last the plain to the east, north, and north-east of Nandidroo~ was cov- ered with many thousands of li0hts, which have been observed occasionally in former years. The correspondent compares thc appearance to that of a lar~e city brilliantly illuminated, and in one direction the scene, through a binocular glass, looked like a view of part of the starry heavens, each flame being like a star. As many of the lightsNwere from ten to fifteen miles distant froum the reporters point of view, he conjectures that each flame must have been five to six feet in len~th. An attempt is being made to find out the cause of the curious phenomenon, the most likely hypothesis being that the lights are caused by the ignition of some intl mma- ble gas escaping in jets from the surface of the earth. 42 TilE BURGOMASTERS FAMILY. From Frasers Magazine. it excluded all ill-natured gossip, all petti THE BUJIGOMASTERS FAMILY; OR, WEAL ness of mind. AND WOE IN A LITTLE WORLD. Strange conjectures were uttered that BY CHRISTINE MULLER. evening in Dilburg, more or less near the truth; conjectures which in the stillness TRANSLATED FROM THE DUTCH BY SIR JOHN of night spread themselves through the SHAW LEFEVE. town, and hardly waited for daylight to CHAPTER VIII. proclaim the truth with the loud voice of RUMOUR. SEVEN AND TWENTY YEARS AGO. But no one could be acquainted with the THEY had taken him to prison, the un- truth, in all its details, as written during fortunate Eversberg, under a fearful accu- that long night by the unhappy father to ration of murder in its most horrible form, his son, and as I shall now impaPt it to you committed on a benefactor and friend, by the letter itself, which ran thus: Seven and twenty years had passed since Bruno, my good son! It is to you that terrible event seven and twenty that I address these lines, which contain years of unblemished life, and a life which, the full confession of your unhappy father besides this, bore witness to so many good a full confession, be it at the cost of the deeds, so much honour and uprightness, love and the reverence of those who are Bnt all these years had not sufficed to the dearest to me in this world. Yes, I ~ripe out that blaqk deed, nor to appease will no longer play the part which has the arenging might of retribution. On been the curse of my life. This fall con- his highest throne of honour and respect, fession, as I shall lay it before my earthly justice had reached him ; it had snatched and heavenly judge, I will in the first place off the crown from his guilty head, utter to you. dragged down his name into the dust, and May God be merciful to me, Bruno! burnt into his forehead the mark of Cain. I cannot feel it otherwise than a relief, Of this terrible truth, nothing was now that at last the sword which I have known with certainty the night of the seen for seven and twenty years hanging ball; but after the words utterA by over my head has fallen. Oh! that it was Bruno, it was as if a spectre had walked myself alone, the guilty one, that it would through the beautiful ball-rooms,grinnin~ strike, and that it would pass by the inno- at every one, sending a shudder through cent heads of my wife and child, But the their limbs, and converting the departure curse is, the sins of the father are visited of the guests into a hurried flight. The on the children to the third and fourth carriages which were, ordered so much generation; that fearful text of Scrip- later could have been easily procured in ture that has so often made me shudder, the little town of Ddburg, but no one lest it might have its fulfilment even in wished to stay a moment longer than you in you, whom I would have defend- was absolutely necessary. They hastily ed from shame and pain with my hearts wrapped themselves in their light cloaks, blood Silent and amazed, they went out sep- But I must remain calm if I am to retain arately. Like shades, the ladies glided strength enough to say what I must say. along in their light dresses and white I must forget the present for the past, cloaks in the clear mooPlight of the an- which I must describe to you. tumn evening across the great market- I write it to you, Bruno, because in these place of the town. moments I hardly dare to raise my eyes to Once at home, in every house, the your motner; because my guilt towards tongues that had been paralyzed by fright her is so much greater than towards you. were set free, and the conjectures which I write to you in order to spare myself the had been whirlin0 through their heads at cruel punishment of a face-to-face confes- last found their natural outlet in speech; sion. You must know the whole truth and, now no longer among strangers, before .1 6an look into your eyes again, people dared to give utterance to their and perhaps in your heart you may still thoughts. find one word of comfbrt and forgiveness The word prison in connection with for him who has expiated so bitterly the the man who had been respected and boa- crim~ which he committed. oured ever since they had known him; I was hardly fifteen years old, Bruno, that word in connection with the host who when my mother, the widow of a shop- a few hours before had opened his house keeper, came to live in Dilburg. Our for a splendid & te was a thought so new income was limited, limited even for the and alarming, that for the moment at least small bourgeosie to which we belonged, THE BURGOMASTER S FAMILY. 43 but I believe that with ~.ood mana~ement power was one of the few sound ideas and a contented disposiPon it would have which I cherished, and which made me been quite suflicient for our wants. zealously acquire the branches of knowi- Far be it from me to wish to stain the edge within my reach. memory of my mother; but perhaps I may Perhaps it was this exceptional zeal find some little excuse for myself in the which drew on me the attention of the wrong ideas which in many respects were School Commissioners, and made one of imprinted in me through her example. them think of recommendin me, when She was an ambitions woman, my mother, the vacancy occurred of a clerkship in the with a discontented disposition, always counting-house of the iron-foundry of Mr. bewailing the low position to which she had MUller. I recollect that day as if it were been reduced, and to which, as the daugh- yesterday, when, for the first time in my ter of a rich silversmith, who became bank- life contented with my lot, I walked to the rupt before his death, she was not brought foundry and answered in the counting- up. It was the recollection of days of house the questions which the master put comfort which had embittered her life and to inc. I recollect the proud feeling with i~ade her look upon riches and position as which I took my place at the desk which lifes highest good. was pointed out to me as mine. I knew I have often thought since, that the that at last I had my foot pn ~he ladder to seeds of the same restless longings might become more than an ordinary workman, thus have been sown in me, and in my and that I might get on ftirther by my young and ardent mind were developed own industry and perseverance, and I did into a passion. I recollect how from a child get on further. I indulged in undefined dreams of a great On the eight years of my life which future. I recollect that I looked at the then followed, I cannot look back without large houses of the rich in the town with sati sfaction. an envious eye, and, in my thoughts, I I worked I worked with pleasure and chose out the most beautiful as my dwell- zeal through all these lone years. I did ing in that undefined time to which my not keep up any intercourse with my for- ima~ination spoke to me; that I pushed mer comrades, nor did I seek new ones; so into the doors of concert-rooms and the- that as far as this went there was not much atres to admire the ladies and gentlemen fear of my being led away, and I found in their fine clothes, and then returned ample oppportunity for my own studies, home to our humble dwelling, where I told which I continued in my leisure hours with my mother of all the finery I had seen. an insatiable thirst for knowledge. I do Oh, yes, rich men are happy; they can not believe, however, that a mode of life get everything, was then her ordinary re- so little natural to a young man can oper- mark, and our simple meal was distasteful ate favorably in the formation of his char- because we thought of the savory dishes acter. In my case, at all events, I believe which the cook brought over to the great that a little youthful fun and a little youth- house opposite to us, and nty mother ful folly would have restored the balance was dissatisfied with her new down be- of my mind and have counteracted the se- cause it was not silk, like that of the gro- dateness and cold calculation which were cers wife. its chief characteristics. I was seventeen years old when the Two years after I had entered my em- choice of an avocation for me had to be~ ployment, my mother died, and I became decided. All my schoolfellows had already more and more withdrawn into myself. left behind them several years of their~In her I lost the only confidant of all my apprenticeship in the trades they had wishes. By her death I lost the only per- chosen, but with me it was a new example son in the world to whom I could fully cx- of the old proverb, to overlook what is press my thoughts, and from whom I found within ones reach in hankering after what sympathy for all the ambitions dreams is unattainable. To become an officer, which my fancy presented to me; and at to study for the profession of an advocate the same time that this sad loss befell a or doctor, these were the foolish dreams great chaa,,,e in my life in other respects of the son of a poor widow, and mean- dawned upon me. while the time and opportunity to become My master, in these two years had a clever workman were lost. The only certainly not exchanged ten words with good thing was, that I did not suffer to me. His counting-house was separated by pass by uselessly the period of my being a thin partition from the office of the clerks, at school, which had been somewhat long and at any hour of the day one might cx- for may station in life. That knowledge is pect to see him comae in there. 44 THE BURGOMASTERS FAMILY. Except on business, he seldom or never the desk of his father with a box of bricks addressed a word to his subordinates, and or a dissected map on a little table. the distance between the chief and the The pretty child, with his black curly youngest clerk was too great not to make hair, had now grown up into a smart it a very rare event for me to have a con- young man; his desk now stood on the versation with him on business. He was place where he once sat with his play- a singular mixture of good and evil, that things, but alas, the relations between the old Mr. MUller. He was then nearly father and son were far from what they seventy years old; but his back was un- were in those earlier years. I believe bent and he had the strong energetic look that it was the very similarity of their of a young man in his dark deep-set eyes. two characters which led to the continual lie was strict, but as I had latterly many disputes which used to take place when opportunities of remarking, more on prin- Joseph had outgrown his childs shoes. ciple than by nature. With an external The leading feature of both their natures appearance of calmness, he concealed from was the keeping fast to a resolution once the superficial observer his easily agitated taken, or to an intention once declared; mind, which could boil up fiercely in an~,er both had a certain coolness which was the or could overflow with sorrow, and which cloak of their warm hearts; both had the could passionately and powerfully hate or violence of temper, which had already love; and his experience of life had been caused so many feuds between them. I bitter. The i wife, whom in the autumn told you, Bruno, how few words had ever of his life he had first learnt to know and been exchanged between my master and love, proved faithless to him a few years me. Twice on New Years day he had after their marriage, and left him to fol- given me a present of money, with the low her lover when the little Joseph had words, I am content with you, Evers- scarcely reached three years of age. berg, and twice these words had made People said that on the occurrence of my heart beat with pride and hope. this catastrophe, which had destroyed his On the occasion of the death of my domestic happiness, no one ever heard mother, I remained at home a week and him utter a complaint or saw him shed a came back to the foundry for the first tear; that in the same week he caused time a few days after her burial. How I everything which had belonged to his wife was surprised when I saw my place occu- to be taken out of his house, and that not pied by a strange person, who informed only her name never came to his lips, but me that he was appointed the junior clerk, no one would have dared to pronounce it but before I had time to think what this in his presence. It was said, on the con- could mean, I was asked by my master trary, that when this same wife had been into his counting-house. forsaken by her lover, and was sunk in When I went in, I found Joseph poverty, the unknown benefactor, who by MUller there sitting at his desk with a pen an anonymous remittance secured her between his white teeth, without even the from further sin, was no one else but her pretence of working, staring at his father injured husband. Since that time he had and me with a defiant look in his dark eyes lived wholly withdrawn from the world. which were exactly the same as those of An old single woman, Mrs. Sass, man- the old man at the desk opposite to him. aged hs housekeeping and took care of I have heard with concern that your little Joseph. To that young child Mr. mother is dead, Eversber~, said the old MUller appeared to have transferred all man in a more friendly tone than as yet I the love and tenderness of his heart, and had ever heard from him. It is a great to his welfare and the care of his educa- loss for you in which I heartily sympathize. tion thenceforth the whole life of the May I know whether you have formed any father appeared to be devoted. He made plan as to your future residence? it his habit always to have the child close I told him that an arrangement was by him; he himself taught him in prepara- proceeding for my residence with an ac- tion for school the troublesome elements quaintance of my late mother. of knowledge. The childs little bed was Put a stop to this arrangment, Evers- placed in his room, and day and night he berg; I have other plans for you. After filled with love and carO the place of the to-morrow you are to go to the foundry childs missin mother. In the foundry to learn the business of an ironfounder the workmen were accustomed to see the thoroughly. I have given my orders to little fellow tripping alon~, holdin his the foreman who will inform you down fathers hand; in the counting-house there there as to your future employment.. I was nothing strange in finding him near wish you from this time forth to take, up THE BURGOMASTERS FAMILY. 45 your abode in my house where within a few days a roora shall be made ready for you. In these few words the great change which my lot was to undergo was au- nounced to me. An instant afterwards Mr. Miiller left the counting-house. I was too astonished then to make him any an- swer and he did not seem to have expected any. If I had been able and had dared to express what I felt, it would have been a vehement objection to learn an employ- ment which had no attraction for me, nevcrtheless, I could not but think that my master had in view my welfare, and that unconditional obedience was all that I had to do in order to secure his good will towards me. In the same week I took up my abode in the house of Mr. Muller. I need not have been long there to remark that I hal come there contrary to the wishes of Joseph. Latterly I understood that his refusal to learn the business was the lead- ing cause of this great change in my life. There was a warm scene between father and son, and the father had sworn a solemn oath that he would not leave the foundry in ignorant hands; but his son would not give way; the son understood giving way even less than the father; and so I came into their dwelling iu the unen- viable position of a~i apple of discord to carry out the threat of the old man, that he would choose another successor. From this tinie forth, the alienation between the father and son became every day stronger. Joseph never said a word to me in the presence of his father, and his father by a double share of friendliness towards me made his coolness towards his son comc out still more strongly. In spite of all I felt myself fortunate in my posi- tion. Except at meal-times, I was seldom seen in the family-circle. All day being actively engaged in the foundry, I devoted my evenings to the studies which I had always continued. This sort of life passed uniformly and methodically, for two more years. Everything was nearly the same except the conduct of Joseph Muller, who gradually was going to the bad. His ab- sence from.home was the consequence of the alienation between himself and his father. This absence from home led to bad company, and bad company led to the debasing habits of play and drink. Twice had the father with large sums of money saved his sons name from shame and dishonour. Twice had the son made his promise of repentance and bn- provemnent, but before the third time, theis came an explosion. I happened to be in the counting-hou~e when a bill was presented to Mr. Muller, drawn upon him by Joseph without any right or notice. From the pallor which overspread his earnest countenance, from the trembling fingers with which he silently subscribed his name, I saw that something uncommoa must have taken place. Just at this instant, when the servant left the counting-honse with the bill, Joseph came in and took his place at his desk. Understanding that something had oc- curred, I kept the father and son in my eye whilst I was counting out some money in the course of business. Had Joseph actually no suspicion of the storm that was gatherin~ over his head, or was it only an apparent calmness with which he sat himself down at his desk? I do not know, but I saw the young man was alar~ned when his father, placing his hand upen his shoulder bade him fol- low him. They both left the counting-house in silence; what passed between them I can- not tell you, Bruno. No one was a wit- ness of their interview which, as I after- wards heard from the housekeeper lasted no longer than half an hour. Loud and passionate words reached the outside of the room from which Joseph at last rushed out in wild haste. Only half an hour later he had left the house and, as afterwards was ascertained upon investigation, he had shipped himself at once off to America. Neither word nor sign was ever after- wards received from him. For two whole days the old man was entirely invisible. His book-room where the interview with Joseph had taken place, and which was above the parlour, was closed, and for eight and forty hours old Mrs. Sass and I heard him walking up and down the room with restless and hasty steps. As often as the times arrived for meals, Mrs. Sass yen tured to knock at the door, but without result. Other measures we dared not take. On the third day, in the morning, he came unexpectedly into the counting- house altered and grown thin. His head, once so proudly carried, was bent down; his daink eyes were sunk hollower and deeper than ever, but externally he was calm as before. Josephs desk was taken away from the counting-house, but all else went on 46 THE BURGOMASTER S FAMILY. / as be~fre. The ~a~ne evening I was in- of relieving you of all thanks, as regards my- vited into Mr. Mullers room. When I en. ~elf, but lay upon you a solemn dut~r ~ tered, I found him sitting at the table make the object of your life the welfare with a li~hted candle near him and a great and prosperity of the foundry. If you will many papers spread before him, whilst he truly fulfill this condition with all your was holding one of the papers in the flame. stren~th, swear it to me with your hand Without sayin~, a word he pointed to a upon the Bible which now lies before you. chair on the other side of the table, and I I took the oath, Bruno; with what took my place there in silence, after which feelings I left the room I can scarcely de- I had fully a quarter of an hour to conjec- ~scribe to you. In the boldest dreams of tore before he addressed a word to me. my imagination, the future which so un- Various papers, almost all sealed up, I expectedly opened before me had found saw him hold in the candle and burn one no place. I grew dizzy at the prospects after another. He then stood up to take which rose thus suddenly before me, but out of the bookcase the great folio Bible I shuddered at the injustice which had led with the silver clasps, which had been a to therp. I always knew that Joseph Miil- family heirloom, and in which, from time 1cr was thoughtless, but not irretrievably immemorial in old-fashioned manner, the bad. I felt that it was in a blind passion birth and marriage of every member of that the father and son, who in the bot- the family was entered. He then cut out tom of their hearts felt warmly for each a portion of a leaf and also held that in other, must have spoken words which had the candle till the scorched brown tinder caused this deep breach between them. I threatened to burn his fingers, his trem- felt like a thief who had stolen away from bling fingers which betrayed the inward the son his rightful inheritance, and yet sufferin~s of his soul, of which his rigid at the same time there came the stimulus countenance gave no si n. He then slow- of gratified ambition, the main passion of ly directed his piercing gaze at me. my young life, from the moment that I Do you know of what you have been knew myself. There arose, too, the castle the witness, Eversher,, ? in the air of riches, which I had been build- No, Mr. MUller, I stammered, alarmed ing for years, now about to become real; at his unexpected question. and I was too weak, I will say too coward- Then I will tell you. You have been ly, to offer any real resistance. the witness of this, that a father has buried The following morning, the book- his son. He said these words in a sol- keeper, the inspecto~s, and clerks, were einn tone, but his voice sounded hollow called into the counting-house, and there~ and strange, and before I could answer I was formerly presented to them as their him, he proceeded: future master. Now followed three more Thus far I have had every reason to years, which glided by like a dream. be satisfied with you Eversber,,, and I These three years had transformed have therefore, as a childless old man, de- Mr. MUller into a weak old man, and grad- cided to constitute you my succ:essor and ually the whole management of the foun- heir. henceforth you shall take upon dry had fallen into my hands. Still the yourself, under my direction, the whole master, every morning, went his rounds management of the iron foundry, and I through the counting-house and foundry, shall take care that it is known, and that but in effect he interfered hardly at all, people shall pay you the respect due to and was surly whenever I wished for his their future Master. Be silent, he cried advice upon some matter or other relating in a rough and passionate tone, as I began to the foundry. to speak a word in favour of his cast-off I was then five-and-twenty young, son. healthy, and strong, with a brilliant fu- Be silent, he repeated, though I was ture before me, which seemed to come already silent with fear, and never again nearer and nearer as the old man began dare to mention that name in my presence, to fall off in strength and clearness of or, by Heaven, I will instantly drive you mind, and his end was regarded by every- out of my house like a doe,. If I consti- one as approaching. tute you my successor, it ,is because I That I did not long for the death of think you are capable of keeping up the the old man, to whom I was so much in- honour of the foundry, which was the debted, I can assure you, Bruno, without property of my great-grandfather, and not falling short of the exact truth which I because I am specially inclined towards wish strictly to adhere to. you or am contemplating your happiness in I was fully content with my position: this matter. I tell you this with the object I had a large income, -more than sufficici t THE BURGOMASTER S FAMILY 47 for my wants; and as I have already told you, if not in name, I was in fact, the un- controlled lord and master in the foundry. The following year, Bruno, the eighth from my entering into the foundry, termi- nated the uniform succession of events. It be~,an with a dispute between Mr. MUller and myself over a place in the counting- house which had become vacant. I wished it to be f4led by a young man who had a very good recommendation in his favour, but my master held obstinately to his intention of giving the place, as the last chance of conversion to good ways, to the son of a friend who had asked for it. Perhaps it was the remembrance of his own son, which moved the old man to make this experiment with a good-for-nothing for a good-for-nothing, in the fullest sense of the word, one might call Julius Stellen- bur,~ whose life had a past which could not possibly promise anything for the fu- ture. I knew that, and was prejudiced against him before I had seen him; and I was more than displeased that he was to be received into Mr. MUllers house, which, up till now, with us two (for old Mrs. Sass was dead, and had not been replaced) had been a quiet, somewhat dull, but yet a p~aceful abode. I wish, Bruno, that I could paint you Julius Stellenburg, as I recollect him at our first meetin,,. That merry counte- nance with a mocking expression about the lips, that countenance which bore the traces of a dissolute life; with thought- lessness exhibiting itself in every frait, and yet having something attractive in it. I wish I could paint his portrait, with the peculiar faculty which he had of nestling himself into every heart, even of those who were prejudiced against him; with the cunning to discover everyones weak side, and the capability to use that weak side to his own advantage, and with that entire want of principle which distin- guished him. Between Mr. MUller and myself there did not exist any relation which could make one expect a hearty friendly feeling on his side. I do not believe indeed that at the bottom of his heart he liked me. I have often thought that it was the succes- sor of his son whom he could not endure in me. It was doubly strange to see him so attracted to Julius Stellenbur,~, who in a very few days had ingratiated himself ~ith him. It is true there was something irresistibly agreeable in his manner of talking and narrating. Evil itself, in his mouth, came to be a farce at which one laughed before one felt rising in one s heart the dislike which it deserved; but, nevertheless, I was every day surprised when I saw the old man enlivened by the society of Stellenburg, when I saw him longin~ for the hour when Stellenburg would come in from the counting-house, when I saw him lau0hing at stories of past mischief much worse than that for which he had sent away his own son. But the old man was becoming doting and childish. He felt lonely without a family and dull for want of work, and I believe that, through the merriment of Ju- lius Stellenburg, there arose a real enliven- ment in the uniformity of his life. As far as regards the first few days, I had kept out of the new-coiners way as ranch as possible, but on the third evening after his arrival he walked into my room without any excuse of husipess. Dont disturb yourself on my ac- count, he said, my dear fellow, taking up a cigar and placing himself astride on a chair opposite to me with his arms crossed over the back of it. Papa MUl- icr intends that I should have a good ex- ample, and as the good example has shown himself very little in my quarters, I am come to look at him at my leisure. I was much disturbed at the impudent manner in which he intruded himself upon me, and I determined to frighten him away by taking no notice of him and by going on with a calculation which I had bemn, just as if he were nor present, and I did so after a few cool words of excuse; but whether I would or not his eyes, which I always saw fixed on me with a half mock- in0 expression as often as I raised my own, made me nervous and disturbed me at my work; at last I impatiently threw my pen down. Mr. Stellenburg, it is impossible for me to go on working when you are looking at me in this way, I said crossly. Indeed, Mr. Eversberg, he answered laughing; to tell you the truth, I had just determined to come and have a chat with you; I hope, however, that you will discontinue addressin~ me as Mr., at least if the distance between the good exam- ple and the sinner is not too great in your worships eyes. How it happened I dont know, but one bore from Julius Stellenburg things one would not hear from any one else. There he sat, as an uninvited guest in my own room determined to banter me, and I bore it, and even began to feel the anger which his entrance had excited in me gradually disappearing. 48 THE BURGOMASTER S FAMILY. Do you know, Eversberg, I come es- a bourgeois, learnt to admire in him, and pecially to ask whether you can help me in which I could not bnt recognize his su- to a piece of string and a nail. periority, and the changes and vicissitudes What do you want it for, I asked, of his past life, in all the relations of whil~ I rose to get what he asked for. which he had suffered shipwreck, lx d given Sit still, my dear fellow, theres no him the advantage of an experience far hurry, to-morrow will do as well; I only beyond his years. I can well believe that x~ished to have it by me to hang myself if his stories could not always have stood the I felt inclined, for I see well enough that it touchstone of truth, or that at least it was is impossible for any jolly chap to st:~y an ornate and embellished truth which he long in this house. Now you will say that served up to me; but it was impossible it is good enough for such a ~,ood-for-noth- not to find his stories entertaining, and ing fellow as I am, to have come here into the society of Julius was a welcome the counting-house to write till I am tired, ehan~e in the uniformity which thus far to cast up what I have not gained, and all had distinguished my life. Gradually he this for the cost of lod~ing and washing knew how to tempt me to share some of and a salary, which I could well smoke the pleasures which Dilbnrg could afford. away in a year in Manillas; and this is all To what may be callel society, we except the inestimable privilege of a ~ood had neither of us access; but in public example; but the sum total is, that I amusements, such as concerts and plays, feel here about as much at my ease as a or balls, or r6unions of the second circle fish on dry land. in the town, I soon learnt to take pleasure, All beginnings are difficult, you will and to find in them an agreeable variety soon get accustomed to us here, I said from my laborious life. by way of comforting him. The more confidential we were with Alas! I never got accustomed to any- each other, the freer became Julius in ex- thing, he answered, with a half sigh, e x- pressing principles which shocked me, and cept to a jolly pleasant life in which I had which more than once made me determine not~in~, to do. Look, Evcrsberg, there are to draw back from him; but, somehow or individuals who are beasts of burden from other, he contrived again to draw me their cradles; there are others into whom along with him, and the fear of his laugh- you cannot hammer industry, do what you ing at me contributed not a little to this will. If one of the last-mentioned sort is result; and, after a time, it was a feeling born a Rothschild, or i Russian Prince with of gratitude which attached me to him. a silver mine, into whose mouth fail ripe For it was in that year, Bruno, that I pears and roast pigeons, then he is a good first met your mother; but I can hardly noble fellow all his life long; but if he call it a meeting, because there was so comes into the world as an ordinary man, great a ~distance between her social posi- with a purse as empty as the vessel of the tion and mine, that that was not possible. Danaides, lie is called a rogue from the But I saw her at a public concert a short very instant he gets into jacket and trou- time after she became an orphan, and took sers; and a good example who happens up her abode with a Dilburg family. to meet him creeps back into his shell Think of the lovely attractive countenance ~vhilst he thinks of the proverb, That he of your mother seven-and-twenty years who touches pitch will be defiled. Isnt ago, in all the bloom and freshness of it so, Eversberg? Good-night. youth. I cannot dwell on it any more He got up and left the room suddenly, it would take from me the power of writ- and I can only say, Bruno, that I felt ing further to you, and I wish that all ashamed of myself. Who was I that I should be fully cleared up between you placed myself so much above him? I was and me, before to-morrow shall bring you ashamed, and from the next day forwards to me. Let it be sufficient for you, my I endeavoured by double courtesy to son, that I was in love with your mother make up for my former reserve. From long before she had ever spoken a word to that day the confidence, which to my me, that I loved her with a passion which misfortune gradually arose between us, bordered upon madness, and, having re- continually increased. Julius Stellenburg gard to the distance in rank and station was of a good family and, before his dis- which separated us, it was a madness. solute life began, had lived much in good Julius Stellenburg was my confidant. society. The good manners which were I alluded just now to a feeling of gratitude peculiar to him, the free and easy mode in which attached me to him it had rela- which he carried and expressed himself, tion to his successful efforts to make me were the first things which I, the son of acquainted with your mother. He knew TILE BLIRGOMASTER S FAMILY. 49 her earlier when her parents were living, There was a time when this criminal whom he was in the habit of visiting, wish seemed about to he fulfilled. The He had not made a single acquaintance old man had a fit, and his end was consid- amongst the best families in Dilhurg, al- ered at hand by the physicians. Never- though his good hirth would have made it theless, contrary to all expectations, he very easy for him to have done so. recovered, and a month later the last Nevertheless, for my sake, he made an traces of his indisposition even the par- exception with respect to Johanna van tial paralysis of his limbs entirely dis- Reenen. He reminded her at a public appeared. But owing to that illness, a concert of their former acquaintance, and great change had taken place in the con- on the next opportunity he presented me dition of his mind. The stupor which, as to her. I fear that the first time I spoke it proceeded, threatened to end in abso- to her I must have made a sorry figure lute childishness had disappeared, and had before her whom I loved. The painful given place to all the clearness of intellect feeling of my social inferiority, which had which had formerly distinguished him. It so bug slumbered, woke up with redoub- was the last flicker of the flame of life led strength since I had Johannas image before it should become extinguished for in my heart; but she, with her friendli- ever to use the expression of the physi- ness and good loving heart, knew very cians. All the garrulity of his later years soon how to put me at my ease; and from had vanished; he was silent and earnest, that evenin~, I frequently spoke to her in as I had known him on my first acquaint- public places. ance, and his partiality for Julius Stellen I dont believe that the family where burg seemed to have quite passed off with she lived saw this with pleasure, but my that half-childish condition; but he was love was too great to be disturbed by any physically weaker than he had ever been one, so long as her eyes, with their friendly before. His back was bent, and his hair, expression, gave me welcome, and shone which had been silver grey, was now snow a.s two stars of hope in my young heart. white. To me he was more friendly and It was then, Bruno, that for the first hearty than I had ever known him. time the desire became strong in me that On a certain day, when I entered his the good position which would be mine room, I found him bending over a play- after the death of the old man should be thing, his face hidden in his hands, and he speedily realized, was sobbing as if his heart would break. ~Before that time, to declare my love I withdrew as unobservedly as I had to your mother would have been more entered, but it was a deadly pale face that than an absurdity; even when I should be looked at me out of the glass when I en- the owner of the foundry,then she would tered my room, which I sought under the have to take a step downwards to become first influence of the shock I had received. my wife; and although there lived in I had seen the box open, in which all that my heart a hope that I was not regarded belonged to Joseph Muller had been hid- by her withiudifference, yet such a sacri- den. The plaything was his; it was the fice would it have been for her in the posi- father who was weeping over his son and tion I then occupied, that I could not the memory of his childhood. From that propose to her. instant all the ice-crust on the heart of the I lived for some months in this exces- old man was melted. sive agitation. The anxious fear that Owing to his constantly increasing some one else might win the heart that I bodily weakness, he seldom left his room, loved, and the impossibility of pleading but I could never go in there without see- my wishes before the proper moment ing laid before him a miniature portrait should have arrived, deprived me of rest of Joseph when a child. and patience; and more than once I It is with difficulty that I can make my caught myself calculating as to the proba- sensations in those days intelligible to you. ble end of my benefactor. I call him so I can bring them before my mind only as advisedly, Bruno, that I may teach you to if in the cloud of an obscure dream. see with perfect clearness the unpardona- With a despairing feeling I saw the castle bleness of my crime. In the fullest sense in the air which I had been building all of the word, he was my benefactor. these years fall down, and the dearest Through him I was what I had become; wishes of my heart buried under its ruins. through him I had at once come to the I suffered fearfully. For some months the fuilfilinent of my lifes dream, to riches friendship between Julius and me had been and resp~mct, and yet I longed for his death much diminished. My refusing him mon- with feverish anxiety. LIVIG AGE. VOL. ~ 1254 cy, which he constantly endeavoured to 50 THE BURGOMASTEES FAMILY. borrow from me in greater sums, had pro- duced a coolness between us. In the first half-year, his conduct had been in all ways satisfactory; but his making acquaintance with a few dissolute young men had brought him back into old ways, and I he- gan to foresee the day when it would be impossible to conceal his conduct any longer from old Mr. MUller, upon which his dismissal from his present employment would hecome a necessity. But, although our intimacy diminished, it had not escaped him that a change had taken place in my- self, and upon his repeated question what had happened, I at last made him share in the fear which I had of a reconciliation between the father and the son, and the change which this might produce in my prospects. At first he gave me little an- swer or comfort. The following evening, however, he did not go out as he had been in the habit of doing latterly, but came and sat with me in my room, in order, as he said, to have a little friendly chat. But, in fact, all his conversation had one object under the appearance of friendship and sympathy to feed and to keep alive the anxiety and despair of my heart. In those days I was not in a state for calm consideration, so as to see through his devilish design. I allowed myself to be carried along with him in the descrip- tion which he gave me of my position, should Joseph MUller be recalled by his father, or how it would look when all the years that I had laboured in the factory would turn out to be for the benefit of the heir, and when Johanna van Reenen would be married to another. I was in this state of feeling when my niaster sent for me. A flush came across his wastcd, wrinkled face when he began, with a weak voice, to speak to me. Eversberg, said he, I ought to have listened to you when you wished to defend Joseph. I was a fool, blinded by passion; but Heaven be thanked that I have lived long enough to learn this, and to make good my mistake. Will you help me in this? I know this, that I have flattered you with the expectation of being my heir and successor; but I have learnt to un- derstand that I ought not to do this by passing over my own son, from whom I ~hould thus take what rightly belon:,s to him. That I shall know how to reward your faithful services as they deserve, I need not assure you. I am fully aware of the great debt of gratitude which I owe to you; but my thankfulness will be un- limited if you will help me to trace out my son. I shall die tranquilly if I can but lay my hand with blessing on the heid which in my passionate folly I had c~mrsed. I at unce promised him that I would write to the Dutch consul at New York, and by his intervention I would place ad- vertisements in the principal American papers. The blow which I had so long apprehended had thus fallen upon me, Bruno. With death in my heart, I nev- ertheless was able sufficiently to command myself so that the old man could see noth- ing of the bitter disappointment that his words had occasioned me. When 1 communicated this in the evening to Julius Stellenburg, he lau~hed. To grieve is old womans work, but a man should act, he said. Act, how can I act? I answered bitterly. He then spoke in a whisper a word which made my blood stand still in my veins. Satan! I said, turning myback upon him, whilst my look would certainly have expressed all the horror and con- tempt that at that moment I felt for him. But the word that he had spoken sounded in my ears the whole night. It drove my blood wild through my veins. It made me half mad by the temptation which was contained in it, and I did not write to the consul, as I promised the old man, who had laid his head down peacefully with the understanding that it had been done. For two days I did not speak a word to Stellenburg. On the third day he came into my room as if nothing had happened between us. It was a little piece of news that he came to impart to me; the news that there was a report that Johanna van Reenen was about to be married to a rich widower. In the despair of my heart, I listened to that word, which he again spoke, without the horror which, on the first occasion, it had awakened in me. And when he saw that I listened, he set forth to me the plan, as it seemed to him capable of being executed, and as it must long have been worked out in his head, in order to come to that accuracy and clearness with which he gave it me for my consideration. But I still hesitated. I felt as if I was put in a magic circle, and that I had no means of breaking loose from it, and yet my better feelings still maintained the upper hand. At that time, I accompanied, as before, Julius to a concert, where I knew for certain I should meet your moth- er, and I did meet her in his presence. I drank in a full draught of the sweet poison of my passionate love. When I returned THE BURGOMASTERS FAMILY. 51 home in the evening I found the old man, The desire to fly from temptation, to contrary to his usual custom, not yet in go far away where never man should know bed. He was feverish and nervous, and what black design had dwelt in my soul, would not sleep till I had promised to now possessed me. It was the voice of my summon the notary, who had the custody: better self which once more made itself of his will, for the following day. beard before it was finally overpowered by I must make good what I can, Evers- that of the bad angel, who again whispered berg. Heaven knows if I shall see myin my ear the words of Julius Joseph again! What is the life of an old doting man In that night, Bruno, the hellish plan worth, who, perhaps, has not a month more between Julius and myself was fnlly to live, and who, by our act, will have an ripened, easier death-sting,, le fhan mother Nature To Mr. Muller I said, that the notary would have given him? was out of town, and would return in a I shut the door, and slipped upstairs few days; but, in point of fact, I had no to my room as softly as I could. It was more written to him than to the consul. eleven oclock; all was still in the old In the afternoon of the following day I house; the servants slept in a far distant went from home as if on foundry business, part of it. In those days Dilbuings connection with The old man slept on the same floor on the outer world was still kept up by boat which were Julius Stellenburgs and my and diligence, and I departed by diligence rooms, close to the book-room where the to Arnheim, as I had done many times be. strong box stood. fore, to go thence on the following day to When I opened the door of my room Utrecht and Amsterdam. At the first carefully, I drew back at the first moment stopping-place, V6rsten, situated about an at the sight of a stranger in a sailors hour from here, I left the diligence, and dress, with a light beard, who was sitting asked for a room at a lodging-house which at the table. In the next moment Julius I knew, under the pretence of a bad pain Stellenbuing, for it was he, had taken off in my bead which hindered me from pro- his false beard and showed me his usual ceeding on my journey any further. I face, with the mocking expression on his gave out that I should immediately go to lips. bed, and wished to be undisturbed till the I see, at least, that my disguise is suf- following morning. I chose a room on the ficient, he said, with wonderful coolness; ground-floor, and carefully locked the but it is half an hour too soon, and you door. There I remained sitting quietly must make use of the time to become till it became dark. Then I opened the calm. window carefully, and, when I had got out, Calm it was indeed necessary. My I made use of the darkness to depart un- excitement had made way for a nervous- observed, and to take my way back to Dil- ness which made tue tremble from head to burg. foot. My knees knocked together, and I It was a dark night, and but for my was obliged to sit down to prevent myself knowledge of the way, I should have found from falling. I had not strength to utter it difficul4 to reach the town. The dark- a word, but sat silently opposite him; but ness, however, was so far favourable to my after the first greeting he did not say any- design, that I could not be recognized by thing. the people I met, and those were few; and That half-hour I shall never forget. then, as you know, the house and factory The ticking of the clock over the door was being outside the town, I was able to reach the only sound that broke the deadly still- the outer door without observation. ness. If it be possible for thought to Julius Stellenbur,, left the door open, stand still, that was my case in that horn- according to our agreement. I shuddered ble half-hour, during which a feeling of as I entered the door. I was in too great anguish was the only sensation which per- a state of excitement to be perfectly con- vaded my consciousness. scions of what I was doing as long as I Julius Stellenbuing, with his eyes closed, was in motion in my long walk. I now sat leaning back in a chair opposite to me, well remember that during the walk I did motionless as if asleep, and, when the strik- not think of the crime which I was going ing of the clock announced that the half- to commit, but of her whom I loved. But hour had passed, he suddenly rose and, I had no sooner opened the back door, and taking up the candle from the table, said entered the house, than the full idea of Now, Eversberg, be calm and resolute the crime I was about to commit flashed be a man. on me like lightning. I followed him to the old mans bed- 52 THE BURGOMASTER S FAMILY. room both of us slipping along in our stockings. When I came to the door, I re- marked for the first time that he grasped in his left hand a heavy axe. The old man was sleeping peacefully, wholly unconscious of the approaching danger. It was a feding of penitence and com- passion which made me seize Julius Stel- lenburgs hand, and whisper Not now presently. His answer was a contemptuous smile; but he let the axe sink down, and groped under the pillow in a dexterous manner to get the key of the strong box. Mr. MUller did not move, and we left the bedroom as softly as we entered it, intending to ac- complish the murder when the robbery should have been effected. To open the strong box in the book- room, which I had done so constantly, was no difficult matter even for my trembling hands. Julius Stellenburg stood holding the light, whilst I collected all the ready cash and papers of value, to make up 100,000 gulden, which he had made a condi- tion of his co-operation. He took it the price of blood and coolly put it in his pocket; but, just as I was closing the strong box, a rustling behind us made us look round in alarm. In the open door stood the old man, with his snow-white hair, and his figure bent with weakness and old age. He did not speak, he did not call for help, but he stood there like a dead man risen from the grave, with a glassy look in his dark deep-set eyes. Bruno, spare me the description of what then followed it seems to me now as an impossible, horrible dream. I cannot describe to you what remains of it in my memory. It seems to me now incredible that I should have had the strength and the will to get back again to Vdrsten; and that the following morning F should have gone on to Arnheim, but so it was; and I there had a letter recalling me, which announced what x~,as already written in my heart in fiery, ineffaceable characters. And from thence began that life of lies and hypocrisy which I had prepared for myself. Yet I passed the first days in too great excitement to realize the full meaning of the crime I had committed. Above all things, I was impressed by the high game I had played; that my whole future rested on the chances that I should not betray myself by a single word; and that the hiding-place of Julius Stellenburg should not be discovered. That, in the event of discovery, he would perform his promise of not betray- ing my complicity with him on that promise I did not deceive myself for a sin- gle moment. Bruno, could you, with the upright, honourable mind which I know you to pos- sess, place yourself in my position in those days? The word that burnt on my tongue kept back by the mighty force of my will; every feature iu my face kept in constraint, so that not a single trait should speak of the torture of my sin-laden soul, and not a word allowed to come forth from my lips which had not been well-considered as harmless. Can you imagine to yourse.lf what I felt on my return to the old house which I had secretly left in the darkness of the night? Can you form any notion of the sensations which assailed me under all the conjectures relating to the murder which were uttered in my presence at the sight of my victim to whose bed I was conducted at the funeral which I fol- lowed in deep mourning, and lastly at the opening of the will which crowned my fearful deed? Bruno, even if my whole subsequent life had not been a martydom with which I atoned, as no one else ever atoned, the tortures of the first week would have been a complete and satisfying punishment. You know, Bruno, how a little rustle used to make me start and tremble. That was the consequence of the shock to my nerves in the first week, when, at each unexpect- ed ring of a bell, a cold sweat stood on my forehead owing to the terrible anxiety which possessed me that it was the police who had come to arrest me as the mur- derer. Whilst thus tortured by all those dead- ly fears and self-reproaches, I entered upon the bequest of the old man. As not the slightest shade of suspicion rested on me from anyone, the part which I played was so far easier for me to keep up than would otherwise have been the case. My pale worn countenance was at- tributed to the natural consequences of the shock which the violent death of my benefactor had given me. Heaven knows whether it was not regarded as the proof of a feeling and grateful heart. When the first months had ,,one by, and Julius Stel- lenburg was not discovered: when the affairs were put in order, and Joseph Miii- ler was summoned to take possession of his share of the property which the law had secured for him ; then I breathed more freely, and the leaden weight, with which the crime had pressed upon my con- THE BURGOMASTER S FAMILY. 53 science, diminished in proportion with he symptom of disease of the brain? I know danger of discovery, not, and I have never ventured to consult And as every week passed, the calmer a physician on the subject.; but from that and safer I felt. Yes, indeed, my audacity day forward a terrible vision became the was at last such, that I gave the most torment of my life. striking proof of my own innocence by I have told you, Bruno, of the stiff, offering a large sum of money for the glassy eye of Mr. Muller when he came head of the murderer, in order to give a upon us by the strong box. It was these greater stimulus to the enquiries of the eyes which, on a certain day, stared at me police, out of the dark corner of the room, whilst But never, certainly, had a crime been I was passing a pleasant twilight hour sit- committed under more favourable circum- ting by your mother on a sofa. it was stances, for even this did not lead to his these eyes which, since that day, when I discovery. Julius Stellenburg was, and awake in the stillness of the night, I see .~mained, undiscovered, before me, which sometimes stagnate my Half a year the most fearful half- blood in my veins, and sometimes make year of my life had passed away, and my hair stand on end in horror and alarm. my mind had recovered its balance. These eyes! always these eyes! some- In the meantime I had made a com- times with intervals of weeks and months; promise with my conscience, with which I but, when I was the least suspecting it, sought to purchase inward peace and rest. they again appeared to me. Sometimes I would atone for the past by an exem- they glared over my shoulder and obliged plary life, as a man, as a citizen, and as a me to look round; sometimes they were Christian. I would apply the wealth I in the counting-house between me and my had obtained in this unrighteous and crim- paper, and they always stared at me out inal manner better than, according to all of the ledger whenever I made up the bal- probability, the real heir would have ap- ance at the close of the year. When you plied it. were born, Bruno, they looked at me out And for a long time these resolutions of the cradle, over which, in the full joy effectually hushed my conscience to sleep, of a parents heart, I leant to kiss my son. and at the same time revived, with re- I have little to add to this, Bruno. doubled force, the passion which had long The factory increased in extent and slumbered in me. prosperity. My domestic happiness was I added to my first unpardonable ac- more perfect than I had ventured to hope tion yet another: I asked your mother in in my boldest dreams; my wealth in- marriage. Had she declined my proposal creased; the respect and consideration I should have choseti the solitary life of a which I enjoyed increased every year, and bachelor in preference to the possibility I was the most wretched being who ever of involving a woman in my disgrace. But dragged on his miserable existence on this I loved her too passionately, Bruno; not earth. with that noble love which has only for its A miserable existence, notwithstand- object the happiness of the loved one, but ing the affection of my wife, whom I loved yet with all the strength and passion of with all the strength of my soul, and the which my heart was capable. possession of a son who would have satis- And then for her sake I had coin- fled the greatest expectations of any mitted the act which had occurred. She fathers heart. was the prize I had wished to win; for But it was just these privileges which her sake I had sold my soul to Satan, and made my sufferings doubly heavy. The I could not I would not resi~,n the thought that the day would come when treasure for which I had paid so dear a my wife and son would know who the bus- price, band and father was, whom they had es- Half a year afterwards Johanna van teemed and loved, sometimes made rime Reenen became my wife. But two days half crazy. I made a last effort for the after she had entered my house, the news rest of my soul by pulling down the old came that it was thou~lmt that the police t house with which all the terrible recollec- were on the trail of ,Juhius Stellenburg. It I tions were bound up. Fool that I was! was a false report, repeated after long in the relief I felt when I saw the walls intervals, and not confirmed, but, as re- j pulled down one after another, when for a garded my peace and happiness, it was I long time months long the eyes no like a sword hanging by a thread over my more appeared to me, and I breathed more guilty head. Was it this renewed anxiety freely in the new abode than I had ever which again shook my nerves, or was it a done in the old one. 54 THE BURGOMASTERS FAMILY. Fool that I was! Yesterday evening, when I walked through the new rooms, as lighted up, with a calmer and more tran- quil feeling than had been the case for many a year, then unexpectedly the eyes stared at me again, and with the same fixed and glazed look, which the remorse and misery of the last seven-and-twenty years which had elapsed between the crime and yesterday had not taught me to endure. Bruno, when the temptation comes to you to cnrse your father for having stained your name and annihilated your future, remember how he has suffered for seven- and-twenty years, and how he has loved you. Let this be his defence with you. A fearful time it is for you and your mother a fearful time also for me. May Heaven send us strength. I do not know how the truth has come to light. To-day, of which the morning dawn has now come into my cell, will doubtless clear it up. It will bring you to me, my Bruno. I shall perhaps once more meet that look which you gave me when I was obliged to leave unanswered your hard- ly whispered question, Father, you are innocent; is it not so? they can do noth- ing against you. That look, whilst you started back in horror, was a greater punishment than any I had as yet undergone. With that look from my child Bruno, I drained to the last dreg my cup of suffering. Compared to this, all that, earthly justice can demand of me is nothing. If it demands my life in return for the life which I shortened by my crime, I am prepared to give it. I am prepared for every other penalty which the law may require of me. For myself, I desire nothing more I wish nothing more I hope for nothing more in this life. For eternity, I recom- mend my soul to Gods mercy. I dare not look into the future of you and your moth- er. I need not tell you to love - her, to be her support and comfort. 1 know you will be this. I know your noble heart too well. I will add nothing more to this. I think it must be weariness which makes my head throb and my pulse beat so fast, and, by taking what rest I can, I will now prepare myself for the possibilities of to- day. Farewell, Bruno! Make your mother acquainted with the contents of this letter, so far as you think right. Tell her I know I have sinned against her beyond all par- don; but tell her also that she and her un- merited love have been my comfort during my miserable journey of life that her image will live in my heart, and that I shall bless her name with my last breath. God bless you both! J. EVERSBERG. A SEAL-HUNTER in the island Aluk, on the east coast of Greenland, was distinguished be- yond all his countrymen for the love of his na- tive home, for he never left it even in the sum- mer time. At the beginning thereof his great delight was to watch the sun rising above the waves, showing, as it sometimes will, a momen- tary glimmer, and then again disappearing. But when a son that he had grew up, and could, not resist the desire to follow his companions on their summers journey, he persuaded his father to travel with him towards the west. But scarcely had they proceeded so far inland as that the sun appeared to them to rise over the land instead of out of the sea, the father refused to go any farther, but turned back upon the spot. And when they got back to Aluk, the old man left his tent early in the morning and stayed without. At first they heard his voice, but after a while everything was still, and as his children came out to look for him, they found him lying dead upon the ground, with his eyes turned towards the sun. It was joy that slew him in the very moment when he saw it again rise from over the sea. Esquimaux Le gends. Academy. A LETTER from Bucharest, given in the Le- vant Times, reports a curious atmospheric phenomenon which occurred there on the 25th of July, at a quarter past nine in the evening. During the day the heat was stifling, and the sky cloudless. Towards 9 oclock a small cloud appeared on the horizon, and a quarter of an hour afterwards rain began to fall, when to the horror of everybody, it was found to consist of black worms of the size of an ordinary fly. All the streets were strewn with these curious ani- mals. It is to be hoped that some were pre- served, and will be examined by a competent naturalist. ~ature. 55 DOMESTIC LIFE AND ECONOMY IN FRANCE. From Frasers Magazine. DOMESTIC LIFE AND ECONOMY IN FRANCE. THE world is proverbially ungrateful, and it is not uncommon to find people who are unmindful of a benefit, the advantages of which they are actually enjoying at the very time they profess to ignore its exist- ence. A very striking exemplification of this is afforded by the numerous English who have left their own country and pitched their tents in France, merely be- cause life there is supposed to be so much cheaper than at home. Although this is the raison d~tre of their sojourn in a for- eign land, and notwithstanding that they have practical evidence that the supposed cheapness is no supposition at all, but a very comfortable fact; they still never cease to remark that France is as dear as England, and from trying to persuade others end hy persuading themselves of the truth of the proposition; and this whilst they are actually reaping the solid comfort resulting from the move they have made, to say nothing of the pleasant exchange from the daily wear and tear of pinching and scraping, cutting and- contriving for an existence of tolerable ease. It is undesirable to have illusions on any subject, but it is a real misfortune that there should be any doubt or mistake upon this. The income of a large proportion of our middle classes is so limited, sii6h a large number of our fellow-countrymen are compelled to seek homes on the other side of the globe, that the relative differ- ences of expense between two countries so close to each other as England and France is~ a subject of real importance. We believe that if some misapprehension did not exist on this point, many families who have exiled themselves to Natal, the Diamond Fields, the Falkland Islands, & c. all expeditions of the utmost uncer- tainty and risk would have settled in France or Germany, where they would be still within easy reach of England, and where, therefore, many home ties could be still maintained. For the guidance of others, therefore, who may find it as difficult as we did our- selves to obtain anything like accurate statistics and information on the subject of expense in France, we propose giving the result of our experience, entirely per- sonal and practical. We shall begin by making two asser- tions, the truth of both of which we hope to substantiate in the course of the follow- ing observations: first, that the scale of prices, taking one thing with another, is positively lower in France than in Eng- land; and, secondly, that the ways of life there are so different from ours in their simplicity and independence, that a far smaller income would suffice to purchase comfort, even were the prices the same in both countries. That prices are actually lower in France is beyond a doubt. Even since the war, after which a decided augmentation took place in almost every article of consump- tion, meat of the best quality, even prime joints as they are called, are supplied for sevenpence and eightpence a pound, al- lowing for the French pound being larger than the English, and remembering that a franc is not tenpence, but ninepence- halfpenny. Now we are frequently as- sured by our friends in England that adroit housekeepers can buy their meat for tenpence a pound, and we do not for- get that great things are said to be achieved by the Civil Service Co-opera- tive Society; but on an average our own experience and that of others alike dem- onstrate that it is impossible in England to count on paying less than a shilling per pound for meat, whilst it is notorious that if you go into any butchers shop at random, and ask for a beef-steak, you have to pay fifteen and eighteen pence a pound for it. In France, eggs in the summer are seldom more than sevenpence-haif- penny a dozen, milk never exceeds two- pence and threepence a quart, and butter at the dearest part of the year has never risen, even since the war, beyond fourteen- pence a pound. Fruit in England, with the exception, perhaps, of gooseberries, is hardly attainable at all, in any appreci- able quantity, by people of the very narrow incomes of which we are speaking incomes, we will say, of from three to four hundred a year. In France few peo- ple either dine or breakfast without it; le dessert is during the season as much a matter of course in the kitchen as on the masters table, and is a luxury in which the servants are always able to share. A sou a basket is not an uncom- mon price for the best cherries, and from one to two francs a basket for the finest kinds of apricots- We have mentioned cherries and apricots, as our space will not allow of too, long a list, hut every species of fruit is, at most, one-third the price it would fetch in England. Poultry is very decidedly dearer in Eujand than it is in France, where, unless at some exceptionally unfavourable time, such as immediately after a Prussian occu- pation, it is by no means rare to buy 56 DOMESTIC LIFE AND ECONOMY IN FRANCE. turkeys in the market for five or six shil- in,, the larger towns equal in size and hngs, fine fowls for half-a-crown, and ducks importance to Bath, Cheltenham, Win- equally cheap It is as well to state here chester, Nottingham, & c. Having dis- that we are mentioning the prices and posed of the two departments of the quoting the tariff of the larger provincial kitchen and servants hall, we approach cities, omitting Paris as beside the present the domain of the schoolroom, and here question. In the smaller and less import- the difference of expense is still more ant towns farther removed from the capi- apparent, and we think it will hardly be tal, the whole scale would obviously be contended that the education of children, lower, whether boys or girls, is cccteris pai-ibes The sole articles of food which could as cheap in England as in France. It perhaps be quoted as an exception to the matters not whether a daily or a resident general rule of the superior cheapness of governess is chosen, whether the lessons living in France are groceries, some of are studied under the auspices of a cur6 or which, such as coffee, tea, and sugar. are in at a Lycie with the full complement of excess of the English price; but even masters, supplemented by professors at granting this exception, it will be admitted home as crammers for spare hnurs; what- that, as far as the question of food at ever the mode pursued, it will be found least is concerned, France must be a less beyond all comparison cheaper than a expensive country to live in than Eng- corresponding class of instruction in Eug- land. land. The case is a similar one with re- The next item we shall mention is gard to masters of every kind in science servants wages; and here the differenco or the fine arts. Of these music is al- is remarkable, the advantage again re- ways the most expensive, but, with the maining on the French side. A man and exception of Paris, we assert that in no his wife, or a meuage as it is technically part of France would a music-master called seldom receive more than 321., 361., receive more than five francs a lesson, or 40l. a year. These two servants under- whilst in England he would hardly ask take the whole work of the household, less than ten shillin 5,s. A mistress of including polishing the uncarpeted floors; French, history, geography, and what is the man takes care of the horse if there called general education, never asks more is one, drives it if necessary, and works in than two francs an hQnr, and a daily gov- the garden when not otherwise employed; erness usually receives a salary v~ryin g if there is a small vineyard attached to from thirty to sixty a month, according to the house, he is, or should be, capable of whether she devotes the whole or a part making the barrel or two of wine which of each day to her pupils. Before leaving it produces; and we have ourselves had a the question of prices in France, we must servant, who, besides doing all this, baked not omit to allude to the very small pay- excellent bread. A boone capable of per- ments made to ouvri& es, whether dress- forming several distinct branches of work makers, ir oners and clear tarchers, or expects only 121. a year, and this is washerwornen. Comparatively few people thought good wages; and a smart ladys in France send their linen to be washed maid, in very large establishments where out of the house; the washerwoman such appendages are kept, would be con- comes once a week for a franc, and under- tented to receive the same sum; the wag- a es the whole business, which is done es of the same individuals with us are, at home; whilst the ironing is accoin- unfortunately, so well known to our cost plished by a ling~re. who comes equally that it is unneccessary to recapitulate them for a franc one day in each week. The here; and we think it will be admitted plain ironing, or uni, as it is called, is that under the article of servants wages always sup posed to be mana,,ed by the we have proved our case. It may be men- cook, if there are two bonues in the tioned here once for all, that we do not household. She is only considered ex- of course include in the comparison of the empted from this when she is the sole relative expense of life in England and servant, and there are children to be France the amount of household economy superintended. For a workwoman, fifteen which can be practised with comfort in sons or a franc a day, according to her retired villages in the wilds of Wales, or a~ e and capability, is the regular price. the Highlands of Scotland, where excep- After two years practice, when they are tional prices are to be met with, for these competent to undertake dressmaking, & c., are likewise beyond the reach of all edu- workwomen consider themselves entitled cational advantages. We speak of every to a franc a day, but anything over this is part of France except the capital, includ- rare, and it is only an artiste of great 57 DOMESTIC LIFE AND ECONOMY IN FRANCE. pretentions who would ask twenty-five time at the disposal of the servant3 than sons a day. These women do a long days they can hay e with us, where the moment work, that is to say, they arrive at nine in one meal is cleared away it is time to be- the morning, and remain till nine in the gin preparing for the next; where, in fact, evenmn ~. there is an un broken series beginning with Want of space precludes our entering a cup of tea at eight in the morning, till into still greater detail on heads which are the regular eating and drinking of the day as yet untouched, but thus far at least we concludes with wine-and-water between tea think it will be granted that prices are and eleven at night. undoubtedly in favour of France. We The economy effected by banishing all have now to prove our second point, the superfluous English repasts which namely, that even supposing the prices of bring in their train any number of domes both countries were equal, the ways of tics, is in itself no trifling one; and even life iii France are so simple and inde- if it ended there, a considerable general pendent, that a far smaller income suffices saving would be effected at the end of the to purchase a respectable degree of com- year; but the same carefulness with regard fort there than could possibly be the case to money extends into every department in England. of household expenditure. It is not too A greater amount of wealth is diffused much to say that in some respects economy among all classes in France than we usu- holds the same place in France that specu- ally suppose. Strangers are struck by lation does in En~1and; that is to say, it is the absence of beggars, even in Paris, and nearly the sole means reco~rnized as a like- with the small number of paupers gener- ly or safe way of making money outside the ally compared with what meets our view trade or profession of an individual. A in London. It is true that there are few ~Frenchman very seldom indeed goes be- or no colossal fortunes; nor individuals yond his last in order to indulge in xvhat who have as many thousand pounds per we must style the amateur monev-mnakin~ annum as there are days in the year; attempts so common among our own coun- hut there is wonderfully less squalor and trymen. A3 a nation the French have cer- poverty. Cases of wretchedness, numn- tainly mastered the secret of the Amen- bered by tens of thousand~, with which can gentleman who returned an income of we are so sadly acquainted in London, amid two thousand dollars to the Government in fact every part of En0land, are seldom tax collector, and when asked by an en vi- or never before us in France, the amount ous nemghbour how he contrived to make of positive misery there being very small so much money in one year, reolied, indeed. Well, sir, I made one thousand dollars, Some of the reasons for this general dif- clean cash, by attending to my own business, fusion of comfortable means among the and I made the other thousand dollars by population we shall give presently; but letting other folks business alone. French- undoubtedly the economical habits of the men are often reproached for their want people form the great and primary cause of enterprise in the great fields of speca- which we should put first on the lisL lation; but their unwillingness to venture Speaking in rough terms, we should say, into them invariably springs from a dislike that whatever the income of an individual to ~vander out of their own occunations. or a family may happen to be, the whole They do believe, however, that a fortune of it is never spent; the leading idea in may be gradually saved, and whatever may their minds is always economy. There is be the other contributing causes to the scarcely a family in France en province who amazing wealth of France and we shall have not been trained themselves, and who glance at some of them before concluding do not as a matter of course also train their these remarks the great source of her children, to look upon economy as a ne- riches certainly lies in the saving habits cessary part of their existence, and their of the people. The French peasantry are, whole life is planned and arranged with the as a class, the wealthiest in Europe. The view of carrying out this idea, which they entries in the jewellers books iii any pro- never allow themselves to leave out of vincial town would testify to the large sight. With this intention, no donbt, the purchases of solid jewellery made by the hours of their meals were devised; their well-to-do farmers on gre at occasions, such servants are as limited in number as pos- as the marriage of a daughter. They sel- sible these very small households being dom invest in any but the most reliable the natural result of those hours; for it Gevernmnent securities; they never risk is obvious that a ten oclock breakfast and their money in doubtful banks, and whit- six oclock dinner must leave much more ever tflemr income mnay be they invariably 58 DOMESTIC LIFE AND ECONOMY IN FRANCE. character. What may be called the trap- pings of wealth are positively of no ac. count with them, and their common sense shows to great advantage in estimating as they do accidents of birth, and circum- stances of prosperity, if the expression is allowable, at their actual and not their conventional value. Socially, family wealth carries with it no precedence whatever, of- ficial position being alone responsible as entitling its possessor to any such consid- eration; and in virtue of this, the most anciently descended Duchess would ,,ive place to the wife of the Mayor of the town. It is generally believed that the French character is frivolous, setting much value on appearances; what lends some truth to the charge of frivolity is the nat- ural light-heartedness of the people, which even in adversity allows them still to be gay and cheerful, whilst as a matter of fact they care little or nothing for show. Powder and plush would never add to their happiness; they would attach much more importance to convenience than to elegance, and are at a loss to imagine why we Enjish care so much more for these accessories than they do themselves. For example, a rich tradesman, or an individ- ual higher still in the social scale, would just as soon be conveyed to a weddin,,, or any other festive ~athering, in an omni- bus, as in any other kind of conveyance. Whether broughama or cab, to him it would be only une voitare, out of which he would get with all the self-possession belonging to the consciousness of having arrived in quite as suitable an equipage as anybody else. It is, indeed, this invaluable self- possession, which makes both French men and women of all ages and all classes so thoroughly well-bred; and it is their ease of manner, which springs from independence of action, which contrast.s so very advanta- geously with the constrained manner and stereotyped customs which obtain in Eng- land, where, with so much political liberty, and such unbounded license of printed and contrive to lay by a portion of it; this is a rule which hardly admits of an excep- tion. The wife of a large manufacturer in a provincial town once informed us that if their whole profits should, owing to a temporary depression of trade or other causes, only amount in one year to five thousand francs, one thousand would as a1 matter of course be laid aside for invest- ment, aud the rest would be made to cia. The national customs of France, as well as the sentiments of the people, are such as to favour in every way the practice of economy and the acquisition of wealth. In the first place, there is no reco~nized stan- dard of public opinion. Nothing in the least resembling our inconvenient Mrs. Grundy could ever gain admittance, or be tolerated there for a single day. What- ever mistakes they may make, whatever follies they commit, they are themselves individually responsible ; for it is essential- ly true in France, that each man does what is right in his own eyes. This, it will not be denied, has its bad as well as its good side; no one would dream, for in- stance, of going to church because some one else did, nor of becoming a Republican because some one else happened to be one. In France no one ever finds himself doing what is personally unpleasant because it will look well, or be thought well, or be- cause other people do it. Any French- man, no matter of what rank, would ridi- cule the idea of his social position or gen- tility being supposed to depend in the slightest degree on such accidents as wheth- er his door-bell were answered by a maid or a man-servant, or whether the said man appeared in a coat or without one. The reason for this indifference lies in the ex- traordinary absence of what can strictly be termed snobbishness in the French character. Of late we have heard much of the defects of these near neighbours, and the Franco-German war certainly brought into full view the least admirable parts of their character. It is, therefore, only ri~,ht to render full justice to their spoken opinions, thcre is perhaps less so- many fine qualities, and of these an ab- clalfreedo mu than in any other country in sence of snobbishness is certainly one. Europe. It is a sad fact, but no less true Nowhere does personal rank carry so little than sad, that in England it is well-ni0h weight as in France; nowhere is the fig- impossible for a person whose income, ure of a mans income a matter of such either from losses or other circumstances, complete unconcern even to his neigh- has become wholly insufficient for his re- bours. Not a shade more attention is paid quirements, to maintain his position as a to the possessor of a lar0e rent-roll than gentleman at all; and after fruitless efforts the holder of a small one. Almost every and painful strug0 les, the position has to one is comfortable, and has money enough be abandoned as untenable. Lu the pictLire to buy all he cares to have, so that little Mr. Trollope has given us of the Rever- room is left for envy a trait, by the way, end Mr. Crawley, we have an apt il1ustra~ which scarcely exists at all in the French tion of this. The misery there portrayed DOMESTIC LIFE AND ECONOMY IN FRANCE. 59 is by no means exaggerated, and aould cer- older than themselves. Our poor are tainly have been drawn from n~al life. But forced either to do this or become poorer all this could never happen in France. still by allowing the wife to remain at However small or red ed the income of a home herself to take care of her little family might bec@n~e, they could always ones, and thus forego the addition which retain their places as gentry in the circles her earnings would have made to the com- of friends andacquaintances in which they mon stock. Now in France the arrange- had previously moved. It would never ment which universally prevails obviates occur to them that on this account they the necessity of either of these alternatives. must sink into an inferior position. The children are never left to take care Next to this the absence of all petty vul- of themselves, nor is the mother obliged garity, the national custom of families to take care of them. On the contrary, living together, instead of each member she goes forth to work as regularly as her making a separate household for himself, husband does, leaving the pot au flu and is a fruitful source of economy. This is a the children in the care of his or her habit entirely opposed to the genius of mother. Ascending higher in the social our own people, and which it mi~,ht be scale, we find the same system carried far from desirable to attempt to introduce out with similar good results as regards among them, but it certainly answers ad- the younger members of the family. The mirably in France, where we are aware of parents among the upper classes go into no instance of its working inharmoniously. the world, and fulfil all the social duties Of course there are unhappy families in which everyone is more or less called on France as elsewhere, the united system to perform; they keep up acquaintance not possessing in itself, any more than the with their friends, and enjoy themselves separate one, any inherent charm to act as in different ways and degrees, while their a specific against all dissensions; but what- little ones, instead of being at the tender ever domestic disagreements exist are not mercies of a servant, or at best of a gov- apparently chargeable to the plan under e mess, are the delight and care of their review. As long as both father and mother grandmother. A double purpose is thus are living, the children, whether married served. The money is much more kept or the reverse, naturally find their home together, and capable of going farther than with them. When the father dies, the with us, because the expenditure is less mother retains her old place at the head and the children art~ carefully and tender- of the household, from which she is never ly watched over instead of being in a in any case, or under any circumstances, measure neglected. ousted, and scarcely any outward change Amongst many other reasons which in the state of affairs is perceptible. At could be adduced for the extraordinary the death of the mother the eldest son not wealth of France (which wealth the unfrequently buys in the estate, which by prompt response throughout that country Jaw must be sold, their exact shares being to the French Goveriiment Loan has just given to the others, whether brothers or made more apparent), we must not omit sisters; and in most classes, and the larger one of the most striking, both in its effects, proportion of families, this general di- and as being in some respects a peculiari- vision of property acts as a great incentive ty of the French nation. In all the agri- to exertion. An eldest son, if he does not cultural and industrial classes, the women wish to be impoverished, must exert him- work equally with the men, thus doubling self, and cannot allow either head or hands, the labour, and consequently the gains of as the case may be, to lie idle. But leav- this large section of the population. ing this branch of our subject on one side It has been observed that although the for the present, we return to the main Salic law prevails in France, in no country part of it, what we have called the united have women taken so large an indirect system, and it is astonishing to see how share in the government and the political successfully it works among all classes in I life of the State. The same remark would France. With the lower orders it is in be equally applicable with regard to its almost every family the salvation of the commercial existence. Frenchwomen in children, who have some one always at general are naturally acute, and have a su- hand to look after them, instead of being, Iperior cast of mind, and these exceptional as is too often the case in En~,land, left to faculties are nowhere better displayed their own devices in the streets, or shut than when controlling and directing the up in a garret in the charge of the eldest business of their husbands, who may either daughter of the house, who not seldom is be ill, absent, or in many eases no longer a child not much bi0ger and very little living. It never occurs to a widow, on 60 THE PRESS-GAG IN RUSSIA. account of her forlorn and helpless po- s~tion, to dispose of the business which has been left in a flourishing condition, and retire into private life. It is, on the contrary, point dhonneur with her to carry on the affairs of the house exactly as if no calamity had overtaken it; and to trans.. mit the business to her children or heirs, with all the improvements and develop- ments which the lapse of time and altera- tions have been able to effect; and in ac- complishing this mission, it is wonderful to see, on the whole, such marked success, so few failures. We cannot recall a single instance which has come under our own personal notice, of a business continued by a widow in the manner we have de- scribed, resulting in ruin and bankruptcy. It is only fair to add, that all trade in France is conducted on the most cautious principles. The Italian proverb of yen- turin~, a small fish to catch a great one, would never have been invented there. We have glanced very briefly at some of the more apparent causes of the gen- eral diffesion of wealth amongst all classes in France, our limited space not permit- ting us to go as minutely into this part of onr subject as we could have desired; and we now return to the principal topics of our paper, and reassert the two proposi- tions with which we set out, namely, first, that France is directly and positively a cheaper country to live in than England; and, secondly, were it even as expensive in actual prices, it is still indirectly cheaper on account of the independent and simple habits of its people. We cannot in conclusion more appropria- tely sum up the foregoing remarks than by quoting the words of an exceedingly sensible, practical Frenchwoman, who not long since observed to us, when speaking of the question of income and expenditure in our own country, La vie nest pas ch~re chez nous, et m~me si elle l~tait, nos usages ne le sont pas. August, 1872. G. E. From The Spectator. THE PRESS-GAG IN ItIJSSIA. IF, as some sanguine people assert, Rus- sia is on the high-road to advanced and advancing Liberalism, it must be admit- ted that Czarism has just fortified itself by a double dose of reactionary laxv-mak- ing, or rather ukase-making, in its worst form, by way, it is to be hoped, of say- ing farewell to reactionary ukase-making forever. The new edict regarding the Press, and not only journalistic litera- ture, but printed matter of every descrip- tion, leaves nothing to be desired by the warmest admirers of paternal adminis- tration. It is a complete return to the practices of the darkest period of the suspicious autocracy of the Czar Nicholas. The petty coi~cessions to Western ideas contained in the Press Law of 1865 are cleanly swept away and abolished. There is no longer even the shadow of an appeal to judicial or quasi-judicial authority. The arbitrary and irresponsible censorship, the fiat of a bureaucrat, again reigns supreme over the barren and wasted fields of Rus- sian culture. It was not overmuch liberty which the Press Law of 1865 granted to Russian authors and writers. Even under that law every sort of original composi- tion, reviews exceoted, in less than ten pages, and every translation which exceed- ed twenty pages could be absolutely pro- hibited by a simple order of police; and in the case of lengthy original works, the petty kind of translations, and reviews or inagazin es, their publication was always subject to warnings and suspensions which amounted to a practical prohibition by simple order of police. It was still, how- ever, some slight relaxation of previous barbarism that a formal prohibition could only be obtained after resort to the courts of justice, albeit these tribunals were usually less just than courtly. The liii- penal Government has come to the con- clusion that so alarming an excess of lib- erty can no longer be tolerated with safety to the State and, what naturally touches the Imperial conscientiousness still more keenly, with safety to the people. The following ukase was accordingly proinulgat- ed at the close of last month Whenever a work or the number of a magazine, ex- empted from the censorship, has been con- sidered hurtful by the Minister of the In- terior, he can, with the approbation of the Council of Ministers, withdraw it from cir- culation. All copies of such interdicted publications are immediately confiscated. The printers, compositors, and other tuem- hers of the staff of such establishments as seek to evade the regulations will be liable to suitable penalties. When a work con- tains an incitement to a crime, the author can be prosecuted. Every work of the kind indicated must be presented to the Council of Ministers seven days before be- ing offered for sale, and every number of a review or ma azine must be similarly pre- sented four days before distribution to its subscribers. It will be acknowledged that THE PRESS-GAG IN RUSSIA. 61 their Highuesses the Council of Ministers at a third or a fourth of the figure marked have taken the most efficacious measures on their covers. Pity the sorrows of an to provide themselves with a copious ii- autocracy unfortunately placed on the brary of current publications at no ex- verge of Western activity and Western pense, unless, indeed, it turns out that, as free thought. At the same time, the Rus- in times past, current publications, at least sian Government makes the following su~- of any worthy kind, will unaccountably gestive confession It often happened come to a standstill, in spite of the tender that these had and mischievous books con- regard evinced on their behalf. Literary tamed no formal infraction of any pro- genius is strangely insensible to authority, vision of the law, and were accordingly It comes not at the beck of Ctesars. Nay, beyond the reach of penalties. This sen- if it is not permitted, like the wind, to blow tence calls up some curious reflections. where it listeth, the odds are that it re- The best that can be said is that it is hard fuses to appear at all. And this seems to fully to enter into the views of paternal be the probable result of Czar Alexanders authorities who complain that as the law last piece of literary slave-driving, has not been formally infracted, that is There can be no doubt that Russia suf- to say, has not been broken at all, it is ne- fers from the pest of a literature of red- cessary to punish as a crime what is not a hot Socialism and mad universe-subvert- crime, what even Russian police cannot ino~ Nihilism such as no government that distort into a crime. did not rest on the enlightened common- And how does the new edict work? sense of a shrewd and free community Every account bears witness to the rage could dare to tolerate for an hour. The for suppression and confiscation which has question is, however, whether the arbitra- suddenly possessed the Minister of the In- riness of the censorship is calculated to tenor, or rather the underlings who are promote the public enightenment, and the real executors of coercive le,,islation whether the propagation of incendiary of this description. Every sort of book is publications is likely to be best restricted being confiscated. A romance by M. by measures which cramp and discourage Korney, with the innocent name With- every higher effort of culture and refine- out Ceremony, was the first to be seized. ment. There is no need to go beyond the Even novels which have been for years in very preamble of the recent decree, if not circulation, and have passed through sev- to prove its noxious character, at least to eral editions, are not allowed to plead any throw the gravest suspicions on its wis- rights of prescription. The whole second dom and necessity. The Press Law of edition of the works of M. Boberixine have 1865, it is contended, permitted the uncen- thus been added to the literary accumula- sured publication of the larger works tions, we must not say pilferings, cf the the uncensured publication, though even Council of Ministers. It is true that we then they could he suspended at pleasure must plead guilty to never having read on the supposition that their size alone either M. Korneys Without Ceremony, would restrict them to the graver and or M. Bobe~rixines second edition. When steadier classes of society, and that their we find, however, that Leckys History of price would prevent their propagation European Morals has been confiscated among the mass of uncultivated readers. in the printing establishment of M. Skaria- It is certainly moving to read this naive tine, we cannot help suspecting that the admission that the Russian Government zeal of the Russian censors is greater than set its hopes of tranquillity on the mass their sense or their equity. To put a fin- of the population being prevented by the ishing-stroke to the picture, the Central high price of books from increasing in in- Administration of the Censorship has an- formation. With such intelligent pre- nounced that the columns of the Messager conceptions every stupidity is possible. Officiel will contain for the future a The Government proceeds to lament that weekly indicator of the works of foreign works containing the most dangerous doe- and domestic authors which the public are trines have come into universal circula- permitted to read, all others being, as it tion, while the official faith in the tranquil- were, placed on a Russian Index. The lizing influence of high-priced literature farce of Paternal government can no fur- has been made the victim of shameful de- ther go. Happily the Central Adminis- ception. Though bad books were found tration of the Censorship has been pos- to be sufficiently high-priced at the book- sessed with the additional idea of announe- sellers, yet when the object was to dis- ing a weekly list of forbidden books. Rus- seminate them among the youth of the sians will therefore know by a glance at universities and colleges, they were sold the official lists what volumes they are to 02 ITALY. From The Saturday Review. order from their contraband a~ ents, and isfactory compromise. Outside the city of what volumes may be safely neglected, as Rome the law is to be applied exactly as stamped with the insipidity of official sanc- in the rest of Italy. The orders are to be tion. Mi~ht we suggest to the Minister suppressed in the same way, and ecciesias- of the Interior, the Council of Ministers, tical property is to be treated in the same and the Central Administration of the Cen- manner. But inside Rome there are to be sorship, that the complete abolition of all two differences. In the first place, ecciesi- needless trammels on culture and science, astical property is not to be sold for the the studied encouragement of cheap and benefit of the State. The proceeds of healthy literature the only true antidote sales are to be specially appropriated to to cheap and unhealthy literature purposes having some analogy with those coupled, of course, with a sensible criminal to which the property was originally des- law, judicially and not arbitrarily exercised, tined when it passed into ecclesiastical would form a Preventive Code which hands. The money is to be devoted to re- woold have this at least in its favour, that ligious, educational, and sanitary purposes. it had not been already tried, and turned This may not mean much, for, if Rome is out a miserable failure, in Russia before? to be the capital, large sums must neces- sarily be found somehow to make its sani- tary arrangements moderately decent, and the State is only finding the money in a particular way if it appropriates the pro- ceeds of the sales of ecclesiastical property ITALY. to draining and cleansing the city and con- THE Italian Government has recently tiguous districts. But the object is of revealed in a semi-official manner the mode course to make it appear that the Govern- in which it proposes to deal with the vexed ment does not wish to profit directly by question of ecclesiastical persons and prop- that which it uses its strength to take from erty in the territory which it has taken the Pope in his own city, and that it mere- from the Pope. It is supposed that this ly secures the application to good ends of revelation of its intentions is designed to property now wasted. In the second provoke discussion, so that the feeling of place, the property of the religious institu- the country may be ascertained before- tions having their central seat in Rome is hand, and the proposals of the Govern- not to be taken from them, except that ment may ultimately be so shaped as to they are to lose the property itself, and re- command sufficient Parliamentary support. ceive an equivalent in Italian rentes; and The Government is in a position of great the houses of the great societies are not difficulty. Rome and all the territory of to be taken from them, except when want- Rome is now part of Italy, and what is ed for purposes of public utility. Thus law for Italy generally ought to be law for those institutions of the Romish Church Rome. If the natienal interests demand which are of a universal raf her than of an the suppression of religious orders and the Italian character would still go on with confiscation of ecclesiastical property else- their old local habitations and with their where, they must be supposed to demand present revenues, but Italian land would the same thing in the capital and the ad- pass out of their possession. jacent districts. On the other hand, the Tie arrangement appears in itself well Italian Government has proclaimed that it contrived, for it at once recognizes that wishes to meet the Pope fairly and liberal- the Pope has duties to perform which have ly, and recognizes his claim to have a spe- a scope beyond Italy, and at the same time dial position at Rome as the head of his it sets free Italian land for lay ownership. branch of the Christian world. To do too In a few years it would become almost im- little would be to offend the bulk of the possible for any political changes to restore Italian nation and to show fear of the the ecclesiastical party to the possession priests. To do too much would be to in- of what it has lost. Property would pass vade the spiritual power of the Pope, and into the hands of private owners, and cx- to give him a grievance which might seem perience has shown that the Church never a grievance even in the eyes of those who regains what individuals have once bought thoroughly approve of the transfer of the and paid for. The interest of the religious capital to Rome. Whether lay Italy or institutions in Italian rentes would also priestly Rome will approve of the plan of tend to make them careful how they at- the Government is doubtful, hut at any tacked a Government the credit of which rate it is based on intelligible principles, alone gives value to the securities they and stems to contain the elements of a sat- would hold. But the dislike of the priests ITALY. 63 is so bitter in Italy that it is by no means good practical pace. There is almost al- certain that the Government can carry its ways something new to record about Ital- proposal, and impetuous men will claim ian progress. The railway has been pushed that no more mercy shall be shown to their on and opened to Otranto, and this will enemies, the priests, at Rome than else- give troops a ready access to districts hith- where. The Government is alive to this erto infested with brigands. The works feeling, and takes pains to prove that, if by which Brindisi has been made a fit port it is going to propose something more fa- for the Indian trade are so far completed vourable to the priests than its supporters that travellers now find easy access to would like, it is not from any want of large steamers, and can get the requisite firmness. It has just ordered several ec- accommodation in the town. Venice has clesiastical schools to be closed at Rome been thrown into long forgotten activity because Government inspectors were not by the prospect of having a share in the, received in them ; and the ecclesiastical Eastern trade, once so largely its own, re- authorities had to succumb, and to agree stored to it. Slowly money is being put that the schools should be so far placed into the better cultivation of land, agricul- under lay control before they were permit- tural machinery is being introduced, and ted to be reopened. The Italian Govern- the indolent barbarism of Italian agricul- ment also thoroughly joins with the Ger- ture shows signs of dying away here and man Government in its policy towards the there, although the habits of a nation are Ultramontane party, and it will be suite to not to be changed in a single generation. take every opportunity of avoiding the re- Unfortunately the slowness of the change proach that it does not dare to do what shows itself in the vitality which brigand- Prince Bisrnarck dares, and that it hesi- age still exhibits. The Papal and the tates between Germany and France. It is Bourbon Neapolitan Governments did ev- also doing its utmost to promote the na- erything for many years to foster brigand- tional and lay feeling in the country, and a~,e and make it one of the accepted occu- perhaps its evident sincerity in this direc- pations of the people. One man in S~cily tion may, when the time comes, give it or Southern Italy was a brigand just as strength to carry a compromise with Rome another was a shepherd or a cowherd. which would be distasteful to the Parlia- The inevitable consequence was that the mentary majority. Italians regard the ar- whole population got demoralized on the my as at once the bulwark of the nation subject, and no one cared to uphold the and as the great instrument for welding law, or was even very much shocked when together the different parts of Italy, and brigands were reported to have committed giving habits of discipline and order to the unusual atrocities. In Sicily the Govern- population. The last time the Italian ar- ment even entered into a sort of alliance my showed itself on the field it did not with the brigands, and local authorities distinguish itself; but the bitter lesson of were left to decide how much brigandage Custozza was not thrown away. The should go on; so that complaints died greatest possible pains have been taken away, and because no one complained, the since then to make the army what it Government affected to believe that it had should be, and the officers have been made put down the brigandage which it had to familiarize themselves with every im- really recognized. The Italian Govern- provement in the art of war, while the ment has immense difficulty in dealing with men have been made to rival the Germans this social curse, and Englishmen cannot in the endurance of. strict discipline and fail to sympathize with its difficulty, for we fatigue, and in the development of person- are baffled in Ireland just as the Italian al energy. During the last few days a se- Government is baffled in Sicily and the ries of manmuvres has been going on in South. It makes laws and carries them which the heir of the Crown has taken a out in a way that answers perfectly well leading part, and which has been conduct- in Tuscany or Lombardy, and as all Italy ed under the eyes of the King. It appears is one, the law fitted for the better parts is to have been a brilliant and successful af- held to be the only law fitted for the worse. ~ fair, and competent judges speak in the The Government cannot use enough sever- highest terms both of the troops and of ity, and it finds it difficult to use even as their leaders. much severity as the law permits, as the Italy, too, is constantly making progress local juries view brigands with as much in the road to wealth. Italian prosperity sympathy, fear, and admiration as Irish does not go on with Mr. Gladstones fa- local juries view hedgerow assassins. inous leaps and bounds; it scarcely can be Even if it can get a peculiarly bad brig- said to take strides; but it goes on at a and convicted, the Italian Government 64 ITALY. does not know what to do with him; and, Government to the project. There is no in order to devise a deterring punishment obvious reason why our Government short of death, is said to he contemplatirvr should object, and we can only hope that the establishment of a penal settlement in the experiment may be more successful Borneo. Somehow it seems to be neces- than English experience would warrant us sary to get the consent of the English in anticipating. Pao~. II. MOwN, Director of the Norwegian Meteorol )gical Institute at Christiana, publish- es in Peteriaanns .Mittheilungen some impor- tant facts regarding the variations of tempera- ture in the North Atlantic. The yearly varia- tion of temperature of the surface stratum amounts to 90 Fab. and more; it becomes less as we go down, the decline, however, being not everywhere the same. Deep sea strata reach their lowest and highest temperatures a little later than the surface stratum, the changes offering two very distinct aspects for summer and winter. Deep-sea observations in several of the deep fjords along the Norwegian coast, which are protected against the great depth of the Atlantic by submarine ridges lying before them, show that the water in them is derived from the Gulf Stream, and that they are filled with it from top to bottom, even if the latter lies deeper than the icy bed of the Gulf Stream outside the coast region; were this not so, the temperature of the water in the fjords would be a much lower one, and Norway would not en- joy such a happy union of land and sea climate. Ic summer, near the coast of Norway, and in its fjords, at a depth of from 100 to 800 fath- oms, we find a uniform temperature of about 440 Fab.; farther out to sea, however, at the same depth, only about 390 Fah. The deep-sea temperatures in winter are less known, but it is almost certain that at great depths the same temperature reigns all the year round, although a continual cooling frou the surface downwards necessarily takes place in winter. In the north- western part of the Greenland Sea, and below the depth of the Gulf Stream, exclusively icy water is found, which somewhat compresses the latter on that side, at any rate on the surface, where. the water cooled during the winter nights remains over the warmer waters beneath. Along the coast of Norway the cold from the land acts on the surface and the upper strata of the sea, increasing with the nearness of the land, so that here the temperature of the sea rises with its depth, and the axis of warmth of the Gulf Stream is moved away from the coast towards the open sea. Taking the form of the Gulf Stream as that of its surfaces having the same temperature isothermal surfaces we can compare it with the shape of one of the small boats called prams, which are broadest at the stern, deeper in the centre than behind, and possessing a somewhat rounded stem. The growth, yet here we have a formation equal to stern of this Gulf Stream pram is formed by a over seventeen feet in a century. Nature. vertical section from Iceland to Scotland; the longitudinal section forms the axis of warmth, running a long the coast of Norway. The side nearest the Polar Ocean (the larboard side) is much more considerable than the starboard side, which leans against the Norwegian coast. In summer the starboard side is pushed quite close to the Norwegian coast, and hangs strong- ly over, while the l~ rhoarcl side is perpendicu- lar, or only slightly inclined outward; the keel near Spitzbergen sitting deep in the water. In winter the starboard side is thirty (geog.) miles broad, and has in the parts lying nearest to the coast sides strongly inclining inward, while the strata in the centre and those bordering on the Polar Ocean rise nearly perpendicularly, the keel in the fore part raising itself almost into the position of the stem, which ends in the same point as that formed by the isotherms of the surface at this season. Generally this aspect is only presented by the part of the sea which lies westward from Norway and partly from Spitz- bergen. The warm waters of the Novaja Semlija Sea are like a wedge placed horizontally, with its base between Spitzbergen and Norway, and its horizontal sharp edge turned towards the north and east. TuE Honolulu gazette reports the following interesting fact which has recently been observed respecting the growth of coral, and which de- serves very careful consideration Somewhat less than two years ago a buoy was moored iu Kealakekua Bty. Last week the anchor was hoisted in order to examine the condition of the chain. The latter, which is a heavy 2 in. cable, was found covered with corals and oyster- shells, some of which were as large as a man s hand. The large corals measure four-and-a- half inches in length, which thus represents their growth during the period of two years that the anchor and cable have been submerged. The specimens which we have seen show the nature of the formation of the coral by the coral animals very distinctly. When taken out of the water it had small crabs on it. A ques- tion arises whether these crabs live on the coral polypes, or whether they simply seek the branches of the coral for protection. The pop- ular idea is that corals are of extremely slow

LITTELLS LIVING AGE. Fourth Series, ~ Vol. CXV, Vol. ~ No. 1479. October 12, 1872. From Beginning, CONTENTS. 1. MEMOIRS OF THE MARQUIS OF POMBAL, 2. THE BURGOStOASTERS FAMILY; oR, WEAL AND WoE IN A LITTLE WORLD. By Christine Muller. Translated from the Dutch by Sir John Shaw Lefevre. Part LV 8. GEORGE ELIOT. Scenes of Clerical Life. Adam Bede. The Mill on the Floss Silas Mar- ner. Roinola. Jubal. ./lrmgart. Felix Holt. The Spanish Gypsy. .Middlernarch, 4 OFF THE SKELLIGS. By Jean Ingelow. Part XVII., 5. THE LESSON OF THE SAINT BARTHOLOMEW, 6. RELICS, . 7. THE PHILOSOPHY OF COURT LIFE, S. THE DUKE AND DUCHESS OF NEWCASTLE, 9. DANISH EXPEDITION TO THE FAROES, 67 Edinburgh Review, Frasers Magazine, Contemporary Review, Saint Pauls, Pall Mall Gazette, Saturday Review, Pall Mall Gazette, .~1thencsuzn, .JV~ature, 87 100 110 113 119 122 124 127 66 POETRY. THE SUMMERS LONG AGO, A SUMMER STORM, INSECT LIFE IN A CoAL PIT, 66j VOICES IN THE AIR, 66 MISCELLANY. 86 PERMANENT SauE FOR Gi~.ss HOUSES,. 128 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL & GAY, BOSTON. TERMS OP SUBSCRIPTION. FOR EIGHT DOLLARS. remitted directly to the Pse~dishers. the LIVING AGE will be punctually for. warded for a year, free of postage. But we do not prepay postage on less than a year. nor when we have to pay, commission for forwarding the money; nor when We club THE LIVING AGE with another periodical. An extra copy of THE LIVING AGE ls sent gratis to any one getting op a club of Five New Subscribers. Remittances shoold be made by bank draft or check, or by post-office money-order, if possible. If neither of these can be procnred, the money should be sent in a registered letter All postmasters are obliged to register leltens when requested to do so. i~rafts, checks and money.orders should be made, payable to the order of LITTELL & GAY. THE SUMMERS THE SUMMERS LONG AGO. o FOR those merry, merry. times, When Englands pleasant vales Were musical with May-morn chimes And songs of nightingales When kingeups smiled through early dew And daisies loved to blow, The sweet and sunny times we knew In summers long ago. o wearisome and dreary days, O cold and blighting air! Where are the olden roundelays That lightened half our care? The cuckoo is a silent bird, To sing the lark is slow, o for the warblings that we heard In summers long ago! The youth forsakes the trysting stile, The maid forgets her vow, And minstrels pine to see the smile That nature lacketh now. Are love and song to die? Alas! Shine, sun, with golden glow, And give the glory as w~ pass Of summers long ago! Good Words. A SUMMER STORM. AR smileless morn, bene~fth a thorn, A humble primrose grew, Its lovely face blinkd frae the place, While loud the north wind blew. Frae off the fell it came sae snell, It gard a nature blink; The modest flowr laughed at the showr That gard a nature shrink. The joyless day to pass away, Baith heartless bird and beast While driving rains swept oer the plains Ran to the shelter fast. LONG AGO, ETC. The thorn see auld wi age was bald, Fou many a blast had borne, Through its bare boughs the loud wind soughs, Wi a its branches torn. Beneath its shade, which now did fade, The modest primrose smiled, And a was rest wfthin its breast, Though a without was wild. Some humble bard, like it so starred, Unseen, unheard, unkennd; His fortune, too, bare as the bough, That doth it shelter lend. Once a Week. VOICES IN THE AIR. OFT in the pleasant talk of waking dreams, I hold communion with the woods and streai~s, Speak to the garrulous trees when winds blow high, And hear responses twixt the earth and sky; I ask old Ocean when he chafes and rolls, Whether he chid(s, rejoices, or condoles, And hear, wit.h sympathy I deem divine, His awful voice make answer back to mine. Beside the boulder on the rocky shore, Forlorn old relic of the days of yore, Ere earth was trod by foot of human kind, I hear the wandering whispers of the wind; Voices like Memnons in the olden day, That breathed soft music to the morning ray, And spoke of mysteries to wondering men, Within their hope, but far beyond their ken. And all the voices, all the sounds and sighs, The half-formed questions and the mute replies, Breathe but one mingled hymn, and psalm, and song Which day and night, and morn and eve pro- long, In waves of music rippling low and clear, Unheard but of the mind that seeks to heat, One psalm sublime, around, beneath, above, Words of a myriad meanings, GOD IS LOVE. All The Year Round. MEMOIRS OF THE MARQUIS OF POMBAL. 67 From The Edinburgh Review. MEMOIRS OF TilE MARQUIS OF POMBAL.* A NATURAL sentiment prompts the Por- tuguese of the present generation to revive the history of the remarkable man whose name gives a title to this article. Citizens of a state which, shorn of those vast con- tinental possessions that alone gave it the consideration it once enjoyed, they may well turn with complacent admiration to the pe- riod when the affairs of their country were administered by a statesman who arrested its course down to the easy slope of na- tional decline, and who instituted an im- portant policy which was imitated by the ministers of far greater and more power- ful nations. The present, too, is the most favourable moment that has yet occurred for a calu and impartial consideration of the public life of this great Minister. Party-spirit in the physical and political atmosphere of Portugal is apt to engen- der a degree of heat almost unknown to our colder latitude and calmer manners. Hitherto Pombal has been the victim of two opposite- sets of biographers and his- torians. By the one he has been so over- praised as to render his name ridiculous; by the other he has been so fiercely at- tacked that he is sometimes almost denied the name of a human being. A man who in a n~ttion of devotees made a successful attack upon a powerful religious frater- nity, will readily be believed to have drawn upon himsef a vast amount of pious hostility; and it is chiefly as the destroyer of the Jesuits that his name escapes the oblivion which completely hides the long array of his predecessors & nd successors in office. * 1. Memoires de Sebastian Joseph de Garvaiho et Melo, Gomle ci Oeyras, Marquis de Pombal, Secre- taire d blat et Premier Ministre du Roi de Port gal, Joseph I. 4 vols l2mo. 1784. 2. Memoirs of the Marquis de Pombal. By Jonx SMITH, Esq. 2 vols. Svo. London: 1843. 3. H storia do Reinado de El-Eel D. Jose e da Admisiislracao do Marquez de Pombal. Por SIMAO Josa DA Luz SoalAxo. 2 vols. Svo. Lishoa: 1867. 4. Elude historique sar le Marquis de Pombal. Par le Baron EDOUAIID Dx SEPTENvSLLE. Brux. elles: 1565. 5. Le Marquis de Pombal, Esguisse de sa Vie pubuique. Par FRANcIsco Lutz Goxxs, Depute aux Cortes de Portugal. Lisbonne: 1869. 6. The Marquis of Pombal. By the COUNT or CAMIIOTA. 2nd Edition, Svo. London: 1871. Before beginning our examination of the public life of Pombal, we have a word to say cone~erning the several works the titles of which stand at the head of this paper. Some of these need not detain us long. The first upon our list, the M& moires de S. J. Carvalbo, published in French in 1784, not long after the Minis- ters death, has generally and with every appearance of probability been attributed to the Jesuits. From a remark in one of the notes of the first volume (p. 19), it appears that the work had origi- nally been published in Italian, and we possess a copy of it in that language which bears the date of 1781. Though by no means without value as an historical sketch, it is yet so bitterly hostile to the Minister whose career it recounts, that the statements it contains must invariably be received with the greatest caution. The only measures of Pombal which it does not denounce which, indeed, it heartily com- mends as just and wise are those of his extraordinary commercial and econom- ical policy, ~vhich, at the present day, are almost unanimously condemned as vicious in principle and disastrous in re- sult. The bitterness with which the sub- ject of the M~mnoires is assailed is sus- tained throughout, and, such is the weak- ness of human nature, on that account per- haps the book will be found to be by no means unpleasant reading. Mr. Smiths Memoirs of the Marquis of Poinbal, and the Count of Carnotas Marquis of Pom- bal, are two editions of the same work, the author having received a Portuguese title of nobility in the interval between the publication of the first and second editions. The work is in reality an undis- criminating defence of the Marquis; and though it contains some interesting docu- ments, both public and private, not print- ed elsewhere, it has no real historical value. Of the work of the Baron de Sep- tenville, the most favourable thing that can be said is that it is printed itt very clear type upon excellent paper, and that it con- tains a good photograph of a well-known portrait of Pombal at the beginnin,,, and an approximately correct* genealogy of * In it he places the Marquiss birth in January instead of in May, and there is a discrepancy of 68 MEMOIRS OF THE MARQUIS OF POMBAIJ. the Carvalho family at the end. It throws no light whatever upon the history of Pombal. The remaining works upon our list are of a very different character. That of Senhor da Luz Soriano is, as he tells us in his preface, a kind of preliminary to another work, relating the history of the establishment of the present form of parliamentary government in Portugal. Rightly judging that the efforts of Pombal to break the power of the nobles and de- stroy the influence of the Church, as well as his attempts, mistaken though they un- questionably were, to improve the com- merce of his country, were causes more or less direct of the growth of liberal feeling in Portugal, he considered that the histor~y of Portuguese parliamentary institutions would be incomplete without an account of his administration. His principal au- thorities were a work called LAdminis- tration du Marquis de Pombal, a reply to the M~inoires noticed above, and an anonymous and unpublished life of the statesman written in Portuguese. He has besides made considerable use of hitherto unpublished documents existing in the archives of the various ministries at Lis- bon. The work is composed in a pains- taking and conscientious manner, but its style is dry and laboured. It is filled with sentences of almost interminable length (not, by the way, an unusual feature of modern Portuguese literature), mid as the author is a permanent official in the civil service of his country, it would appear that his literary style had been developed in the frequent composition of abstracts and State papers. He is great upon all questions of historical upholstery, and re- lates with the zealous accuracy of an anti- quary or herald the details of state cere- monials, such as took place on the death of a sovereign or the inauguration of a statue. He usually takes a just view of Pombals measures, though he does not appear to us to estimate at its true value his eeonomical policy, some of the worst features of which he almost commends. On the whole we are inclined to believe that Senhor Sorianos work is of sufficient value to gain a place amid the honourable three days between the date of his death as stated in the geuealogy and in the text. obscurity of the upper shelves, ainougst those valuable but uninteresting worcs which no (Portuguese) gentlemans library should be without. The volutne of Seuhor Gombs is un- doubtedly the most valuable addition to the literature of the subject which has yet appeared. Written in French, it is acces- sible to a far larger class of readers than if it had appeared in Portuguese. It is not so much a history, as a critical exam- ination, of the different portions of Pom- bals administration. It boldly denounces, and in many cases clearly points out the disastrous effects of, his mischievous med- dling with trade, and his general ignorance of the true principles of political economy. Not satisfied with what was to be found in any existing work on the subject, the author has drawn his information from hitherto almost unnoticed sources. He has searched the correspondence of the foreign ministers at Lisbon, the archives of the different departments of the gov- ernment, and the documents in the library at Evora, for authority for all the state- ments which he advances. The conse- quence is that he has thrown a flood of light upon many important, and previously imperfectly understood, events: particu- larly the negotiations with Rome for the suppression of the Jesuits, the rehabilita- tion of the persons accused of conspiring against the life of King Joseph, and the judicial interrogation to which Pombal was subjected towards the close of his life. It will be seen that we have largely availed ourselves of his labours in these particulars, which have certainly resulted in presenting those events under a totally different aspect from what they had borne before. He strikes us as having formed a somewhat erroneous estimate of the state of his country during the reign of John V., which is at variance with that of every writer whom we have consulted, and even with his own admissions in several parts of his work. The book unfortunately has been very carelessly printed, especially as to dates. But these blemishes do not take away from its value its very great value we will venture to call it as an examnin- ation of Pombals career. To this exam- ination we shall ourselves now proceed. MEMOTR~ OF TIlE MARQUIS OF POMBAL. 09 A knowledge of the condition of Penn- and to the Court of Rome exceeded six.- gal during the rei~n of John V., from 1708 teen millions sterling. The exchequer be- to 1750, is necessary to a right under4and- came so impoverished that some members ing of the political history of Ponibal.1 of the Royal Family actually received their The story of that reign, too, is full of allowances in copper. The financial ad- striking lessons. It is a rec@rd of squan- ministration of the country fell into the dered treasures, of ruined commerce, of most complete disorder. An early act of crnshed enterprise, of voluntary and un- Pombal as minister was the reductioa conditional surrenders to superstition. The of twenty-two thousand tax-gatherers. character of the King seemed made up of Manufactures, even of the ruder fabrics, an odd combination of affectations. He scarcely existed in the country. In the affected the magnificence of the earlier, early part of the reign the war with Spaia and the piety of the later years of Louis had rendered it necessary to look to the XIV., and the scandalous debauchery of national defences. As soon it was over Louis XV. at the same time. He built they were neglected. The peaceful and Mafra, the Portuguese Versailles. He coy- luxurious disposition of the King pre- ered the country with monasteries and in- vented attention being paid to military troduced priests into his government, affairs. The army became disorganized. whilst in the convent of Odivellas he had I Even in Lisbon its sentinels begged openly a copy of the infamous Parc-aux-Cerfs. in the streets. Men holding the rank of lie was always making costly vows when captain were actually seen waiting at the anything he desired seemed beyond his tables of the grandees. Guns honey- reach. Mafra was the result of a vow combed from age fell from their carriages made in the hope of having an heir. lIe in the crumbling fortresses. The treas- aspired to raise Lisbon to be a sort of ure-fleets became almost the sole represen- second Rome. Its archbishop was ele- tatives of the Portuguese navy. The sue- vated to the rank of Patriarch. Its cessors of Bartolom6o Diaz, of Vasco da chapter became a kind of Sacred Col- Gama, and of Magalhaens had descended lege, of which every member held the to the ignoble duty of escorting cargoes rank of bishop, and wore the scarlet robes of gold and silver. Literature had sunk of a cardinal; an extravagant folly which to the lowest level. Books of devotion cost eighty thousand pounds sterling a and legendary lives of saints formed the year. He built the gorgeous Chapel of greater part of the works which issued St. John the Baptist in the Church of San fromn the press. In the country of Cain- Roque in Lisbon, which, though only sev- o~ns and Antonio Ferreira poetry had de- enteen feet lone by twelve broad, cost a g~nerated into mere translations from sum equal to two hundred and twenty-five French and Italian authors. John, to be thousand pounds. Its beautiful mosaics sure, founded an academy of history, but having escaped the ravages of the earth- it chiefly t.ended to promlmote a taste for quake, the great fire, and the TYench French historical literature. Eight hun- under Junot, still remain the delight of dred convents covered the surface of the every visitor. The apparently inexhaust- small country of Portugal. It is asserted ible treasures of Brazil did not suffice to that one-tenth of the whole population meet his spendthrift extravagance. It is prayed and idled within their walls. A calculated that dunn,, the first half of spirit of contempt for honest industry the eighteenth century a hundred millions spread amongst the people and took deep sterling were drawn from that rich coun- root. Their hewers of wood and draw- try in diamonds and precious metals ers of water then were, and still are, alone. At Johns death he left his coun- aliens from Galicia. To impute the frugal try three millions sterling in debt. New industry of Gallego to a Portuguese would palaces, new churches, new convents, enor- be to insult him grossly. Almost all com- rn ous presents to Rome, had dissipated the merce fell into foreign, chiefly English, wealth brought over in fleets of galleons. hands. Patriotic writers declare that the It is declared that his gifts to the Church gold of Brazil was the true foundation of 70 MEMOIRS OF THE MARQUiS OF POMBAL. British prosperity. These reasoners omit the important factors, industry and thrift, from their computation. The King prayed and be~at bastards with edifying imparti- ality. The entire education of youth was monopolized by the Jesuits. The ancient university of Coirubra had so degenerated that it became customary for hundreds of students to merely inscribe thcir names in its hooks in order to receive its diplomas. In one year, out of six thousand whose names were thus inscribed, but seven actually attended the Greek class. The decorations of the various orders of knighthood were lavished on unworthy individuals with a prodigality which was indeed extraordinary. The richest com- inanderies, as well as the finest of the crown domains, were scattered broadcast amnon0st an ignorant and turbulent no- bility. The Kin,s ministers became the panders to his pleasures. Members of his cabinet were known to knock at the gates of convents or the doors of private houses and announce that some fair in- mate would be honoured, on such and such a night, by the visit of a great per- sonage. Extravagance under such a mon- arch and such a tutelage became a fash- ionable virtue. Portuguese authors de- clare that many families of grandees were ruined by the spendthrift extravagance of the times. Cooks, coiffeurs, and modistes came in crowds from Paris to pick up their share of the good things that were going in Portugal. It is related that a shipload of Italian sing~rs came to Lisbon to ex- change their talents for Brazilian gold. The nobles vied with each other in rearing stately palaces Jam pauca aratro jugera regi~ Moles relinquent. A0riculture became altogether neglect- ed. The quality of the xvines, the true wealth of Portugal, declined. The King, his ministers, and the nobility had no time to think of the condition of the country or of the people. Pleasure and devotion divided the moments of the day. The Government, which during the pro- gress of the last reign had become an ab- solutism, John V. soon converted into a kind of monkish theocracy, stained with all the vices and evils of fanaticism, hid- den under the oloak of religion and sanc- tity. * The Kings first appointment to the ministry was that of the Grand Chap- lain, the Bishop Nuno da Cunha Athayde, who was also Grand Inquisitor. Cardinal * Soriano, tom. 1. 120. da Motta long ruled th~ Cabnet. At hh death the Friar Gaspar da Eucarna~o became minister, and soon real governor of the kingdom. Though a man of con- siderable talent, he was totally ignorant of politics, and considered it wicked to have his mind enlightened on such earthly matters. His appointments to embasses, vice-royalties, and other high charges of the State, were of persons who were, or who professed to be, of the same type as himself. Every form of civil authority was set at nought. The streets of the capital were the scenes of nightly brawls and assassinations. The feuds of the Montagues and Capulets were realized in Lisbon by hostile noble families. The deeds of our London Mohocks were out- done by those of bands of dissipated youths of illustrious birth. Organized detachments of these disturbers of the peace roamed about the city under the guidance of Domn Francisco, the Kings brother, of the Dake Cadaval, a connexion of the Royal Family, of the Marquises of Marialva and Cascaes, and of the Counts of Aveiras and Obidos. A prominent member of the band was a youn~ man of great daring, lofty stature, and handsome features, destined to become celebrated as the Marquis of Pombal. Sebastian Joseph de Carvalho e Mello, afterwards Count of Oeyras and Marquis of Pombal. was born at Lisbon on the 13th of May 1699. His father belonged to the I class of small landowners, or untitled noblesse, called in Portugal /idalgos (le pro- vincia. An uncle of the future Minister was in holy orders and become arch-priest of the Patriarchal Church. Under John V.s government, the fortunes of a family which possessed a member so placed might be considered as made; and it was proba- bly owing to this uncles influence that Carvalho, about whose earlier years there is much obscurity, was brought to the notice of the Cardinal de Motta, and through him of the King. His endeavors to obtain public employment were unsuc- cessful, and having married a widow lady of good family, Dona Theresa de iNoronha, he withdrew to his country residence at Soure, near the town of Pombal. He soon grew tired of the dulness of a coun- try life and became again a candidate for office This time he was more successful. He is supposed to have caught the eye of the Queen and to have pleased her by his appearance. Her influence and that of the Cardinal de Motta soon obtained for him an important appointment. The commerce of Portugal had so manifestly de MEMOIRS OF THE MARQUIS OF POMBAL. 71 dined that the priests and favourites of the court at length became frightened. The whole trade of Lisbon seemed to have fallen into the hands of the Encslish, ~vho enjoyed what in those days were consid- ered great commercial advantages. The I few Portuguese who were engaged in trade in England were, on the other hand, held by their countrymen to be treated with undue rigour and want of considera- tion. This and the lawless behavour of some English naval officers in Portuguese ports induced John V. to send a special envoy to London. The court and capital were astonished by the announcement that Carvaiho who was to be the new en- voy. The keen tongues of disappointed applicants soon took their revenge. Every story that could be told to his discredit was sedulously circulated in society in Lisbon. Carvaiho was not the only per- son whose character was aspersed. The name of the Queen was mentioned in con- nexion with his own in a manner which there is every reason to believe ~vas alto- gether unjust. Having proceeded to Lon- don, he remained there in his capacity of envoy six years. having in 1745 accom- panied George II. on his visit to Hanover, he was whilst there directed to proceed to Vienna to represent his Soverei ~, n as ar- bitrator in a question that had arisen be- tween the Imperial and the Papal Govern- inents. The extinction of the patriarchate of Aquiieia, and some disputes as to the right of nomination to vacant bishoprics, had caused between the courts of Rome and Vienna one of those long series of negotiati9Jls in which the diplotnatists of a by~one age loved to enga~,e. The affair haQ gone on so long that it promised to degenerate into a quarrel. John V.s Queen was an Austrian archduchess, a sis- ter of that Archduke Charles on whose ac- count the Spanish war of succession had been undertaken. The King of Portugals marriage and his well-known sympathies with the cause of the Church seemed to doubtly fit him for the part of peace-mak- er. The Pope, who had so often applied to him with success upon other occasions, re- quested his co-operation in smoothing over the difficulties of the case. The Queen added her influence. Carvalho, whose mis- sion to London had been regarded as suc- cessful, befriended both by the Austrian Queen and the clerical party, headed by the Cardinal de Motta, was pitched upon as the right person to be sent to offer the good offices of his Sovereign. He accordingly proceeded to Vienna, and whilst there con- ducted the affair, which certainly was a somewhat delicate one, with such dexterity as apparently to satisfy both parties. Whilst in London he had lost his wife, the Dona Theresa before mentioned, and at Vienna he was married a second time to a niece of the celebrated Field Marshal Daun. In spite of his long residence in England it is certain that Carvalho never acquired our language, and if he did study our institutions, he seems to have found in them little worthy of copying in his own country. It was to France that he chiefly looked for authorities on government and economics. In after years he frequently compared himself, with decent self-depre- ciation, to Sully. That Minister in finance and Colbert in commercial affairs were the guides which he determined to follow. In- deed, he even outdid the latter Minister in his unfortunate violations of the simplest laws of political economy. The Empress~ Queen retained a lively recollection of, and gratitude for, Carvalbos services in the Aquileia matter, and afterwards when he had long returned to Portugal she ad- dressed frequent letters couched in the most affectionate terms to his Austrian wife. In the following year he returned to Portugal. The health of the King had, owing to his luxurious mode of life, grad- ually become so bad, that he had almost ceased to exercise the functions of royalty. The priestly clique by which he was sur- rounded was headed by the Friar Gaspar da Encarna~ao. This ecclesiastic was then at the summit of his power; the only shar-. er in it was the Queen, who exercised a. kind of regency. The course of Carval- hos studies in French philosophical litera- ture had probably reached the friars ears. The influence of the Queen, quickened as it. was by her friendship for her countrywo- man his wife, was not sufficient to obtain for Carvalho any post in the Government; he therefore continued unemployed during the remainder of the kings reign, and it is a remarkable circumstance that a minister who fills so great a place in the annals of his country, and who held office for nearly thirty years, was more than fifty years old before lie attained to it, at least in the do- mestic administration of the kingdom. His eventual accession to office was due to an odd series of circumstances. The Government being virtually in the hands of ecclesiastics, it seems not to have been thought necessary to appoint the usual Secretaries of State. A single one of those great officers, Pedro de Motta, a brother of the cardinal, now sometimes deceased, was in office. The great burden of the 72 MEMOIRS OF THE MARQUIS OF POMBAL. routine work of the Government fell upon ion was strengthened by the repre~enta- him, aiid seriously affected his health. At tions of the Queen-Mother, who never last at the Kings death in 1750 there ac- ceased to point out the good qualities of tually was not a single Secretary of State the new minister. A more powerful auxi- in a condition to attest the burial of the liary was found in the person of the Sovereign as the laws of Portugal required. Kin~s confessor, the Jesuit Joseph Morei- Carvaiho lost no time in seizing so favour- ra, with whom he had contrived to able an opportunity of obtaining place. ingratiate himself. His detractors assert lie sent his wife to beg the good offices that when Carvalho was hanging about of the Queen. The latter so effectually court looking eagerly for place, he sedu- solicited her son, the new King, Dom lously cultivated the society of the Je~uits. Joseph, on his behalf, that he was immed- He is even said to have adopted, in t~ken iately made Secretary of State for War of his admiration for the order and the and Foreign Affairs.* The Abb6 Diogo closeness of his intimacy with the mem- de Mendon~a was at the same time nomi- hers (with a pedantic affection of the cus- nated to the vacant portfolio of Marine toins of antiquity), the surname of fesui- and the Colonies. Once having entered ticus.* The manner in which he repaid the Government, Carvalho continued to the fraternity is a matter of history. hold office uninterruptedly throughout the Moreira languished out his days in the rei,,n of Dom Joseph, which lasted nearly prisons of the Junquiera. He was more twenty-seven years. No one was better grateful to another of the monkish favour- aware than he of the extreme difficulties ites of the King, the Father Antony of his position. Knowing well that his Joseph da Cruz, whose good offices are comparatively sudden rise had created for supposed to have assisted in his advance- him a host of enemies, he began his minis- inent. When the great Marquis became terial career in a modest and unassuming omnipotent in Portugal, he extended to manner. Though entering the Cabinet the father and his brothers an unvarying simultaneously and on equal terms with protection. Though sons of a poor joiner, one Minister, and finding the chief of it and almost totally uneducated, he ad- oppressed with a~e and infirmities, he was vanced them to high posts and honours, too adroit to aim at supreme power at and their descendants are at the present once. day holders of a title. He quickly discerned the character of He worked sedulously in his depart- the new monarch. Doin ~Joseph was one ment of war and foreign affairs. A sum of those irresolute vacillating men who of money was devoted to restoring thg find it impossible to stand alone. Of an ruined fortresses of the kingdom, which amiable disposition and agreeable man- before the close of the reign were in so ners, lie seems to have been impressed poor a condition that the Barbary corsairs with a sincere desire to promote the good cruized with impunity withilk range of ofhis subjects. his education, as might their guns. A national establishment for have been expected from what has been the manufacture of gunpowder was erected. said above concerning the late reign, had But it was to the improvement of com- been much ne0lected. lie undoubtedly merce and the rectification of the finances had a certain amount of ambition, and a that he principally turned his attention. considerable desire for glory, but his pas- Though not specially under his direction, sion was the chase. His amiability he quietly assumed charge of these mat- prompted him to agree with everyone. ters. He be,~an now to make his infin- The last proposal was always the one ence in the Cabinet supreme. The enor- which he was inclined to follow. Each mous expenditure of the royal household minister was in favour in turn. Carvalho was contracted. The number of servants saw how this disposition of the Sovereign in the palace kitchen was reduced to one- might be turned to his advantage, fourth. Various decrees appeared regula- During his earlier sitting at the council- ting the mode of imposing and collecting board he maintained a discreet reserve, taxes. The vast amount which had hither- He proposed nothing, but confined him- to been swallowed up in the collection was self to pointing out the difficulties in the greatly lessened. The corps of tax- way of carrying out the suggestions of gatherers was entirely remodelled. It his colleagues. His criticisms generally might be supposed that the great credit proved to have been just. Joseph formed of these reforms would be due to the a high opinion of his sagacity. This opin- minister whose special business it was to ~ Soriano, tom. i. p. 1%. * Memoires de S. J. Carvaiho, vol. 1. 73 MEMOIRS OF TIlE MARQUIS OF POMBAL. superntend the finances; but it rests on and silver and precious stones brought the respectable authority of both the from Brazil at once found their way to French and English diplomatic despatches England; that the ease with which the that it was due to Carvaiho. Portuguese acquired them prevented them The means taken by him to render his from turning their attention to the pro- ascendency over his colleagues complete duction of useful articles at home, and were most effectual. Every branch of rendered them entirely dependent for the the Government began to show signs of supply of every want upon English indus- his directing spirit. In 1751, the year he try. Hence his early determination to entered the ministry, the power of the enrich his country, as he thought, by Inquisition received a serious blow. It keepin~ the precious metals which poured was enacted by decree that in future no in from abroad within its limits. As in auto-do-fl should take place, and no execu- many other countries, an ancient law ex- tion be carried into effect, without the con- isted in Portugal which prohibited the sent of the Government; and appeals exportation of coin. On his strong re- were allowed from, and inquiries made in- presentation the King re-enforced this de- to, the sentences of the Holy Office. To cree. Of the effects of such a decree, if restore the respect due to authority, he it could have been strictly carried out, it appointed a special commission for the is not necessary here to speak. As might trial of persons accused of highway rob- have been expected, it failed in execution. beries and other acts of violence in the The export of coin continued, though un- southern portion of the kingdom. A host der difficulties. of decrees appeared on various subjects: The decree had been levelled at the some to restrain the prevalent custom of English. They at once took the alarm. taking private revenge ; others to encour- The Government of George II. despatched age the fisheries, the manufacture of su- Lord Tyrawley on a special mission to gar, and the cultivation of the silk worm. Lisbon to protest against the measure. To persons engaged in the latter occupa- In spite of flatteries, entreaties, and tion the privileges of nobility, which alone threats, Dom Joseph and his minister de- entitled the possessor to hold certain of- cided to uphold the decree. The fears of fices, were extended. As in finances he the English, whatever they were, were not aspired to be the Sully, so in commercial verified; as we have seen, it was found im- matters he hoped to be the Colbert, of possible to prevent the coin from being Portugal. The extension of her commerce sent out of the country. Like many states- and the development of her resources and men of the seventeenth and eighteenth those of her dependencies were the great centuries, Carvalho was possessed by the objects of his whole political life. The idea that the true secret of commercial means which he took to bring about this prosperity lay in the foundatioii of mo- great c~nd were indeed, judging now by nopolist companies. His strong will, too, the light of our present knowledge of eco- and imperious disposition probably in- nomical science, erroneous and improper; dined him to adopt that system in which but that he should have considered that he might have most power of direction. end the fitting one of all his schemes is of LIad he understood the laws of political itself sufficient, considering the country in economy better, had he even understood which he lived, to bming some credit on his them at all, he would have been content name. to leave trade without those guiding reg The condition of the country during ulations which years ago were considered the preceding reign has already been necessary to its well-being. He had a sketched in rapid outline. What it was at strong predilection for that commercial the beginning of his ministry we may system which allowed him to draw up give in his own words: I found, said he, elaborate rules for its government. To a monarchy destitute of money, weak- be able to say that certain people should cued by numerous revolutions, disturbed trade to such and such places, and that by various secret sects, and impoverished certain other people should not, was to by its very riches. A people subject to him a highly pleasing matter. the grossest superstition, a nation whose The vast and fertile provinces of Grand manners might be likened to those of bar- Para and Maranham had been amongst barians, a State governed by almost Asi- the most productive of the Portuguese do- atic customs, European only in name, minions beyond the sea. But for more with but the fortn of kingly government than a century, their prosperity had de- and but the shadow of power. He goes I dined. The causes of this decline had ~n to say that the vast quantities of gold been the inattention of the authorities 74 MEMOIRS OF THE MARQUIS OF POMBAL. at home, and the ignorant rapacity of the Portuguese settlers. The former had so neglected the defenses of the colonies that they were left unprotected from the inva- sion of hostile powers and buccaneers. The latter had checked the willing indus- try of the native Indians by making them slaves. Carvalho decreed that thencefor- ward the Indians should be free. Garri- sons of considerable strength were des- patched not only to Grand Para and Mar- anham, but to the neighbouring province of Pernambuco as well. The commerce of these countries was to be restored by the foundation of one of the Ministers favourite companies. On March 7th, 1755, out came a decree constituting the Gen- eral Company of Grand Para and Maran- ham, and containing numerous regulations for its government. The monopoly of the Company was to be complete, its pr~v- ileges extensive. The capital was fixed at two millions of cruzades (about 200,0001. sterliiig), in shares of about 901. each. The Company was to have the exclusive right of trading to the ports of the colo- flies named in its title. No one else might either buy or sell within their limits. The The monopoly was pushed to the farthest extreme. The factors in the employ of the Company fixed the price not only of what they sold, but of what they bought. Nothing was too small or insignificant to come with- in the scope of its operations. Little tokens of affection sent by a mother to her son, or by a lover to his mistress, were held to be articles of merchandise, and the trans- mission of them, as injurious to the in- terests of the Company, entirely stopped. Eleven years after its formation a decree enacted that its shares should be received in discharge of its debts at par; and it was further decreed that its scrip should pass current on an equal footing with the coinage of the realm. The provisions of this unjust decree had to be relaxed by the issue of another two years L ter. The establishment of this Company gave an earnest of the high-handed way in which the Minister was determined to carry out his schemes. The shares at first did not sell with sufficient rapidity. Bribes, threats, and entreaties were freely employed to cause its capital to be sub- scribed for. Even in Portugal there ex- isted a hody of men sufficiently sagacious to foresee the disastrous effects of this per- nicious monopoly. The Board of Coni- mon ~Veal (A Mesa do Bern Commun), compo ed of men of business, and a spe- cies of com~nercial tribunal, proceeded in a body to the palace to petition the King against the establishment of the new Com- pany, and point out its inevitable effects. This was a piece of presumption which the Minister was determined to put a stop to at once. Another decree was issued. It declared those who had joined in the rep- resentation guilty of disrespect to the ir lawful Sovereign. The Board was abol- ished, and a Junta of Commerce, with great powers, was established in its stead. The petitioners were degraded from their offices and banished for various periods. Their advocate and mouth-piece, the Doc- tor Negreiros, was banished to Mazagon, and was kept waiting in the common pris- on of the Limoeiro till a ship should be ready to convey him to his destination. His sentence was never carried into effect. A month or two later he was buried be- neath the walls of his prison-house in the terrible earthquake which nearly destroyed the city. The great earthquake of Lisbon has been often described. Like many other such catastrophes its effects have been greatly exaggerated; still in the 1 ossof life and destruction of property which it caused it was fearfully disastrous. The year 1755 seems to have been unusually prolific in earthquakes. Shocks of great severity had been felt in South America, in Greenland, in Iceland, in Spain, and some too in Portugal itself. We have not space to describe in detail that by which Lisbon was so nearly erased from the list of cities; but one of its immediate effects was so undoubtedly the ministerial omnipotence of Carvalho, that it is neces- sary to do something more than merely allude to it. On the morning of November 1st, 1755, which had opened with the usual calni serenity of the Portuguese autumn, the inhabitants had assembled in great num- bers in the churches of the city to do honour to the festival of All Saints. Shortly after a quarter to 10 A. M., a slight trembling of the earth was noticed. This was deemed to be the effect of a passing wagon. Those who thought so were soon terribly undeceived. The tremulous motion so increased that the whole surface of the ground seemed to undulate like a sea. The steeples shook so that the bells were rung, tiles came tumbling down from the roofs of houses, furniture was thrown down, and walls be- gan to split and buildings to fall. Whilst the shock lasted, the unfortunate inhabi- tants of the city were terrified at hearing a loud rumbling noise like distant thunder which meemed to proceed from the very MEMOIRS OF TilE MARQUIS OF POMBAL. 75 bowels of the earth. As the earth cracked different parts of the city, and spread be- and opened in various directions, it ex- yond the area visited by the earthquake. haled a suiphurous vapour which, with it seemed as though the city had really the clouds of dust from the fallin0 build- ceased to exist. Every imaginable horror ings, so obscured the sun that day was was present. Bodies of the dead, and the almost turned into night mangled remains of the fearfully mutilated Quis cladem illius noctis, quis funera fando but still living strewed the ground. Prison- Explicet? ant possit lacryrnis ~quare labores? ers escaped from the gaols,and bands of oth- Urbs antiqus ruit multos dominata per annos. er wretches went about the ruins robbing, murdering, and insulting those whom the These clouds soon settled, and then the terrible visitation of the morning had waters of the Tagus were seen to retire spared. The survivors were at the mercy farther than had been known in the low, of the banditti and in danger of starving est tides. Soon, formed in a mountainous for want of food. The hope of rebuilding wave, they returned and burst upon th~ Lisbon was almost abandoned. It was city. Ships, boats, the magnificent quays suggested to the King to remove the just constrncted at an enormous cost, court to the ancient capital, Coimbra. He were swallowed up, and with them thou- was at first inclined to listen to these tim- sands of people who had sought safety on, id counsels; hut Carvalho interposed. or near, the water from the tumbling His zeal, devotion, and activity were ap- edifices of the city. The falling churches parent to all. The weak-minded King be- o~ erwhelmed crowds of worshippers. gan to look upon him as a supernatural Monks and nuns were swallowed up by being. He even remarked, that the fact hundreds in their convents. The first of his house being spared was a sign of shock had lasted, with occasi6nal intervals the Divine protection. The Count of of less intensity, 2for about seven minutes. Obidos, to whom the remark was ad- There were several other shocks both on dressed, replied drily, True, Sire; but that 1st of November and on subsequent the same protection has been extended to days, but the great destruction had been the dwellers in the Rua Suja the most wrought within about twenty minutes. It infamous street in Lisbon. Carvalho re- would require a volume to detail the effects membered the remark, and is said to have of that calamity. Sixty-one churches and repaid the utterer by a long imprisonment convents, thirty-two palaces of the nobili- in the fort of the Jum~qniera. A fellow- ty, besides many other public buildings, prisoner of the Counts afterwards was the such as the Royal Palace,. the Inquisition, Marquis of Alorna, to whom belongs the the Castle of St. George, were either com- credit of a speech often attributed to Car- pletely destroyed or seriously injured. vaiho, in reply to a question of the Kings Scholars deplored the loss of three splen- as to what was to be done That their did libraries that formed by John V., duty was to bury the dead and to feed the and those of the Dominican Convent and living. Measures were at once taken to of the Marquis of Lourh~al. The destruc- bury the dead, and thus remove all fears tion of private property was enormous. of a pestilence from the presence of the The rich ornaments of the churches, the numerous putrifying bodies. The wounded pictures, the gold, the precious stones, were rescued from the ruins. Bakers were were all buried beneath the ruins. The set to bake bread for the starving citizens. total is calculated at over twenty millions The Patriarch issued a mandate enjoining sterling. The logs of life had been fearful. processions in every parish to induce the It is estimated on the best data that over inhabitants who had fled to return and 12,000 human beings perished. Among take part in them. A happy spirit of nv- them were many persons of distinction, airy in doing good sprang up. Graudees The Royal. Family fortunately escaped be- and high ecclesiastics carried succour to ing at the Palace of Belem, in the su- the unfortunate, and even buried hundreds burbs. The Spanish Ambassador, on of dead with their own hands. Hospitals attempting to leave his palace, was crushed were established, and surgeons and medi- by its fall, with nine of his attendants. cines brought in from different parts of Ca2rvalhos wife, though she nearly met the country. Guards were stationed in her death, escaped without injury, every part of the city. Stringent edicts The earthquake was over, but the de- against robbery were issued. Gibbets struction was not yet complete. Numer- were erected in various quarters, on which ous fires, caused probably by the lighted marauders were hung without form of candles in the churches and the fires in trial. Over 350 wretches were thus exe- the kitchens of the houses, burst out in I outed before order was completely restored. 76 MEMOIRS OF THE MARQUIS OF POMBAL. The good eff~ects of these measures bore Board so obnoxious to Carvaiho that he rapid fruit. Carvaiho was the soul of was Aetermined to remove him. his man- everything. lie worked with untiring en- ncr of doing so was highly characteristic. ergy, passing over fourteen hours a day in The new Secretary, Luiz da Cunha, and a his carriage or on horseback superintend- judicial officer one afternoon entered De ing the works. Messages requesting suc- Mendon~as house, and sho~ved him a royal cour were sent to foreign countries. Spain decree by which he was dismissed from and En~,1and in particular nobly responded the Kings service, and ordered to with- to this appeal. By the latter eQuntry draw within three hours from the capital; goods and money to the amount of within a fortnight he was to remove to a 100,0001. were at once despatched to the distance of forty leagues, and never come Tagus. within it. The pretext for this high- No time was lost in rebuilding the city. banded proceeding was a supposed inten- Plans were drawn by which it was pro- tion on the part of the fallen Minister to posed to make Lisbon the best laid out bring about a marriage of the Crown capital in Europe. The spacious Pra9a do Princess of Portugal and a Spanish Prince, Corn mercio, called by the English Black and thus form a party favourable to his Horse Square, and the nnmerous straight own intersts. and well-built streets which lead from it, The rebuilding of Lisbon and the recon- were traced out. Houses were ordered to struction of the Cabinet were not allowed be constructed in a way decided on by the to interfere with the Ministers cherished architects and engineers of the Govern- object of improving Portuguese commerce. ment which would render them less liable The almost complete neglect of comnmer- to be injured by earthquakes. A tempora- cial affairs by a large portion of the nation ry residence of wood was built for the Roy- had caused a business career to be looked al Family on the site of the present huge upon as scarcely worth following. The fragment of the Ajuda Palace. business of the few Portuguese engaged To meet the expense of restoring the in trade was principally managed by for- capital, Carvalho, whose recent services eigners. Carvalno established a commer- had made him the real head of affairs, im- cial academy in which young men were posed an import duty of 4 per cent. on all educated so as to enable them to take foreign goods. The English Minister clerkships in merchants offices. Both the deemed it his duty to protest against this King and himself watched the progress of impost; but Carvalho was not to be shak- this institution with unvarying solicitude, en in his purpose, and the duty was levied, and were frequently present at the exam- The terrible visitation which had befallen ination of the pupils. So convinced was the country was an immediate benefit to Carvalho of the efficacy of monopolist the Minister. The ruin had been so great companies in restoring the prosperity of that it seemed necessary that the nation the country that he created several new should start afresh. That he looked upon ones. The principal of these was the it as an ddvantage we have his own words General Company of the Vineyards of the to prove. A paper written by him is ex- Upper Douro, well known in England as taut, in which he declares that in order to the Oporto Wine Company. The English re-establish a state, it is necessary that it demand for t. e wines of Northern Portu- should be partly destroyed. And he ex- gal was so great that their production was claims, What then cannot be done by a almost the sole agricultural pursuit of the reformer? Fortune again favoured him. country. The prices paid for them were Pedro da Motta, the senior Secretary of large enou~h to stimulate the dishonest to State, whose failing health had long pre- fill the market with all kinds of counter- vented his taking an active part in affairs, feits. The spurious liquor so increased in died six months after the earthquake. Car- quantity that the prices fell considerably, valho was advanced officially to the prem- and some action seemed really necessary. iership which he had in reality long held. The immediate object of the Company Luiz da Cunha of the Patriarchal Chapter, was, however, clearly, and even avowedly, and formerly Minister in London, took his to take the trade from the hands of Lie place at the War and Foreign Offices. The English, who had almost entirely monopo- chief merit of the new Secretary of State lized it. The regulations under which the was his obsequious deference to the First Company was formed were remarkably Ministers wishes. His colleague and con- minute. It was to have both. the right temporary, Diogo de Mendon~a, had ex- and the obligation of buying at fixed hibited an inconvenient independence, prices all the wines produced in the Douro which rendered his presence at the Council vineyards. The wines were to be divided MEMOIRS OF THE MARQUIS OF POMBAIJ. 77 into classes according to quality; for the years. Eighty-six are banished to differ- first a higher price was to be paid than for ent~ parts, and fifty-eight condemned in the others. No allowance was made for a fine and six month~ imprisonment. years of scarcity or years of abundance, Thirty-six persons were released. The the same price was to be paid in all. The severity of these proceedings will be bet- Company was also to have the entire mon- ter understood when it is stated that the opoly of retailing wine inOporto and the mob of rioters scarcely exceeded in all neighbourhood. The early operations of four hundred persons. Before the coun- the Company were more successful than try had recovered from the horror inspired those of most of the others founded by by these measures, Carvalho issued what Carvalho, and its existence, though in an may be taken as a formal declaration of altered form, did not terminate till about despotic government. An edict was pub- thirty years ago. lished declaring guilty of lese-majeste all The knowledge that that which formed those who disobeyed the orders of the soy- so important a portion of their daily sus- ereign. This was amongst a people whi~h tenance was to be retailed to them by a had long and justly prided itself on the single firm of dealers caused such a fer- power of its ancient Contes and the limits ment amongst the inhabitants of Oporto it had set to the prerogative of its mon- that a riot ensued. An excited crowd archs. rnshed to the house of the magistrate It will be readily understood with what called the Jud,,e of the People, clamour- bitter feelings the rise of a man like Car- ing for the free sale of wine. The inagis- valho had been regarded by the Portu- trate, who was ill in bed, was forced to guese nobility. The numerous revolutions rise and accompany the mob to the civil and changes of dynasty, which impart such governors. That officer, to pacify the interest to the history of Portti0al, had people, at the judges request took it on either greatly added to, or preserved, the himself to promise that the trade should power of the noble families. Besides, the be free. Some further disturbance took connexion between the Royal Family and place, but the arrival of the military gov- the higher nobility was close and extended. ernor with a party of soldiers soon restored The ducal houses of Aveiro, Cadaval, and quiet, and by the evening the streets of Lafoens were all more or less closely con- the city had resumed their usual appear- nected by blood or marriage with the ance. The opportunity of giving a severe reigning dynasty. In Portugal, therefore, lesson to the opponents of his measures the nobles had not completely descended was too good for Carvalho to lose. He to the position of mere hangers-on of a affected to consider the outbreak at Oporto court, dynifled by sounding titles of ser- as a formidable insurrection. A consider- vility. Much of the power, and many of able body of infantry and cavalry was the privileges, of the Feudal Age remained despatched to reinforce the garrion of the in the hands of men who besides possessed city. The first measures of the command- all the influence usually attributed to those ing officers were to draw a cordon round who filled the high offices of a court, which the place, and prevent any of the inhabit- was ruled by an exaggerated copy of the ants leavin~ it. The troops then marched pompous and laborious etiquette ~ven to in, and were billeted on the citizens, with the world by the Grand Mon arque. whom they lived at free quarters. A We have already seen that, granted by special court was then organized for the the generosity or extorted from the fears trial of the rioters. The unfortunate Judge of the Portuguese kings, the richest of the of the People was the first victim. His Crown domains had conic into the posses- compliance with the demands of the mob I sion of the nobles. The alienation of so which had beset his house was punished by much valuable property when the influx of his public degradation from office and his Brazilian gold into the royal coffers began subsequent execution. The ease of the riot- to fall off became a serious inconvenience. ers was then gone into. How they were] Either as a fiscal measure, or to show in punished will appear fromthe following cx- unmistakeable colours what his policy was tract from a despatch of the British Minister to be, no sooner had Carvalho found him- to his Government The persons con- self secure in office than he ordered a rigid cerned in the riots last summer at Oporto, inquiry into the titles by which these ceded he writes, have received their sentences. donlains were held. In many cases the Thirteen men and four women were exe- Government professed itself not satisfied cuted on the 4th instant. Five-and-twenty with the validity of the titles, and the persons are condemned to the galleys, properties held under them were resumed some for life and others for a term of by the Crown. The despoiled 0randees 78 MEMOIRS OF THE MARQUIS OF POMBAL. received the act as a declaration of war order, had become reconciled to the Jesu- against their order, and their hostility to its, and met them frequently at his own the Minister was greatly increased. As house or at that of the Tavoras. the King placed himself more and more in In common with the rest of her family the hands of his Minister the right of an- the duke highly resented the alleged inti- dience, long the most cherishe~ and latter- macy of the King with the young mar- ly the most useful, privilege of the Portu- chioness. His resentment was heightened guese nobles, became of less value. De- into exasperation by an incident which oc- cree after decree pared down the privilege curred at the palace. In the official hie- till it scarcely existed even in name. Mut- rarchy of the Portuguese court there were terings of discontent soon became frequent two posts which were equally indisDensa- amongst them. Their palaces and quintas blethose of the Kings confessor and of were turned into centres of disaffection, the pander to the Kings pleasures. The and, as Carvalbo professed to believe, nur- expulsion of the former personage had series of plots. He quickly discerned the added so greatly to the peculiar influence dangers to which his rule was thus ex- and dignity of the latter, that the head posed; and determined to make a terrible of this Portuguese Chiffinch was almost example of those from whom he dreaded turned. Upon one occasion the confiden- them. The result was the horrible tragedy tial valet (that was his official title), hay- known in Portuguese history as the Con- ing received an order from the Duke Avei- spiracy of the Tavoras. ro in his capacity as grand master of the This name, which was eventually erased household, made an insolent reply. This from the list of Portuguese surnames and so incensed the hot-tempered noble that no longer permitted to exist even in the he drew his sword and would have made geographical nomenclature of the country,* short work of the utterer; but remember- was borne by a noble family which pos- ing where he was, he sheathed his weap- sessed two marquisates, both the father on and threatened the fleeing valet with and his eldest son being dignified with punishment at a more suitable time. that title. The elder marquis, who was a Whether the attempt which the duke was geneial officer, had served with considera- afterwards accused of making was against ble distinction in Portuguese India, of the life of this man or against that of his which dependency he had been viceroy, royal master, has never been satisfactorily The younger had the misfortune to be the settled. But that an attempt of the kind husband of a beautiful wife who was gen- was made, and that the duke was more or erally credited with the dishonourabledis- less implicated in it, seems tolerably cer- tinction of being a royal favourite. The tam. The crime was carried into exeon- elder marchioness was a strung-minded im- tion as follows: perious woman who, having tasted the On the ni~ht of Sunday, September 3, sweetness of the position of vice-queen, 1758, the King was returning from visiting never subsided contentedly into that of a one of his mtstresses. Like all other pro- simple subject. On her return from India ceedings of the Portuguese monarch, this she was anxious that her husbands services was conducted in strict compliance with should be rewarded by a dukedom. The the rules of court etiquette. It was neces- Ministers refusal to grant this honour in- sary that there should be two carriages, censed her deeply, and she soon became a one of which should bear the royal lover leader amongst the malcontent nobles. A and the other the confidential valet. This relative of the Tavoras was the Doke of time, however, the King had called the Aveiro, a man of illustrious lineage and a valet into his own carriage, and as it was connexion of the Royal Famnily. The duke, turning a corner it was met by a knot of who was a hot-tempered, out-spoken man, mounted men, one of whomn snapped a had been in the habit of giving loud ut- mnusquetoon, which missed fire, at the terance to his dislike of Carvalho. Those driver. The latter urged on his horses in attacks on the Jesuits which have rendered order to escape any further attempts, and the Marquis of Pombal so famous had the speed at which he drove was proba- already commenced. Pedro Moreira, the bly the cause of two shots, which were Kings confessor, and those of the other fired at the rapidly-retreating vehicle, hay- members of the Royal Family, had been in0 no other effect than that of wounding expelled the court. It was observed that the King in the right arm. The wound the duke, formerly a noted enemy of the was found to be so slight that he was able * A river so named was henceforward ordered to go about, simply keeping his arm in a to be called Tue River of Deadi. (S,~ith, voL ~. sling. The cause of his doing so was p. 198.) carefully concealed. The British Minister MEMOIRS OF TILE MARQUIS OF POMBAL. 79 wrote to say that he was informed that cast into the Tagus. This appalling the King had been bled; but he was care- butchery lasted nearly seven hours, having ful to add in cypher that he knew better. commenced at eight oclock in the morn- For three months, Carvalho indicated by ing and not being finished till past two in no sign whatever so much as a suspicion the afternoon. In the subsequent reign a that a crime had been committed. his commission was appointed specially to de- bearing towards those whom he subse- termine whether or not the sentences quently punished was particularly affable should be reversed. This comm1ss~on de- and conciliatory. At length on December dared that the Duke of Aveiro, but not 13, or three months after the King had the Tavoras, had been implicated in a con- been fired at. numerons arrests were made. spiracy against the life of Dom Joseph. The I)uke of Aveiro, the whole family of For his services as Minister generally, and the Tavoras, and various other nobles especially for his zeal during the late (amongst them the Marquis of Alorna and events, Carvalbo was ennobled by the title the Count of Obidos, whose remarks at of Count of Ocyras, where he had an es- the time of the earthquake are said to tate. He was also granted the feudal have rankled in the mind of the Minister), rights over the town of Pombal and a rich together with eight Jesuit priests, were in- commandery of the order of Christ. cluded in the list of prisoners. The pap- This celebrated conspiracy, and the san- ers of all were seized and examined, and guinary punishment of it, which leaves so some letters containin~ expressions of a dark a stain on the memory of Pombal has highly damaging character were certainly remained one of the problems of history. found amongst those of the duke and the But Senhor Gombs, who is the last and elder Tavora. A tribunal, called Inconfi- best-informed writer who has examined den~ia, was especiafly instituted to try the the evidence, arrives at the conclusion that prisoners. For the crime of regicide the the attempt on the life of the King was Portn~nese code, like the Roman for that actually made on the 3rd of September, of parricide, had assi~iied no punishment. and that the Duke dAveiro was concerned An edict of the Spanish usurper, Philip in it. The evidence against the Tavoras II., alone alluded to it to declare that it is much weaker; and against some of the should he cruel. W~ shall see how well the minor victims of the affair, including the behest of the royal bigot who laughed at Jesuit fathers, it is altogether wanting. the news of St. Bartholomew was obeyed. The procedure. against the prisoners was The tribunal specially convened to con- secret and scandalously unjust; the exe- demn did its work; and all the accused cution of the sentence was atrociously were condemned. The sentences passed cruel ; and the whole transaction m~ tainted on the duke, on the elder marquis and by its evident connexion with Pombals marchioness, on their two sons, on the political designs and personal animosities.* Count of Atou~uia, and on several ser- The abolition of the Board of Common vants of these nobles, were capital. The Weal, and the severe punishment of the mode of carrying them out was frightfully Oporto rioters, had stifled any feelings of barbarous. The elder marchioness was independence which the long despotism of the first person put to death. her sen- John V. may have left in the breasts of tence had declared that, in consideration the middle and lower orders of the Portu- of her age and rank, she should ordy be guese people. The recent barbarous exe- beheaded. But Carvalhos vindictiveness cution of so many members of the nobility, followed her to the very jaws of death. eddem strage tot coasularium cmdes, had corn- She was led round the scaffold and shown pletely placed at the feet of the Count of one by one the instruments with which Geyras the whole body of nobles. He her husband and sons were to be exe- had however not yet conquered all oppo- cuted; the manner in which each was to .sition; there still remained the clergy, be used being explained to her with bar- and especially the Order of the Jesuits, to barons minuteness. Her sons were the * it was in 1760 soon after this tragical event, next victims. Their unhanpy father was that Lord Kinnouls mission proceeded to Lisbon, exposed the unspeakable barbarity of which is now only remembered because Philip to Francis was ihat ministers secretary and all the being shown the mangled forms of his despaiches were written by his hand. Fuancis con- wife and children before being broken ceived a Juniiis-like aversion to 1omnbal, auid de- scribes him in the following ierm~: His preserv- alive upon the wheel. The Duke of log his authority over the king. and his making the Aveiro suffered the same fate. A servant most violent use of absolute power. are but eqnivo- of the duke was burned alive. The bodies cal proofs of his understanding and courage; con- ning, obstinacy, and revenge vsquse ad iatereecioneni of all, the scaffold and the instruments of are qualities willingly allowed. (Mericales Life death, were then burned and the ashes of Fsaacis, voL ip. a3.) 80 MEMOIRS OF THE MARQUIS OF POMBAL. be dealt with. In no country in Europe puted territory should be e~cchanged for had the Order obtained greater power that portion of Paraguay which was under than in Portu0al. It early established it- the sway of the Jesuit Fathers. Both the self there and rapidly increased its num- contracting parties congratulated them- hers beyond those specified in the Papal selves on having done a somewhat smart Bull constituting the Portuguese branch stroke of business. The Portuguese Gov- of the Fraternity. Its brethren soon be- eminent had been led by the representa- came the confessors of every member of tions of an adventurer to believe that the the Royal Family. Their influence, under country about to become theirs was rich the late king. we have already seen. The in mines, and might prove a second Brazil. Count of Geyras had early perceived that The Spanish Government naturally re- the Jesuits stood in his way. His hostili- joiced in an arrangement by which it ex- ty had already declared itself; and his changed a country that scarcely belonged eventual triumph over the Order is a piece to it for one that bad been some time set- of well-known history. The position of tled and was admirably situated. But the the Jesuits had long before excited the Portuguese had had quite enough of Jes- distrust and suspicion of the governors of uits in their colonies: so it was arranged the Portuguese dominions beyond the sea. that the territories should exchange inns- As is generally known, the efforts of the ters, but not the inhabitants. The natives Order had been early directed to the con- resisted this arrangement by force; and an version of the Indians both in the East expensive ~varfare ensued. Dom Joseph, on and West. The zeal of the Society in his accession to the throne, refused to con- winnino~ converts appears to have been firm the recent arran~ement, and the dis- fully equalled by the skill which some of turbances in Paraguay ceased. The Indians its members exhibited in commercial trans- of some parts of Brazil had in the meantime actions. As far back as 1575 a Governor revolted, and their insurrection was attn- of Brazil complains of the injury caused to buted to the Jesuits. The injudicious oppo- the revenue by paying the Jesuits their sition of some members of the Order to the stipends in stmgar estimated at a price establishment of his favourite companies which had long ceased to be real. A Gov- had greatly exasperated Carvalbo. One ernor of Angola in the seventeenth cen- father had declared from the pulpit that the tury accuses the Fathers of undertaking vengeance of Heaven would overtake those missions wLh the avowed object of propa- who took shares in the Grand Pam gatin~ the faith, but in reality for the sake and Maranham Company; another had of trading in slaves. Moved by such repre- asserted that the wines of the Alta Douro sentations, the Portuguese Government had Company were not fitted to supply the endeavoured to restrain these alle~ed pro- cup at the Sacrifice of the Mass; whilst a ceedings. In order therefore to withdraw third had been unwise enough to perceive themselves from the thwarting interference in the great earthquake of Lisbon the Di- of both the Spanish and Portuguese vice- vine punishment inflicted upon a country roys, the Jesuits had removed, beyond the which was ruled by such a minister. Car- very confines of civilization, to the almost valbo commenced his attack on the Order unknown country of Paraguay. They had with much adroitness, and by it he masked succeeded to a remarkable degree in civil- an even greater scheme than the destine- izin~ the inhabitants of those wilds, and tion of the Society, and that was~the crip- eventually established a curious kind of pling of the power of the Church. The dominion which rendered them the virtual pre-eminence of the Jesuits in Portugal sovereigns of a considerable tract of coun- had stirred the envy of the other reli0ious try and many thousands of subjects. It is orders and of the secular clergy. With a strange that the circumstance which re- correct appreciation of the customary dounds most to their credit their with- spirit of ecclesiastical parties, Carvalbo drawal to the remote region of Paraguay counted upon the support, or at least the to evangelize the inhabitants should contemptuous neutrality, of the remaining have beeh the almost direct cause of the orders whilst attempting to crush a rival misfortunes and temporary extinction of fraternity. Once having disposed of the the J~suits. Jesuits, dealing with the others would be There had been an old dispute between comparatively easy. His first step was to the Spanish and Portuguese Governments publish the papal brief Iinoiensa Pastoi-u,n about the oxvner~hip of a district imi South Principis, which had attempted to restrain America called Nova Colonia. After re- the excessive participation of the Jesuits peated negotiations it was agreed, towards in secular affairs and especially commerce. the end of John V.s reign, that the dis- lIe next, as we have seen, persuaded the MEMOIRS OF TIlE MARQUIS OF POMBAL. 81 King to expel from the court all the con- fessors of the Royal Family who belonged to the Company of Jesus. He then pro- ceeded to draw a detailed report of all the offences committed by the Fathers in Por- tflr, uese Colonies down to the month of October, 1757. This report was forwarded to the Portuguese Minister at Rome, to be laid before the Pope, accompanied by a letter, in which Carvalho recalled the his- tory and fate of the Templars, with whose conduct that of the Jesuits was unfavour- ably compared. The Pope was to be re- spectfully implored to put an end to their excesses. The Minister of Portugal at the Papal Court, Almada, was a cousin 01 Carvalbos, arid warmly seconded him in his ne otiations with the Holy See. He succeeded in persuading the wise and ex- cellent Pontiff, Benedict XIV., who then filled the chair of St. Peter, of the truth of the complaints made against the Jesuits, and in getting him to issue a brief consti- tuting the Cardinal Saldanha Visitor and Reformer-General of the Order in Portu- gal and its dominions. Dreading the in- fluence of the Jesuits over the Cardinal- Secretary of State, Almada begged the Pope to entrust the duty of drawing up the brief not to the Cardinal-Secretary, but to a friend of his own, the Cardinal Pacionci. So ready was the Holy Father to meet the wishes of the Portuguese Gov- ernment that he acceded to this request, and the brief was actually drafted by Al- madas own secretary. The new Cardinal-Visitor began opera- tions forthwith. He ordered the Jesuits to at once desist from all banking and other commercial pursuits, the participa- tors in which he likened to the money- changers whom the Redeemer had expelled from the Teniple. This order was immedi- ately followed by mandates of the Patri- arch and other Portuguese prelates inter- dicting the members of the Fraternity from preaching and confessing in their dioceses. The dismay of the Jesuits at these proceed- ings was naturally great, but hopes of bet- ter times were inspired by the accession of a new Pontiff, Clement XIII., who was believed to be friendly to the Order. The general and the superiors of the Company at Rome lost no time in addressing him, praying, amongst other things, for the im- mediate revocation of the brief constitut- ing Saldanha Visitor. As a compromise between these demands and those of Por- tugal, it was determined to desire the Pa- pal Nuncio at Lisbon to counsel the Car- dinal-Visitor to exhibit the greatest mod- eration in the discharge of his duty. Such LIVLNG ~ voL. xxvii. 1256 was the condition of affairs when the at- tempt on the Kings lifg was made in Sep- tember, 1758. Amongst the prisoners tried by the tribunal of Inco~,fiden9ia were three Jesuit priests, Malagrida, Mattos, and Alexander, who were declared to be ring- leaders in the conspiracy, and as such im- prisoned in the fort of Junquiera. A de- cree was issued by virtue of which the Jes- uits of the capital were confined in a quinla belonging to the Duke of Aveiro arid those of the other parts of the kin~dom in their principal establishments, and their goods seized as those of enemies of the Crown. Carvalho then, in the name of the Crown- Procurator, requested the Pope to permit the tribunal called the Board of Conscience to deliver up to th~ secular arm all eccle- siastics convicted of complicity in the crime of September 3rd, and all who. in future should be guilty of like crimes. He also persuaded his sovereign to write with his own hand to the Holy Father declaring his fixed determination to expel the Jes- uits from his dominions. Aware of the difficulties which would probably beset his attempts to obtain the permission he de- sired, the Minister wrote to his relative, Almada, to suggest that judicious distribu- tion of presents amongst the members of the Sacred College might render the course of ne0otiations more smooth. He was prepared, he said, to forward numerous diamonds in the rough which might be used to adorn the crosses which their Emi- nences were in the habit of displaying upon their breasts. Some rings which he sent were valuable enough, he believed, to facilitate at least the first steps towards gaining useful friends. Rch as the gems were, it would be better, he added, to pre- sent them uncut, as mere specimens of the productions of a country which the Jes- uits professed to love so well. Up to this period Carvalbos public de- meanour towards the Holy See had been respectful in the extreme. But now, fear- ing that the Cardinal-Secretary, who was related to the General of the Jesuits and most friendly to the Society, would either prevent or unnecessarily delay the fulfil- ment of his schemes, he changed his mode of action. On June 28, 1759, he issued a decree depriving the Jesuits of their rights as citizens, and expelling them for ever from the Portuguese dominions. Without delay nearly 600 were conducted on board ship and transported, under circumstances of much hardship, to the States of the Church. Before the news of this act had reached Rome, the Pope had despatched a brief to the Board of Conscience, counsel- 82 MEMOIRS OF THE MARQUIS OF POMBAL. ling moderatiOn in its dealings with the Jesuit prisoners; and a letter to the King imploring his clemency for Mala- grida and his companions. The Nuncio made repeated efforts to deliver both the brief and the letter to the King in person, without giving copies to the Portuguese Foreign Secretary. His efforts were strenuously and even insultingly opposed by Carvalho, and in the end the copies were given. Upon seeing their contents, I Carvalho exhibited the greatest indigna- tion. He indited a furious letter to the Nuncio denouncing in unmeasured terms the brief addressed to the Board of Con- science, and declaring that his master could not consent to receive it. At the same time he addressed an energetic note to the holy Father in which he bade his Holiness to choose between sending such a brief as he demanded, or a definite rup- ture; the latter alternative being clearly the one on which he himself had deter- mined. We have seen that the Portu- guese envoy, Almada, had already trans- acted diplomatic bnsiness without the in- tervention of the Cardinal-Secretary, the proper official. The peculiar constitution of the Papal Government seemed to ren- der this mode of proceeding convenient and advantageous; and it is not unlikely that Carvalhos judicious additions to the jewelry of the Cardinals would facilitate these semi-authorized negotiations. Al- mada therefore sent to His Holiness by the hands of two cardinals a memorandum which was so worded as to excuse his principals conduct and obtain from the Pope what had been demanded. Un- fortunately the Cardinal-Secretary, who had been kept in ignorance of these pro- ceedings, in pursuance of the ne~otiations on his part forwarded to Almada a note declaring that the Holy Fathers senti- ments towards the Jesuits could undergo no alteration. Meanwhile the underhand negotiations went on, and Almada actually succeeded ii1 getting His Holiness to con- sent to replace the brief which Carvalho had refused to receive by another which the envoy had himself drafted, and by which the Pope a~,reed to permit all ec- clesiastics convicted of conspiracy or of overt acts of treason to be delivered for punishment to the secular arm. This, in substance, was all that the Portuguese Minister had professed to ask for. But the Cardinal-Secretary was still proceed- ing with his own set of negotiations, and when Almada, in haste to forward the new brief to Portugal, applied for the necessary horses for his couriers, he re ceived as sole answer to his applicaton the draft of a proposed brief which he had already declined to receive. Believ- ing that the Pope was playing him false, he at once broke off all negotiations of either sor . Oee thing is evident from these proceedings, and that is the desire of the Pope to avoid a rupture with Por- tegal. Carvalhos determination to force one on soon became unmistakeably man- ifest. Directly Almadas report of what had taken place reached him, he ad- dressed a long memoir to the Papal Government, filled with complaints of its conduct, and declaring his resolve tp take serious measures to vindicate his masters dignity, which he asserted had been spe- cially offended by the manner in which the Holy Father had received a proposal to fill a vacancy in the Archbishopric of Bahia. But as yet he had failed to pronounce the word Rupture. When he did so it was in a way which the Court of Rome could have but little expected, and which must have deeply out- raged the polite diplomacy of the time. The Nuncio at Lisbon was not, in common with the other foreign ministers, informed officially of the approaching marriage of the Crown-Princess of Portugal. The papal envoys still retained sufficient of the spirit of former times to resent at all events a breach of ordinary diplomatic etiquette. Amidst the general illumina- tiou in honour of the marriage, the palace of the Nuncio remained in profound dark- ness. This appeared tothe Count of Oeyras the proper moment for vigorous action. Two officials waited on the Nuncio to in- form him that a boat was in waiting to con- vey him immediately to the other side of the Tagus, and that in four days he was to quit the Portuguese dominions. The as- tonished Nuncio begged for time to ad- dress the Foreign Secretary. It was not granted him. A short time only was al- lowed him to hurry on his clothes, and hear mass, and he was conducted across the river, and then sent under an escort of dragoons beyond the frontier into Spain. In July the Portuguese envoy quitted Rome, and in the following month decrees were issued by Dom Joseph, en- joining the subjects of both governments to return to their own countries, and or- dering all entercourse of every descrip- tion between them to cease. Thus the threatened rupture had become final and complete. Master of the situation, the Count of Geyras now put into execution the remainder of his schemes against the Jesuits. The goods of the Fraternity, MEMOIRS OF THE MARQUIS OF POMBAL. 83 moveable and immoveable, were confiscat- ed to the Crown. The unfortunate Mala- grida, who in spite of the consideration he had obtained in Portugal appears to have been a half-crazed fanatic, was sentenced to death, not for complicity in the attempt- ed assassination of the King, of which he had been declared guilty, but for heresy. He was accordingly burned, not alive,* as is generally believed, but after being strangled. Still the Count of Oeyras was not satisfied, and he strenuously directed his efforts to bring about the complete destruction of the Company of Jesus. Ne- gotiations to insure joint action towards that object were set on foot by him with the ministers of France and Spain. Many years passed before these negotiations were crowned with success, and not till Clement XIII. had been succeeded by an- other Pontiff. As soon as the new Pope, the celebrated Ganganelli, had ascended the papal throne, the ne~otiations were renewed with fresh vigour. Advantage was taken of the new pontificate to heal the rupture between the Courts of Rome and Lisbon, and diplomatic relations were re-established, but on terms Which showed beyond the possibility of mistake that the days when John V.s subserviency to the Papal authority had earned hhn the emp- ty title of Most Faithful had indeed passed away. Still it was not till 1773 that Clement XIV., by the publication of the celebrated bull Domihus ac Redemptor nos- ter, decreed the dissolution of the Society of the Jesuits. We can now do scarcely more than glance at the varions other acts of the Minister, who, in 1770, was advanced to the rank of Marquis of Pombal, the title by which he is best known. He founded the Col- le~,e of Nobles for the instruction of the upper classes of the Portuguese. He es- tablished, in 1768~ the Royal Printing- press of Lisbon. He took great interest in the reformation of the ancient Univer- sity of ~Coimbra, which he completely re- organized. His bold method of dealing with Foreign Powers was not confined to his proceedings with the Holy See. He remonstrated so strongly with the British Government upon Boscawens pursuit of M. de La Clue into the Tagus that he re- ceived ample satisfaction. In the war with Spain, in 1762, he showed the great- est activity and skill in placing the de- fences of the kingdom on a proper footing. His internal administration was character- * Soriano, tom. 1. p. 434. Memoires, vol. iii. p. 87; ibid. p. 39. Gomez, however, says (p. 211) brele if.., ized by many startling acts. Viceroys, Ambassadors, Ministers of State, even members of the Royal Family itself, were not unfrequently hurried off into arrest or banishment without any warning what- ever. But interesting as such events may be as episodes in a long ministerial career, or as indications of character and disposi- tion, it is Pombals attempts to ilnprcve, as he believed, the commerce of his coun- try that should claim our principal atten- tion. Though in some cases most cer- tainly not in all his remarkable commer- cial schemes, as schemes so introduced and so fostered occasionally may, obtained at first some transient success, they ended on the whole ruinously for those who took part in them. It would have been well had this been the extent of their mischief. But who can re~ard the state of Portugal now and not see plainly how disastrous have been their effects? Portugal, the pioneer of constitutional government on the Continent, where a liberal and rational form of monarchy has already attained a respectable longevity amongst recent con- stitutional states, has by no means at- tained a degree of prosperity commensur- ate with her liberties or with the ancient splendour of her crown. An embarrassed government, an impoverished nobility, and a failing trade, bear witness to the fatal results of that disastrous intermeddling with the commerce of his country which was the favourite occupation of Pombal. his mischievous interference left no branch of human industry untouched. Agricul- ture, commerce, manufactures, fisheries, all experienced the misfortune of suffering from the vicious economical opinions of a minister who could glibly enunciate the smoothest maxims upon freedom of trade. Vines were rooted up that corn might be grown. Certain lands were to produce bread-stuffs alone such were some of the methods by which Pombal sought to make his country prosperous. Having once grasped the idea that wealth consist- ed only in gold and silver, he never shook himself clear of it, and his constant effort was to keep those metals from leaving the country. Though it is impossible to deny him the credit of great vigour and very considerable ability, and of his having really made his country, when already on the decline, assume a position of some importance amongst the States of Europe, it would be false to the truth, both of his- tory and political philosophy, to conceal that his long tenure of power has hastened the ruin which he seemed for a time to arrest. So destructive to true prosperity 84 MEMOIRS OF THE MARQUiS OF POMBAL. were the childish economical fancies the private character of the Marquis. The more suited to the political darkness of latter issued a reply, which was in reality the sixteenth century than the enlighten- a long and even tedious vindication of his ment of the eighteenth which vitiated whole career. The contents of this reply all the acts of his government. No coun- so irritated the Qoeen that skie ordered the try has, on the contrary, more to gain than pamphlet itself to be burned, and at length Portugal from the most extended and com- decided upon instituting an inquiry into plete freedom of foreign trade. the conduct of the fallen Minister. Jiis His career closed with the reign of the papers were seized, and a commission pro- monarch who had so long entrusted him ceeded, towards the end of 1779, to Pom- with supreme power. Dom Joseph died hal, whither he had retired, to interrogate in 1777, and Pombal was soon made to him personally. The aged Marquis (he perceive that the new Soverei~n, Donna was now in his eighty-first year) exhibited Maria I., was under the influence of a par- a painful spectacle during this examina- ty hostile to him. One of the Queens tion. He appears to have lost himself in a earliest acts was the release of the still maze of quibbles, contradictions, and equiv- surviving prisoners who had been accused ocations, caused partly, perhaps, by fear of of complicity in the Tavora conspiracy. the results of the inquiry, and partly by The miserable appearance of these unhap- physical weakness, which occasionally cut py victims of his tyranny on quitting the short his replies. On receipt of the final dungeons in which they had been immured report of the commissioners, the Qacen for eighteen years, caused a great reaction issued, on the 15th August, 1781, a decree, against Pombal. Of the prisoners, the declaring Pombal guilty of great crimes Marquis of Alorna and the surviving Ta- and deserving of exemplary punishment; voras refused to accept their release unless but that in consideration of his age and accompanied by a legal acquittal. Pombal infirmities, and his humble prayers for now more than once sent in his resignation, pardon, he was only to be banished, until but it was not accepted. At length the further orders, to a distance of twenty Queen proceeded so dismiss him from the leagues from the Court. The publication various offices which he had so long held. of this decree inspired the aged statesman His final dismissal from the Interior was with the courage which he had failed to conveyed in a decree the terms of which exhibit when in the presence of his judges, were almost complimentary. The case of and he drew up and published a long me- Alorna and the Tevoras was submitted to moir, under the title of A Petition to the a tribunal which completely exonerated Queen, in which he attempted to vindi- them from their alleged guilt. The Jesu- cate himself from the charges made against its, in spite of the recent abolition of their him, and especially from that of having Society, began to again raise their heads. enriched himself at the expense of his A subscription of Donna Maria to the sup- country. The petition was not listened to, port of those who had been sent to Rome, and indeed attracted little notice, and the encouraged some of them to take the bold fallen Minister survived its publication resolution of returning to Lisbon. The only a few months. He breathed his last combined efforts of these returned ex- on May 8, 1782, having almost completed Jesuits and the released prisoners were di- his ei~,hty-third year, in a small and squalid rected to obtaining the complete revision roo,m, which may still be seen, on the mar- and annulling of the sentence passed in the ket-place of Pombal. Tavora case. These efforts were so far In person Pombal was tall, with a hand- successful that a special tribunal convoked some countenance, regular features, and to examine the sentence gave judgment to bright and piercing eyes. His voice is said the effect that the Duke of Aveiro and his to have been remarkably pleasing. His servants only were guilty of the crime imperious disposition was tempered by committed on the 3rd September, 1758. much bonhommie and an occasional rough But this hardly satisfied the enemies of jocularity. This latter characteristic is the Marquis of Pombal, and the cry for testified by several anecdotes, one of which justice was followed by one for vengeance, is worth relating. Dom Joseph had pro- A former victim of the late ministers ar- posed that all persons of Jewish extraction bitrary measures, named Caldeira, on his should be made to wear, as a mark of dis- return from exile, attempted to regain tinction, white hats. Few families in Por- some property of which he had been de- tugal were free from some intermixture of prived, and which had come into the hands Jewish blood. Pombal one day appeared of Pombal; and with that object published at the palace with two white hats under a pamphlet attacking both the public and his arm, and on being questioned by the MEMOIRS OF THE MARQUIS OF POMBAIJ. 85 King, informed him, that in consequence of the proposed edict, he had provided one for His Majesty and one for himself. The jcke bad the effect of keeping back the decree. The despatches of the forei~,n en- voys to the Court of Lisbon establish the fact that Pombal was not devoid of that almost cynical frankness which is not an unknown characteristic of eminent minis- ters and imperious negotiators in our own day. He has been accused of having greatly enriched himself whilst in office, and his friends have endeavonred to prove that he received nothing beyond the regu- lar income of his various employments. But it is not the less true that he who, as we have seen, began life in but indifferent circumstances, left a wealthy family and considerable estates. It can scarcely be said that his memory is revered in Portu- gal; true views on political science are making their way there as in other coun- tries, and though his name is not now pur- sued with the hatred which it once evoked, his claims to be considered a great Minis- ter are looked upon as at least an open question. We shall conclude this articl~ by pro- ducing a literary curiosity, unknown to all but a very small number of our readers a character of Pombal by the author (as we hold him to be) of the Letters of Ju- nius. In 1773, Mr. Francis (who hadjust left the War Office) employed his leisure in translating an Essay on Circulation and Credit, by M. de Pinto, a philosophical economist livin at Amsterdam. The hook was published in London in the followin~ year, under the name of his friend, Stephen Baggs. But the translation and the copi- ous notes added to the text are the work of Francis, written, it will be observed, be- tween the cessation of the Letters of Junins and his departure for India. At the end of the volume a note is added of nearly ten quarto pages, on the relations of Portu~,al and Great Britain, in which Francis has evidently introduced the result of his experience and observation, when he formed part of Lord Kinnouls mission to Lisbon, severI years before. The whole passage is extremely curious, but we must content ourselves with extractin~ the fol- lowing notice of the Marquis of Pombal All the commercial ideas of the minister are founded upon one general maxim, that trade, in order to be prosperous, should not be free. Accordingly, he has heaped project upon project, and re,,ulation upon regulation; and destroyed a healthy constitution, by confining it to a sickly regimen, and by loading it with prescriptions. He has made it his study to dis- tress foreign merchants, and to drive them out of the kingdom. He has put the vineyards and their produce, the only internal source of wealth to Portugal, under the check and con- trol of a monopoly; and he has confined a con- siderable part of the Bra?il trade to two exclu- sive companies, the principle and spirit of which is, to make the greatest profits upon the small- est outset or venture. If the Pernambuco and Maranham companies had succeeded, it w~ s his intention to have taken the same care of the Bahia and Rio trade. But the first subscrip- tions were completed with so much difficulty, that it would have been in vain to attempt new ones. One would think that he meant to con- tract the commerce of his country, and to stifle industry at its birth. The event has corres ponded with the design. In the year 1759, the fleet from Pernambuco consisted of forty-five ships. In the year 1772, the trade to that set- tlement employed only eighteen. To support the credit of the. new companies, he thought it advisable to issue an edict, which ordered that their actions should be a legal tender, and be accepted, at an arbitrary valuation fixed by the directors, as so much specie; that is, in other words, that the natives, who are constantly the debtors, should remove the burthen from them- selves, and impose it upon their foreign credi- tors. This, however, was an attempt too ex- travagant to be supported. Such are the general plans and such the temporary expedi- ents, from which we are to collect an opinion of the ministers capacity. The facts I refer to are notorious. In a country, where the true principles of trade are understood, it is unneces- sary to prove that, in theory, no better conse- quences were to be expected from a system so false and anti-commercial. The Portuguese must be taught by experience. To form a judgment of his political meas- ures, we should compare the defenceless state of Portugal with the general plan of ambition of the united house of Bourbon, and the partic- ular claims and en~nit.y of the crown of Spain. The independence of Portugal can only be maintained by cultivating the friendship of the other powers of Europe, particularly by con- firming the ancient alliance with the only natina that ever has, or ever can engage effectually in her defence. These are essential objects, not to be compared with any temporary advantages, and from which a wise minister will not suffer his attention to be diverted. It is needless to say how little they have been regarded in the political system of the Marquis of Pombal. Upon the whole, it must be admitted, that the proofs of his ministerial abilities are of an ex- traordinary nature. His commercial experience and information have led him to divide the trade of his country into monopolies. His policy has taught him to provoke the natural enemies, and to alienate the natural allies, of the crown. His two systems correspond and co-operate with each other. In consequence of receiving all 86 MEMOIRS OF THE MARQUIS OF POMBAL. foreigners upon the same footing in Portugal, serve the opinion conceived of it, can only be and of laying all forei~n trade under equal re- determined by experiment. He may have pen- straint, it ceases to be a great natural interest etration enough to see into the genius of the to any one nation to maintain the independence people he treats with, and may proportion his of the kingdom. A union of inferior states, in own firmness to their apparent want of it. But favour of a court with whom they have no solid this part of his character has never been fairly foundation of alliance, is not to be expected. nor put to the proof, at least by Great Britain. If would it be effectual. His country then, with a any further presumption in favour of his abili- small internal force, and destitute of all alliance, ties should be drawn from his having raised is left exposed to the invasion of a superior en- himself to an absolute dominion over his coun- emy, whose claims are not absolute, and who do try, and maintained it so long, it may be weak- not always wait for just or decent pretences to ened by considering, that the government of act against Portu cal; nor is there a power in Portu~al is despotic, and that the talents and Europe, to which his Most Faithful M jesty can intrigues which ingratiate a servant with his s~y with truth, It is your interest to protect master are sometimes the le st likely to qualify me. him for the government of a kingdom. He is The last question to be considered is, sagacious; but having seldom the good fortune whether he has made the Portuguese a richer to reason upon right principles, his sagacity, in or a ha~ppier people than he found them? If he many important instances, serves only to mis- has, it must be coPtessed, that the means he lead him. He has had experience; but ill-con- makes use of would hardly have produced that sidered facts, without principles or instruction, effect in any other country. If he has not, his have perplexed his understanding. Of this we maxim, that sovereigns are not to he restrained see a signal instance in the conclusions he drew by treaties from consulting the internal welfare from the establishment of one or two great ox- of their subjects, leaves him without the possi- clusive trading companies in England and Hol- bility of a defence. If the measures, which he land. If his zeal for the good of his country be calls expedient, fail of success, he is precluded ardent, it certainly is not luminous. He is in from pleading any obstructions that might arise dustrious beyond measure; but his industry, from the engagements of the crown with foreign supported by a jealousy of all competition with nations. The conclusion reverts, with accumu- him, has this dangerous effect, that while he lated force, against the wisdom . nd mildness of engrosses more of the executive branch than he his administration. Hitherto it has been only can possibly support, no one office of the state marked by the blood of the principal nobility, is executed as it should be, and business stands and universal oppression of the people. There still. It is also to be apprehended, that, by his can be no increase of wealth in a country where excluding the inferior ministers from confidence industry is effectually discouraged, and no mans and information, the kin rdom at his death will property secure. There can be no domestic probably be left without a man in office, in any content or hm ppiness among a people, one half way qualified to succeed him. This is the com- of which are spies upon the other. Racks, gib- mon policy of favourites; but it presents no bets, and dungeons are the emblems and re- idea of a great, superior mind. Considering sources of his government. It is but the nat- his uniform plan of conduct towards the natur 1 ural consequence of such a government that the allies and natural enemies of Portugal, we may Portuguese, with many advantages of person I allow him a degree of personal intrepidity, character and local situation, are the meanest which does no great honor to his discretion. and most degraded people, and the crown of The proofs of it, in his internal government, Portugal the least respected~ of any i i Emirope. are more equivocal. It does not seem to require Sir Benjamin Keene, who knew the Mar- much firmness or resolution to employ an armed quis of Pombal early in life, emphatically de- force in the oppression of a poor, spiritless, on- scribes him as a conceited and puzzled head. resisting people. Tyrants, wb~ have trembled How far the intrepidity of his spirit may de- on their thrones, have done it with success. INSECT LIFE IN A COAL PIT. Of late thethe same discovered live moth-like insects in miners employeini at Muiredge coal pit, a little the cavities. They are evidently foreirrners. the north of Buckhaven, and on the Wemyss The wood of which the props were made~ to came estate, have felt considerable annoyance in con- from abroad, and they have been in the pit for sequence of large winged insects fluttering between three and four years. The insects are around the flames of their lamps and often cx- in many cases just emerging from their bii th- tinguishing them. A miner named Williamo places into active life under ground, and resem- Semple had his attention directed to several ble wasps, but are not altogether like those in gimlet-like holes in the wooden props that sup- this country. Poblic Optuton. port the workings, amid on closely examining THE BURGOMASTER S FAMILY. 87 From Frasers Magazine. THE BURGOMASTERS FAMILY; OR, WEAL AND WOE IN A LITTLE WORLD. BY CHRISTINE MULLER. TRANSLATED THOR THE DUTCH BY SIR JOHN SHAW LEFEYHE. CHAPTER IX. DOMESTIC SKETCHES. Ga, sun, why do you shine so fiercely into the room? I shall just take the liber- ty of drawing down the blinds before your very nose. It was Elizabeth who, three days after the much talked-of ball which had termi- nated so sadly, addressed these words to the September sun as it shone into Em- mys room, and threw its kindly rays on her pretty fair head, that turned restlessly backwards and forwards on her pillow. In the capacity of nurse, Elizabeth had taken up her abode in the sick room, and never was an invalid more carefully and tenderly nursed than Emnmy by the young girl who was a sister to her, not only in name, but in affection. Now then, Physic, let us see whether Emmy will have anything more to say to you to-day than yesterday? With these words she went up to the bed with a glass of medicine in her hand. But Emmy pushed her hand away, saying in a peevish voice, ~ Do let [ne alone with that bitter stuff. Bitter in den mond, is voor het hart gezond, exclaimed Elizabeth, setting down the glass; but the next moment she was kneeling down by the bed, and tak- inc, Emmys hand, said in a tender voice of entreaty: Come, dear Emmy, do not be so diffi- cult; take the draught the doctor ordered for you. Who knows what good, it may do you? I should so like to see you better again soon. Physic wont do me any good, Eliza- beth. What will do you good, then, dear? If you will only answer the question I asked you three days ago What has happened to Mr. Eversberg? Dont you nuderstand that I cannot rest till I am set at ease as to what has happened to my friends? Oh, dont be always thinking of that, Emmy dear. Come, the matter must have its course. Dr. Brewer says that you were fri0htened uy what occurred that night at the ball, and that we must let it alone until you are better. Come, drink up the draught like a oood child, and do not ask inc any more questions about things which I am not to talk about. And she again handed her the glass, but Eminy, raising herself up in bed, laid her feverish, burning cheek against Elizabeths, and said to her in a beseech- ing tone: I will do as you wish, Elizabeth, and drink the whole bottle at one draught if you insist on it; but then you must tell me if Mr. Eversberg is still in prison. Elizabeth hesitated a moment; she then simply said, No, Emmy, he is no longer in prison.~~ Then he is innocent, said Emmy with a deep sigh of relief. But Elizabeth shut her mouth with a kiss, and laid her head back on the pillow. I have kept my part of the contract, she said playfully; now you must keep yours.~, And Emmy took the draught and slept after it more tranquilly than she had done for some days. 11cr illness had begun the day after the fete. She had held out well that evening, till the very end. When Bruno was speak- ing those terrible words about his father the room seein~d to turn round; and when she understood cleaidy the sad fact which he announced, her instinctive sense of what would be unbecoming could hardly restrain her from obeying the impulse of her heart and hastening to Bruno as he stood there in the middle of the ball-room speaking to the crowd. Of what happened afterwards, she had but a confused recollection. She knew that she had walked home on Ottos arm; that he had taken her to her room; and that later Elizabeth, nervously laughing and crying, was undressing there, and was chattering about the events of the even- ing; and that still later, after Elizabeth had left her, she had gone to bed cold and shivering, and could not sleep on account of the painful possibilities which kept whirling through her head as to the cause of the arrest of Brunos father. Towards mo~rnin, she had fallen asleep, but when she awoke the noonday sun shone into her room, and Mrs. Welters and the doctor were standing by the bed, and she heard him say, Frightened caunht a chill keep quite quiet and warm ill give you a prescription better in a few days. And thus they had quieted her with soothing words whenever she brought for- ward the subject of the Eversber~,s, which, during the last two days she had in vain attempted to do with innumerable diplo- niatic inanceuvres; even Elizabeth, who in 88 THE BURGOMASTERS FAMILY. general did not make her heart a place of writing a long letter to Bruno, which was concealment, was on this subject as mute found on the table. as a fish. Was he guilty? The question was All this had, however, so increased Em- asked hesitatingly in a half whisper. mys restlessness that she could no longer Yes, Emmy; of that alas! there is no endure the uncertainty, and hence ensued possible doubt. Many years ago he, to- the conversation we have just related. gether with one of the clerks, must have From this moment Emmy grew better, murdered his master. Naturally there are an(l when, a few days later, she was sitting many stories in circulation, which, for the up in her arm-chair as a convalescent and most part, are exag0erated accounts of the Otto came to visit her, she took advantage affair. When you go out again you will of the opportunity to send Elizabeth down- hear more versions of it than you will like. stairs on some pretext or other. Elizabeth I shall therefore confine myself to the main had no sooner left the room, than Emmy facts, which amount to this: that a certain exclaimed: Stellenburg, whom you may remember to And now, Otto, you must tell me all have heard spoken of as the murderer of about it. the former owner of the foundry, appears Tell you what, Emmy? after the deed to have absconded to Amer Two great tears glistened in her eyes. ica, where, by a curious chain of events, he Why may I not know what has hap- had lately come across the son of the pened to Mr. Eversberg? she said in a murdered man, and had confessed the crime sad, reproachful tone. Can none of you on his death-bed and had betrayed the know that this uncertainty makes me ill, name of his accomplice. This son, Joseph and that otherwise I should have been well MUller, must have brought the deposition long ago? But I tell you what, Otto, she of Stellenburg, signed by him and two continued in a decided tone, while a deen witnesses, to Europe, and on the evening blush spread over her cheeks, if you dont of the ball he came straight to Dilburg tell me the truth and the whole truth I with an officer of justice from Arnheim, will co to the foundry, ill or well, and en- who arrested Mr. Eversberg forthwith. quire for myself. There, Emmy, now you know the whole There was an expression in Emmys eyes truth; take care that it does not a,,itate which convinced Otto that it would be bet- you more than is good for you. ter for her to hear the truth from his lips; Emrnys only answer was a fre~i burst for without fulfilling her threat literally, she of tears; but when the first outbreak of would be sure to come to know it in some emotion was over, she quickly recovered way or other. But he answered her play- herself. fully, Then I shall warn the police to What a fearful thing it is for Aunt keep a sharp look-out on all females escap- Johanna and Bruno! she exclaimed. ing from their doctors. Finding, how- Oh, if only I were not ill just at this ever, that she only turned away from him time! Will you tell them that I cannot go impatiently, he said in a serious tone as he to them? took her hand in his: My dear child, they know that you are Dear Emmy, if we have told you noth- ill! They have denied themselves to ing of what has happened, you may be everyone almost without exception, and sure that we acted with the best inten- have thus shut the door on the curiosity tions, for we thought that bad news would of indifferent people, which would, of always come soon enough. course, be so painful to them. But I have But Elizabeth assured me that he is been with them every day, and have been no longer in prison, said Enmmy, inter- able to be of, use to them in many things. rupting. This morning I went with Bruno to the There Elizabeth was right, Emmy; he churchyard. It was a sad duty which the is no longer in prison, but he is beyond the poor young fellow had to perform. In or- reach of all suffering and sorrow and hu- der that it might all take place very quiet- man justice. ly, and to prevent a crowd collecting we Is he dead, Otto? had gone very early in the morning to the Yes, dear child; on the morning after churchyard, whither the coffin had been he was taken to prison he was found dead brou0ht in the ni ht. When we arrived in his bed. At first it was thought that there, notwithstanding the early hour we he had put an end to himself, but the phy- found the churchyard full of workpeople sicians have certified that he had a para- from the foundry, who had got wind of the lytic stroke, probably brought on by in- time appointed for the funeral, and wished tense grief. He had spent the night in to pay the last mark of respect to their THE BURGOMASTERS FAMILY. 89 old master. It seemed as if either every- son of the man who had earned them by one had forgotten that it was a criminal his own industry. lie also said that al- that was being consigned to the grave,, or though he had felt hound to avenge the as if death in their eyes had atoned for the murder of his father on him who had done crime. Many came up to Bruno before the deed, it had formed no part of his they cast the handfuls of earth on the cof- plan to enrich himself at the cost of those fin, and in their way spoke a kind word to who were as innocent of the deed as him- him. One said how good Mr. Eversberg self, and who, to his real sorrow, must be had been to the lowest among them. involved in the fall of the murderer. Another remembered that the master had Bruno, however, was immovable on paid him three months wages when he had this point, and was fully supported by his been thrown out of work by illness. A mother. third told of medical aid supplied to him Money earned by means of that money and his family, and of journeys paid for in which had been acquired by crime, he order that he might visit an aged mother. neither could nor would regard as his own; I really believe, Emmy, that it did Bruno and, in refusing it, he was fully convinced good, although I saw he was frightened that he was acting according to the wish when he found that the churchyard was of his father. Fortunately, Aunt Johanna not empty as he had expected; and when has some means of her own, and as she is lie heard the grateful words spoken of his to live with a niece in Rotterdam, wh oiul- father, he lifted up his head again, and mediately on hearing of her misfortune of- thanked the speakers by a pressure of the fered her a home, she will not want much hand. But as he was going out of the for herself, and will therefore be able to churchyard there was standing at the gate afford Bruno some assistance for a few- the overseer of the works, who had been years. dismissed for dishonesty last year, and And Bruno, Otto what are his just as Bruno passed him this man said, plans? asked Emmy, anxiously. with a scornful laugh: Bruno has already applied for his dis- Pride cometh before a fall, my good chart e from the navy. He says that, af- sir. I had much rather be called a thief ter what has occurred, he could no longer than a murderer! serve honourably, and he owes it to his Bruno very wisely took no notice of comrades to leave the service. And per- these insulting words, even by a look; but haps he is ri,,ht, poor young fellow, al- I believe that they did away with much of though, for my own part, I cannot con- the good impression produced by the ceive that any o~e would be so indelicate heartiness of the workmen. as to make him suffer for guilt which is I was glad for his sake when the sad not his own. What his plans are, how- ceremony was over; but Emmy, I wish I ever, I do not know, for he says but lit- could make it clear to you how nohly tle; and what I do know, I know through Bruno has conducted himself during the his mother, and not from himself. whole of this melancholy affair. You are, Here the entrance of Elizabeth broke of course, aware that it must make a great off the conversation between Otto and change, both to himself and to his mother. Enamy. lie began by writin,, a letter to Mr. Miii- Just as I thon,,ht, she exclaimed, in- ler, stating that his mother and he would dignantly; and added, in a snappish tone, vacate the house without fail in a fort- you must have done with my patient, night, and would then hand over to him Mr. Lon~-to~~gue. Dont you know how all the money and moneys worth which to behave better than to make Emmy were in their hands; that Mr. MUller was cry? ~ at liberty to take immediate possession of And to embrace Emmy and weep with the foundry, and make any inventories he her was for Elizabeth the work of a mo- thought fit. Upon this Mr. Joseph Miii- ment. ler asked for an interview, which Bruno In spite of all this, Emmy was far maore acceded to; and Mr. Muller told him that calm and tranquil now she knew what was he would not take any money or property, going on than when she was brooding over except what was in hand at the time of what were mere conjectures. his fathers death, and which he knew She was, indeed, forced to admit that it through Stellenburg it was his fathers in- was worse than the worst she had imag- tention to have left him; that all money ined, and she felt almost ashamed to find and property acquired since that time must that the grievous misfortune which had be regarded as honourably gained, and as overtaken, her friends, and the wretched- belonging to no one but the widow and ness which it brou,,ht upon them, were, as go THE BURGOMASTERS FAMILY. regards herself, lost in the sad, hopeless er, whilst she said bravely but in a half thou~ht, that Bruno must go away from beseeching tone: her, and that, perhaps, she might never Mqmrna, I mnst go out to-morrow, or see him again, the day after to-morrow at latest; and if After the first day and night, however, you think it too cold, I will ask you to let when her tears had flowed almost incessant- me drive. ly, she was much dalmer than before. Eliz- And pray where do you wish to go, abeth had now no difficulty in making ,her mss? This was said in a sharp tone follow the doctors advice, and she even which promised little for Emmys request, now and therijoined in the merriment which and which for a moment quite frightened with Elizabeth was inexhaustible, and her. which jus~ now served to sustain Emmy in But after a little hesitation, she an- her recovery. But it was just this imper- swered: turbable good humour, this continual dispo- To Mrs. Eversbergs, to wish her good- sition to fun, which made Emmy fearful of~ bye before she goes. confidin~, to her the secret which so often I would be candid, Emmy, and not burnt upon her lips the secret of her love name the mother when I meant the son. for Bruno, and what had passed between All the blood left Emmys face at these them at the ball. It turned out, moreover, words of her stepmother, who at the same that her confession of it was rendered more moment gave her a piercing look as if she difficult because Elizabeth took it into her would discover her most secret tliou~hts. head that any recollection of events con- But Emumy did not shrink from this look, nected with the Eversbergs would make and recovering herself quickly, looked Mrs. Emmy melancholy, and that the best way Welters steadily in the face and contin- to make her forget the fate of her friends ued fearlessly: Yes, mamma, I will also was to mention their names as little as take leave of Bruno as well as his mother. possible. I think it my duty to say a word of com- As often as Emmy bron,,ht the conver- fort and sympathy to old friends in the sation round to the subject of Bruno with great sorrow that has come upon them a view to arrive at making her confession, and it was for this that I told you I must Elizabeth contrived to turn it~ off again by go out. a laugh, or by introducing another subject; Emmy had spoken these last words in a and thus Emmny, perceiving her object, no less decisive tone than Mrs. Welters; became silent herself on the subject she yet she added more submissively, whilst had most at heart, so that from that time her countenance resumn~d the expression all that related to the Eve rsberg family of entreaty, I hope you have nothing became a t4booed topic between the two acrainst thm~ young ladies. As we ~ mamma. are upon this sul~ject, Erumy, I One morning, a few days after Emmys will at once tell you that I have thought conversation with Otto, Mrs. Welters caine your conduct towards Bruno Eversberg into her room. for the last few months very unbecom!ng, Quite dressed, are you, Emmy? she especially on the evening of the ball. 1 asked, with some surprise, admit that young Eversberg may have en- Yes, mamma; I wish to come down- tertained serious intentions towards you, stairs to-day. I feel perfectly well, and I and that you are probably not disinclined will make no bad use of the good care towards him yourself; and, as far as that which has been taken of me. goes, in former circumstances he would I think you should remain upstairs for have beemi a very proper match for you. a few days, said Mrs. Welters. Eliza- But you must agree with me that it would beth is quite willing to sit with you, that be little honourable for us if your namne you know; and it is better that it should be were now to be coupled with that of the so. son of a criminal and I fear that your be- But, mamma, said Emmy, whilst a haviour has given more occtsion for that sli ht blush coloured her yet pale cheek, than I like. In one word, Emnmy, every I want to come downstairs to-day, so one knows that you are indisposed, and that I may be able to go out to-morrow. the Eversbergs cannot take it ill if on I see no kind of necessity for that, re- that account you cannot visit them; plied Mrs. Welters, in the decisive tone whilst a visit from you would create food which always alarmed Einmy; and what for gossip imi the town, which would not is more, so long as the wind is in the north, be a~reeable either to your father or to I will not consent to it. myself. The blush on Emmys cheek grew deep- Papa cannot intend that I should TUE BURGOMASTERS FAMILY. 91 feign indisposition in order not to visit the friend of my mother and my old play-fel- low now that they are unfortunate, was Emmys reply, spoken in an impassioned tone, whilst the tears sprang from her eyes. I should be ashamed for the sake of the memory of my mother, who loved them; I should be ashamed for my own sake, if such a motive as the gossip of the Dilburgers should keep me hack. I en- treat you, mamma, do not require this of me; let me go for a few moments to them, and I shall be grateful to you for my whole life. Calm and unmoved, Mrs. Welters let her speak, and when she stopped, replied: Listen: once for all, Emmy, I am not used to any contradiction from my chil- dren, when I have come to a resolution in a matter in which I think I can judge better than they can. I cannot submit to it from you, and we therefore will not ex- change any further words on the subject. I repeat, that it is my wish that you remain at home until the Eversbergs shall have left the place. If you do not act accord- ing to my wishes, you must take the con- sequences. It is the first proof that I shall accept of your obedience; and if you wish, as you have just said, to win my goedwill, you can now show that obedi- ence to m& I look to deeds, and think very little of words. Oh, how Emmy disliked her step-moth- er, who upon this left the room, and Emmy heard her ~o into the next room as calmly as if nothing had happened, to see if all was in order there. At that mo- ment Emmy detested the cold, hard heart, which knew nothing but calculation and self-interest, and pitilessly excluded every feeling at variance with stern reason. Sobbing aloud, she threw herself upon the bed. In half an hour she got up with burning cheeks and paced up and down the room in an excited state. A fierce contest between love and duty raged within her. There was a moment when she hastened to the door with a sud- den determination to call in the interven- tion of her father. She felt instinctively that her step-mothers mention of her fa- thers disapproval was a fiction, and that he ought to hear the first word of the affair from herself. But the next moment she thought better of it and withdrew her hand from the door. To be the cause of dissension be- tween man and wife, to sow contention where before her return home peace had reigned, to come to her father with com- plaints against his wife I No, a thou~and times rather bear the consequences of her disobedience than that; for, excited as she was, Emmy was yet qui~e able to see clearly the whole seriousness of the case. The visit to the Eversbergs was to he the choice of peace or war between her- self and her stepmother. The wish of her stepmother had been made known in terms which would make it a definite de- fiance if Emmy should disobey her. And yet what was the approbation or disappro- bation of her stepmother compared with her love for Bruno and her passionate longing to see and speak to him once more? It was a contention which lasted the whole day. Emmy did not go downstairs, as had been her plan in the morning. Her mind was in too rebellions condition for her to be able to meet the gaze of Mrs. Welters, and she did not feel in a state to control herself sufficiently to conceal from the family what was going on within her. To Elizabeth only, in the fulness of her heart, she poured out her distress saying in conclusion, I must go, Elizabeth; I will not. I cannot give it up. But Elizabeth tried in every way to calm her. Dont do it, Emma, she said. Be- lieve me, I know mamma better than you do. She would never forgive you; and you cant think how unhappy I should be if you were not good friends with her And mamma is really right about this wind being too sharp for anyone who ha. been ill. Who knows but what Brunt may come here just once to take leave~ Come, Emmny dear, promise me you wont think of it any more. But Emmy did not promise. The more she thought over the matter, the more un- reasonable seemed the wish of her step- mother, and the more her heart rebelled against it. All Elizabeths endeavours to cheer her, therefore, suffered a total shipwreck that day, and when at last Elizabeth began to read aloud to her, her thoughts wandered far away from the book, which at any other time would certainly have interested her. Towards evening she came to the reso- lution to write a note to Otto in which she entreated him to come to her on his way home from Uncle van $teins. She would lay the case before Otto, and tell him what had occurred between Bruno and herself on the evenin~ of the ball. She would yield to his opinion, and that, too, 92 THE BURGOMASTER S FAMILY. wen if he prescribed obedience. It was a tend that evening; for the intended bride great disappointment to her when Mary was a school acquiantance of hers, and had sent hack her note, with a few lines to say herself been to Mrs. Welters to ask her that Otto had not been wit.h her that consent. evening, and that he was gone to pay a This party, and a new blue silk dress visit at Beckley and in all probability to which the finishing touches had to be would not return till late. given before the evening, was what set In her disappointment, Emmy tore up Elizabeth to work with such activity, and her note into a hundred pieces, and her entirely drove into the background the desire to call in Ottos counsel disappeared conflict between her mother and Emmy. with her vain endeavours to find him. Sitting with her work in Binmys room, That night sleep obstinately kept away her tongue went as fast as her busy from Emmys bed. When the first dawn of hands; and she was hardly silent for a morning began to trace the outlines of her moment, even when her mouth was so room and its furniture she lay with her eyes full of pins that the act of speaking in-. open gazing into the diminishing obscurity, volved the risk of her life. more and more excited by her sleepless But, with few exceptions, her talk was night, and waverin~ more and more between all about what concerned herself; in the obedience and opposition. In this mood first place, about all the expectations for many recollections of her childhood passed the evening which she indulged in ;what before her mind, recollections of the friend- acquaintances she would meet among the ship which, in the lifetime of her mother, guests; what dresses and ornaments they had united the families of Eversberg and would probably wear; how surprised and Welters; recollections of many a day of disgusted a certain Lisa Blom would be enjoyment in the little outings and expe- at her new dress. In all these supposi- ditions made to~ether in the neighbour- tions Erumy did her best between whiles hood; recollections of sorrow on both to show her sympathy by suitable words, sides accepted and borne as sorrows in while her own fingers flew and readily common; recollections full of thankful- helped in the completion of the before- ness, as Emumy thought, for the almost mentioned masterpiece. motherly love with which Mrs. Eversberg But when Elizabeth, who had had her had treated her from her earliest child- coffee upstairs with Emmy. went down hood, and for the loving reception which, for a moment to consult her mother on after her long absence, she had met with some trifling difficulty in her work, Einmny from this now severely tried family; and instantly made use of the opportunity to then, again, the thought of Bruno, the carry out her intention. beloved playfellow of her youth, and the Hastily taking her cloak and hat out of thousand memories in which he played a the wardrobe, she put them on hurriedly, prominent part, floated like visions in the slipped softly down stairs, and without half-darkness around her; and when at anyone remarking her reached the front last she fell asleep, it was with a happy door and the street. smile on her lips, and her resolution was taken. When she woke up it seemed as CHAPTER X. if; with the short slumber after the sleep- less nirht all doubt had departed from A GENEROUS STRUGGLE, IN WHICH ~ LOVE TRIUMPHS. her. Elizabeth was not a little pleased, and THE weather was more favourable than somewhat surprised, to find that Emmy, on any of the previous days during Em- compared with what she was the day be- mys illness. She felt, indeed, somewhat fore, was so calm and cheerful. She con- dizzy for the first few moments, but the cluded from it that Emmy had acquiesced sensation was quickly overcome by the in the wishcs of her mother, but as Emmy wonderfully exhilarating effect which the did not speak of it she thought it best to fresh air has upon one who has been con- let the matter rest. fined to the house for a longer or shorter And, moreover, that morning Elizabeths period. thoughts were occupied by such weighty But Emmys heart beat anxiously at matters, that there was not so much room the thought of her disobedience and its left for Emmys concerns as usual. consequences. The nearer she approached It was nothing more nor less than a to the foundry, the more she was satisfied great party which the notary Klink was with her decision; but she felt nervous giving on the occasion of his daughters and worried when she rang at the well- betrothal, and which Elizabeth was to at- remembered door. THE BURGOMASTERS FAMILY. 93 As she stood on the doorstep and the no~oe of the foundry reached her as of old, whilst the trees and shrubs were visible just as before over the garden wall, when the old servant with his familiar face op- ened the door, then it seemed to Emmy likea dream, that this house was a house of mourning, and that she had come to say farewell to a family stained with shame. But when she entered the well-known sitting-room and Mrs. Eversberg~ stood before her in deep mourning, the sad truth seemed to break upon her in its full force; then all outward calmness forsook her, and sobbing she threw herself into the arms of the poor widow. He was so good to me, Emmy! This was the only complaint which the trembling lips uttered; and this was the only feeling into which all reproach and all pain had resolved themselves; and to weep with her was the only way in which Emmy knew how to express her deep-felt sympathy. After the first emotion was over, they sat hand in hand by each other, and became so far composed that it was possible for them to converse. To know, Emmy, that he suffered so much during all these years, my poor husband, and then to think that I never noticed any of it, that I sat by his side cheerful and contented whilst he under- went the greatest remorse and torture. To be glad that God has taken him to himself, and yet to be able to say that even now he is as dear to me as be- fore Emmy felt intense compassion for the poor widow, and the last grain of repent- ance for her disobedience vanished when Brunos mother laid open to her her poor heavily tried heart. Gradually the future was spoken of be- tween them; but time was costly to Mrs. Eversberg, who bad so much to look after and put in order before her depart- ure, which was close at hand, and every moment they were disturbed by one or other of the servants, who came to bring messages or receive orders. At length, when Mrs. Eversberg was sent for to be present at the closing of a box, Emmy ventured to ask after Bruno, whose name had been trembling on her lips during the whole time of her visit. Bruno is up stairs in the front room packing up his clothes, answered Mrs. Eversb erg. Would you like to go to him, whilst I am busy with this trunk? He has always thought so much of you, that I am sure a friendly word from you would do him good. Will you? A few moments later, her repeated knocks having been unanswered, Emmy entered the room where Bruno was. He was siting before a small table placed by the window; his head supported by his hands, and his back turned to the door, he seemed to be sunk in such profound thought that he did not remark Emmys entrance, and he appeared to have forgot- ten everything around him, even the clothes lying about on the chairs and table which he evidently intended to put into the trunk standing open near him. Unobserved as she had entered, Emmy went up to him, calling him softly by his name, as she laid her hand on his should- er. Bruno started up as if struck by an electric shock. A deep red came over his face, to give way the next moment to a deathlike paleness, which made all too evi- dent the stamp which sorrow had imprint- ed on his countenance in the last few days. That face, so pale and fallen away, with the hollow, mournful eyes, with the pain- ful expression of the mouth which former- ly had seldom opened but with a smile, was to Emmy like the face of a stranger, and spoke of mental sufferings which made her heart overflow with compassion and tenderness. But neither of them spoke a word, whilst he hastily cleared a chair for Emmy and placed it by the window. It was not till she had sat down there that Bruno suffi- ciently mastered his emotions to be able to speak. It is kind of you, Emmy, to come to us once more. I could hardly have dared to count upon it. The tone in which he spoke sounded to Emmys ears cold and strange, quite different from the last time when he had spoken to her. He did not, moreover, go and sit by her, but stood with one hand leaning on the table and with the other stroking back his hair. You could hardly have dared to count upon it, Bruno? But you know well that I should have come before had I not been prevented by my illness, and that I must have been very ill indeed had I let you and your mother depart without coming to wish you good-bye. My intention was to have come this evening to take leave of your family, said Bruno, gradually recovering his calmness, and speaking in a more natural voice. I shall do but little in this way besides, but I meant to make your family an exception; for always, and especially during the last 94 THE BURGOMASTERS FAMILY. few months, I have enjoyed so much kind- his face in his hands. But a moment ness from them that I should feel I had afterwards, Emmy was by his side; she been ungrateful if I went away, without threw her arms round his neck and laid saying good-bye in person. her head on his shoulder. lie said this as if the intended visit re- Bruno, she whispered, I love you quired a justification or excuse before with my whole heart and soul; I shall Einmy. never love anyone but you. Why do you As yet not a single word of comfort or speak to me so coldly? Do you think sympathy had been spoken by her, and that I love you less because you are un- Bruno also did not allude to the misfor- fortunate? Do you think it was your tunes which had overtaken his mother and money or your name that I loved? Oh, himself. Bruno, what Lave I done to deserve that He had at last sat down, but at the you should think this of me? table and nearly opposite the place where But Bruno did not answer; tears Eminy sat, dropped through his fingers, and sup- It was she who first broke silence: pressed sobs shook his whole frame. I hear, Bruno, that you have asked for When he could speak he said, gently your discharge from the navy. reproaching her: Emmy, why did you Yes; and what is more, I have just re- come to make the struggle which I have to ceived it. He pointed to the papers go through so hard? which lay before him on the table. Bruno, did you not tell me, on the Your mother told me that your plan is evening of the ball, that you loved me? to go to America. Have I so misunderstood that? Yes, that is my plan, answered Bruno. No, Emmy, but when I said that to When I was at New York a few years you I had a right to say it; then it was ado, I had letters of introduction to a cern an unstained name that I had to offeryou; tam Mr. Siddons, a rich merchant, who then there was no impossible future to be then received me so kindly and hospitably looked forward to. Emmny, we must both that after a fortnights stay at his house I forget what I said to you on that fatal parted from him and his wife with the re- evening. The deep abyss of disgrace is gret that one only feels in leaving old and between the past and to-day. But I thank true friends. Since that time I have been you for having spoken a good word to in constant correspondence with him, and me; it is a balm which you have laid I wish now to apply to him to obtain on the deep wound inflicted on me; it through his influence some employment or will be a sweet recollection of my coun- other. A man who is young and healthy, try which I shall take away with me to and will take his coat off to his work, is the other side of the ocean. I thank never at a loss, Emmy, and especially in you, Emmy. Passionately he kissed her America. This is my least sorrow. hand, which still lay in his. Again there was an interval of silence. No, Bruno, I will not forget what took When Bruno was again about to say place between us on that evening. What something, and looked up at Emmy, he has happened to you in the meantime is seemed struck with her unusual paleness, not sufficient to cause any change in me. and with more warmth than he had yet You then asked inc whether I would be spoken he said in an anxious tone: I be your wife, and what I could not say hope you are quite recovered, Emmy? that evening I say now; yes, and with all Perhaps it was too cold for you to have my heart. come out. Emmy, do you know that it is the son I do not know, Bruno. I did not no- of a criminal to whom you say these tice it, and it was quite indifferent to me; words? for, as I told you, I wished to say good- And what of that, Bruno? Can the bye to you and your mother, and I son help the misdeeds of the father? wished before doing so to answer a ques- Oh, Emmy! You know too little of tion which till now I have had no oppor- the world if you think that it will accept tunity of answering. this as an excuse. Bruno looked up in surprise at these last What matters it to me what the world soft-spoken words uttered by Emmy. But thinks or says, when I know that its judg- the expression of her face left no doubt in ment is unjust? him as to her meaning. The world, that is to say, not merely Oh, Emmy! It was with half a sigh indifferent persons, but your own acquaint- and half a sob that he pronounced her ances and friends, your parents and near- name in a tone of despair, whilst he hid est relations, Emmy! What answer do TUE BURGOMASTER S FAMILY. 95 you think your father would dive me if I away from her; but Emmy remaincd calm, made a proposal to him for your hand? although her face was deadly pale, and Emmy hesitated for an instant. The tears glistened in her soft blue eyes. words of her stepmother, It would he Bruno, she said, going up to him and little honourable for us for our name to he placing her hand on his arm, I have one coupled with that of the son of a criminal, question to put to you, which you must an- bounded in her ears; hut at this moment swer truly. Wont you? they made her feel even more rebellious Bruno looked at her in some surprise; than when they were addressed to her. but as he did not speak, she proceeded. I do not know what papa would say, Suppose, Bruno, that what has hap- Bruuo, and besides it is indifferent to me pened to your father had happened to for you naturally could not ask him now; mine; that the misfortune had fallen on but what he will say when after a few our family; that it was we who were years you have secured a ~ood position in plunged in sorrow, and that it was our America by industry and perseverance, name which was named with dishonour concerns us much more. I have had op- what should you have done then, Bruno? portunities of thinking all this over very Should you have come to me to say that all seriously. Do not think that I have de- intercourse between us must be broken ceived myself as to the importance of the off; that we must forget what had passed grievous history of your poor father, in between us; that your name was too good relation to our future; I see well enough, to be connected with mine. Say, Bruno, that we shall have to contend with diffi- would you have done this? culties and prejudices which in former cir- Bruno gave no answer; but he wrung cumstances would not have presented his hands. themselves. But shall that frighten us, You do not answer, Bruno. Now, then, Bruno? Shall we on that account sacrifice I will tell you what you would have done. our happiness and our love? See, I have You would have come to me to assure me considered and weighed this all over thor- that I was as dear to you as before. You oughly. I am aware, in the first place, would have taken me to your home as your that what has been said and settled be- wife in spite of all opinions and prejudices. tween us to-day must remain a secret from That is what you would have done, Bruno. everyone, even from our nearest relations. And do you know what I should have I am aware that we must have much done? I should not have been too proud strength, much courage, and an unbounded to receive from you what your love offered confidence in each other, to struggle me. I should have thought that my love through the years which lie before us until would make you so happy that the con- our union is possible. But I feel this tempt of the world would have found no strength and courage in myself, and I will vacant spot in your heart. I should have joyfully give you my word that I shall be thanked God for the faithful heart that still prepared to follow you whenever your cir- remained to me, although everything else cunistances permit you to come and fetch which had made my life worth having had me. been shipwrecked in the storm which had Up to this time Bruno had remained sit- overtaken me. tin,,, in the same position as he was when When Emmy was silent, Bruno slowly Emmy had gone to stand by him. Now raised his eyes, which had been fixed on that she was silent he came to his senses, the ground, towards her. Emmy, he sprang up, and walked two or three times said, in a voice of deep emotion, God up and down the room; then suddenly bless you for these words. No, I am not standing still before Emmy, he said in an too proud to receive the free gift of your impassioned tone: love. It was not pride or ingratitude Oh, Emmy, do not make the tempta- which made me speak as I have done; but tion too great for me. I may not, I can- the conviction that I should be doing you a not, accept your magnanimous proposition. great wrong in binding up your lot with I should be ashamed of myself if I could mine. You cannot take away that convic- make a bad use of this noble impulse of tion from me; but, Heaven forgive me, the your heart. No, Eminy, with my stained temptation is too great. You are come to name I cannot say to any woman Be me in this fearful hour as an angel of con- mine. I will not expose anyone, and least solation, and I have neither the courage of all yourself, to the contempt and preju- nor the strength to put away from me the dices of the world. I must not; I ought dazzling treasure of your love which you not. place before me. The strength which I Overcome with emotion, Bruno turned thought I had has departed from me. I 96 TIlE BURGOMASTERS FAMILY. know nothing more, I feel nothin~ more, so happy that you will forget that it is a than that you are inexpressibly dear to rue name stained with shane that I bring to that I cannot part from you without the you that you will forget what you have hope of seeing you again and some day sacrificed for my sake. I know not how calling you my own. But I mnst not ac- long it will take to accomplish this, but cept the sacrifice you would offer me, with- the day will dawn of which I have now out putting to you the serious question spoken. whether you have wei~hed the greatness And then I will make good my word, of your sacrifice xvhether you know that Bruno. You shall then go back to Amen- for my sake you must forsake yonr country, ca with your mother and myself, and to- your tither, your relations, arid friends, gether we wiil try to make her happy again and follow me into a stran0e land? and to make her forget by our love the I know that, Bruno, said Emmy, in a sufferings of this time. But we must now firm tone; but I also know that we shall part, Bruno. I cannot stay longer. Fare- be happier on the other side of the ocean well I than we are here, where there are so many She put out both her hands to him, but painful recollections for you; that I am Bruno took her in his arms and imprinted not so very necessary or useful to anyone the first kiss of love on her lips. here but that I could go away without Must we already part, Emmy? he leaving a void which would not easily be said, sorrowfully. May I not see you this filled up. My father has his wifemy step- evening when I come to take leave ? mother her children; Otto and Elizabeth No, Bruno, Euimy answered. I can- will, before long, form other ties beside not take leave of you before all the family. their affection for their sister. I have Here I will say farewell farewell till we been too long away from my own home for meet again. it to be much to me or I to it; at least I And during all the years which perhaps cannot be half as much to anyone here as may pass before we see each other again, I could be to you out there; and therefore shall I hear nothing of you, Erumy? May dear Bruno, do not call that a sacrifice I not sometimes write to you, as I might which the full conviction of my heart have done to my old playfellow? places before my eyes as my happiness. In Emmy thought for a few moments; then America a new life lies before us, and she said: Why not. Bruno? It seems to I look forward to it without fear. If me that no one could find anything unbe- I could but go with you immediately, coming in it. Write to me after your an- and support you by the strength of my rival in New York, and then once every love in the trials and difficulties which you year; but your letters must contain noth- are sure to meet with, I should have noth- ing which may not be read by everyone. ing to wish for; but however that may be, Whether I shall be able to answer them, I I can do nothing but hope and watch and do not know; I will if I may and can, but pray for you. But let it be with a good j you must not coumit upon it. Your letter courage that we part now. We are both will each year keep me informed as to how young, and a long life of happiness still your plans are advancing, and between the lies before us, whenever we shall have written wdrds I shall read the unwritten earned it with many years of patient wait- ones, that you love me and do not forget ing. See, Bruno! we must both try to me. nieet this time of trial cheerfully; let us Forget you, Emmny said Bruno, look- bow our heads to adversity strong in our in~ at her reproachfully. love, strong in our trust in God! When Emmy tried to tear herself from Emmy spoke these words with fire; and him, that she might depart, he still held they seemed to find an echo in Brunos her back. heart; and his strength of mind, borne Emumy, he asked, give me something down for a time by misfortune, was re- as a recollection of this moment, and stored again, which may serve as a proof that this is Yes, Emmy, he exclaimed, I shall something more than a beautiful dream make myself worthy of your love. With living in my memory. that object before my eyes to call you Emmny took off one of the three rings my own no labour shall be too severe or which she wore and gave it to him. This too dfficult for me. I will force from the ring belonged to my mother, Bruno, and world by my conduct that respect which therefore it is of great value to me, and I they would otherwise withhold from the can only give it to you to take care of in son of a criminal. I shall prepare with my the expectation that I may exchange it love a home for you which shall make you with you for anot~ier. I give you this ring TIlE BUR& OMASTEI~ S FAMILY. 97 in pledge, with a safe conscience that ed, or whether her flood of words required mamma, who was so fond of you, would her to take hreath, I do not know, hut the approve of the use I make of it~ And serious expression of Einiuys face might now, God hiess you! Do not come down- well have stopped her. stairs with me. I will only give your Well, Thnmy, she said. half crossly mother a farewell kiss, and then go home. and half afraid, you must tell me whether Farewell I I have done wrong. One last embrace, and they parted with- I fear you have, dear Elizabeth, an- out another word. swered Eminy, kissing her; or, properly As Emrny had said to Bruno, her part- speaking, I have done wrong in not telling ing with Mrs. Eversberg was little more you what was my intention, although I did than a hearty embrace then she hastened so purposely to take away all responsibility homewards, if possible in greater alarm from you. I am not the less grateful to than when she came out. When she reach- you for your kindness and readiness to ed home she was not a little surprised at help me, but I can make no use of it. I the chance by which she found the house- told you yesterday that I must go to the door open, inasmuch as Mrs. Welters Eversbergs, notwithstanding the express would have reckoned this so great a piece wish of mamma that I should not do so, of misconduct that not only the whole fain- and it would be an untruth to say I repent- ily but all the servants would have most ed of it. On the contrary, Elizabeth, I carefully avoided it; but, as has been said would not for anything in the world have before, the door stood open, and nothing foregone my visit, and I w6uld go again if was easier for Emmy than to enter unob- a similar occasion should arise. But I served, and as no one was in the passage must not flinch from the consequences. I to go upstairs and reach her own room must myself tell mamma of my disobedi- equally unobserved two hours after she ence before she hears of it from anyone had left it. else; but be at ease yourself, for I shall at She had scarcely opened the door of her once say that you knew nothing of it be- room, when Elizabeth sprang up from her fore, and when I was out you did not wish chair and rushed towards her, hastily ex- to betray me. claiming, Did you find the door open? But, Emmy, said Elizabeth, in a cross did no one see you, Emuty? tone, how foolish! no one saw you and no She looked at Elizabeth with some sur- one can tell of you. prise as she answered these questions. It is not the less my duty to confess it, But Elizabeth clapped her hands, and in dear Elizabeth. I could not rest, and her delight gave a spring into the air such could not look mamma in the face. if I did as, a rope-dancer could hardly have ex- not tell her; she has, moreover, tnuch to celled. forgive me. ~Oh,I am so glad, she said; now no Stuff, Emmy! It is quite time to con- one will know that you have been out. fess when you are detected. Dont be fool- The, Emmy! how nau,,hty of you to run ish, and at least sleep over the matter oue off without saying aword to me. When I night. And now look at my dress, whic!i came up-stairs and did not find you, I saw came home while you were away. And directly by the open wardrobe that the holding up her dress in front, she made a bird had flown. And only think, Emmy, deep curtsey to Emmy, with the words, you had hardly been away half an hour Miss Welters, I have the honour to pre- when I heard Mina in her bedroom, and in sent to you Miss de Graaf. order that she might not think it odd that But neither the seriousness nor the ban- all was so still here, I took up a book and ter of Elizabeth could make Emmy waver began to read aloud. It quite answered; in what she considered her duty. Without Mina would certainly not disturb us chil- taking off her cloak and hat, she went dren in our reading, and she went down- downstaits with a beating heart to look for stairs without coming in. But stop; the Mrs. Welters. most difficult part is coming. You know She hoped to find her alone, and was that you are still on the sick list for port disappointed when she found Mina with wine, and at about two oclock mamma her work sitting in the drawing-room, and called out to me on the stairs to come and also William, who seemed to have just fetch a glass of wine for you. Oh, I~mmy, come in. I hardly knew what to do; but when I Emmy had seen but little of William went down for the wine, I set the door since the evening of the ball. Like the open as I passed. other members of the family, he had come Whether Elizabeths narrative was end- once upstairs, when she was beginning to LIvING AGE. VOL. XxVH. 1257 98 THE BURGOMASTER S FAMILY. sit up; but he was very short, and spoke find me there; but please, mamma, do not hardly at all to her. be hard upon Elizabeth for not betraying Now, however, when she caine so unex- me; she thoughtshe wished pectedly into the room, he went up to her Here Lnmy stammered in her confusion, with a friendly expression on his face, fearing to implicate Elizabeth, and yet Un- placed a chair for her by the table where able to say anything to excuse her in the Mina and Mrs. Welters were sitting, and eyes of her mother without falling short said a few words, which Emmy not only of the truth. did not answer, but in the confusion of Mrs. Welters did not give her time to preparing to confess her fault did not recover herself before she again asked: clearly understand. Who let you in without my knowing So. Emmy, already downstairs! said it? Mrs. Welters. laying a sharp stress on the No one, mamma; the door was opeu word already, so that Emmy almost lost when I came back, said Emmy, nervously. courage to say what she wanted. Was the door open? That is strange. But after a moments hesitation. she re- Did Elizabeth know anything of that mained firm to her purpose, and not sit- also? ting down, but leaning a,,ainst the chair Before Etnmy could answer, she con- which William had placed for her, she said tinued: Enou~h of this, Emmy; I per- gently: ceive that my daughter has been in very Mamma, I am come down staiis to say bad company of late, and has learnt to de something to von. I have not been able ceive her mother. As far as you are con- to fulfil your wish, and I have been to the cerned, it is now not my wish, but my order, foundry to take leave of Mrs. Eversberg that you should not leave your room for and Bruno. I told you yesterday that I three (lays. We shall see if you have the could not find rest or peace if at such a coura,,e to defy me this time. time I should show myself heartless to- I did not do it to defy you, mamma, wards these old friends, and I therefore said Emmy, rendered calmer by the sting- went there, although it gave me pain to ing words respecting Elizabeth which she act against your wishes. I hope, mamma, had not deserved; and I will cheerfully you will forgive me, and put my obedi- bear any punishment you choose to inflict ence to some other test, and I am sure I upon me; but I must repeat once more shall not fail short in it. that Elizabeth is not to blame. Emmy now ventured for the first time May I request you to leave the room to raise her eyes to Mrs. Welters, and was and to send Elizabeth to me? I know quite terrified at the wrathful expression on a enou~h. and I desire to be spared all fur- face ordinarily so calm; but Mrs. Welters ther talk on this subject. did not lose her calmness of manner. She Mrs. Welters pointed with her hand ~o rose from the sofa where she had been the door, and Emmny dared not stay any sitting when Emmy was silent, and seemed longer. She glanced at Mina and Wil- to require a few moments before she could ham, who had neither of them taken any control her anger, and then she said in an part in the conversation. She hoped for ice-cold tone, May I ask at what time some defence of Elizabeth from them, and you thought fit to go from here, Emmy? she wished to ask them for this by word I went out at one oclock, and I am or look before she left the room. just come back. Minas decidedly kill-joy look as she Did Elizabeth know you were out bent over her work made Emmy turn her woen she came for some port wine for eyes beseechingly towards William; but you? his face no longer bore any trace of the Emmy felt like a culprit before a court friendly expression which it had assumed of justice; and now that Elizabeth was on Emmys entrance. She had never been named, she was still more frightened lest so much struck with the likeness between she also should be drawn into the affair. him and his mother as at this moment Neither Elizabeth nor anyone else the same compressed lips, the same con- kne~v of my intention to go out, she an- tracted eyebrows, and in his half-closed swered evasively. I eyes the same green light which had so But, Mrs. Welters added sharply, I disagreeably impressed her at their first do not ask you for excuses, but for the meeting. Discouraged and sorrowful Em- truth. Did Elizabeth know you were my left the room. out? She had but just before told Elizabeth She must have concluded that I was that she felt no remorse for what she had out when she came upstairs aud did not done, and would not foi the world have THE BURGOMASTERS FAMILY. 99 acted otherwise; yet as she walked rest- les lv up and down the room whilst Eliza- beth had acne down stairs by her mothers order, she did feel something like a twinge of conscience. The thought that Elizabeth, who had acted upon the impulse of her heart, with- out considering whether her conduct was blameless or not, would have to suffer for an offence for which she herself was prop- erly responsible, disturbed her inexpres- sibly, and drove away for the moment all other thou hts; and, in fact, hardly a quarter of an hour passed before Elizabeth came up-stairs with flushed cheeks and red tearful eyes. On Emmys exclama- tion, however, Oh, Elizabeth, I am so very sorry that you have got into trouble on my account, she only shook her head, saying with a half smile, Dont vex your- self, Emmy; I dont mind it at all. It does not annoy me in the least. But this courageous declaration was be- lied by the tears which streamed down her cheeks when Einmy kissed her. hardly two minutes after, she said, with her old fun: There, Emmy, now we- are like two naughty school-girls who have been pun- ished till they repent of their wickedness. Mamma ou~ht to have shut us up with bread and water, to make the play quite complete. And I wish she had done so, for what vexes me most of all is, that I am no lon~er to come and sit with you, for I am only sent here to fetch my work and my book, and I must not stay any longer. So I cannot help you to dress this eve- ning, as we had settled? asked Emmy. Elizabeth shook her head, and tears again stood in her honest brown eyes. That is not necessary, she said, cast- ing a sorrowful look at the blue dress, which was spread out Over a chair; do you know, Emmy, that I am not to go out this evening? But it makes not a bit of difference to me. Listen, and you need iiot be~in to cry about it. I shall only think that at the expense of my party I have won for you the pleasure of taking leave of Mrs. Eversberg, and that I reckon is worth twice as much. I shall go to parties often enough in my life; and you must know, Emmy, that one comfort is, that I shall have a chance of being booked in the Dilburg Ckronicle as a female Peter Spa, who never saw half her first ball or any of her first soir~e. The incorrigible Elizabeth she now laughed through her tears; but the voice of her mother at the bottom of the stairs made her instantly leave the room, shut- tine the door behind her, and Emmy was left alone during the rest of the day. Not that being alone was disagreeable to her, with all she had to think over. Yet she felt like a prisoner as the day passed on without anyone coming to see her, when all she wanted was brought to her by a servant, and even her father and Otto, who on other days had always come to have a little chat with her, did not make their appearance. This convinced her more and more how wrong she had been in thwarting a will such as that of her stepmother, which was unbounded in its influence in the family. At long as there was yet time, she kept hopin~ that some one would come to take Elizabetas dress, and that her mother would not carry out in earnest the threat of making her remain at home; but this hope was not realized, and certminly Mrs. Wethers could hardly have devised a greater punishment for Emmy than to de- prive Elizabeth of the pleasure which she had been looking forward to. But Emmy slowly forgot everythin~ else, as her thoughts turned to what had been said between herself and Bruno, atid she put otit of her head all the sufferings of to- day in thinking over the happy future in the far distance, by the side of which the less agreeable present seemed to her too trivial and unimport;~nt to be worth griev- ing about. She thought over what duties would rest with her in the years of waitin~ for Bruno. She resolved to perform those dti- ties with holy earnestness, in order that she might thus deserve the happiness which she hoped from the future, and as her first duty she set herself the task of winning her stepmothers favour by strict obedience and submission. Weary with all the various emotions which the day had called forth, she went early to bed. First she knelt down and of- fered a fervent prayer to God; a prayer for hlessin,, and protection for him whom she loved, a prayer for strength and cour- age and steadfastness for herself also. Calm and with the confidence of child- hood, she laid her head on her pillow; and when she fell asleep it was with Brunos name on her lips and his image in her heart. 100 GEORGE ELIOT. From The Contemporary Review. GEORGE ELIOT. Scenes of Clerical Life. Adam Bede. The .Mill on the Floss. Silas .Marner. Romola. Jubol. drwgart. Felix Bolt. The Spanish Gypsy. .Middlemarch. WHEN we have passed in review the works of that ~reat writer who calls her- self George Eliot, and given for a time our use of sight to her portraitures of men and women, what form, as we move away, persists on the field of vision, and remains the chief centre of interest for the imagination? The form not of Tito, or Mag~ie or Dinah, or Silas, but of one who, if not the real George Eliot. is that second self who writes her books, and lives and speaks through them. Such a second self of an author is perhaps more substantial than any mere human per- sonality encumbered with the accidents of flesh and blood and daily. livin~. It stands at some distance from the, primary self, and differs considerably from its fellow. It presents its person to us with fewer re- serves; it is independent of local and tem- porary motives of speech or of silence; it knows no man after the flesh; it is more than an individual ; it utters secrets, but secrets which all men of all ages are to catch; while behind it, lurks well pleased the veritable historical self secure from impertinent observation and criticism. With this second self of Georae Eliot it is, not with the actual historical person, that we have to do. And when, having closed her books, we gaze outward with the minds eye, the spectacle we see is that most impressive spectacle of a great na- ture, which has suffered and has now at- tained, which was perplexed abd has now grasped the clue standin~ before us not withdut tokens on lip and brow of the strife and the suffering. but resolute, and henceforth possessed of something which makes self-mastery possible. The strife is not ended, the pain may still be resnr- gent; but we perceive on which side vic- tory must lie. This personal accent in the wri-tinas of George Eliot does not interfere with their dramatic truthfulness; it adds to the pow- er with which they grasp the heart and conscience of the reader. We cannot say with confidence of any one of her crea- tions that it is a projection of herself; the lines of their movement are not de- flected by hidden powers of attraction or repulsion peculiar to thb mind of the au- thor; most noteworthy is her impartiality towards the several creatures of her imagi- nation; she cdndemns but does not hate; she is cold or indifferent to none; each lives his own life, good or bad; but the au- thor is present in the midst of th~m, indi- cating, interpreting; and we discern in the moral laws, the operation of which pre- sides over the action of each story, those abstractions from the common fund of truth which the author has found most needful to her own deepest life. We feel in reading these books that we are in the presence of a soul, and a soul which has had a history. At the same time the novels of George Eliot are not didactic treatises. They are primarily works of art, and George Eliot herself is artist as much as she is teacher. Many good things in particular passages of her writings are detachable; admirable sayings can be cleared from their sur- roundings, and presented by themselves, knocked out clean as we knock out fossils from a piece of limestone, But if we sep- arate the moral soul of any complete work of hers from its artistic medium, if we murder to dissect, we lose far more than we gain. When a work of art can be un- derstood only by enjoyin~ it, the art is of a hi!, h kind. The best criticism of Shaks- peare is not that which comes out of pro- found cogitation but out of immense en- joyment; and the most valuable critic is the critic who communicates sympathy by an exquisite record of his own delights, not the critic who attempts to communi- cate thought. In a less degree the same is true of George Eliot. There is, not a hard kernel of dogma at the centre of her art, and around it a sheath or envelope which we break and throw away; the mor- al significance coalesces with the narrative, and lives throu!,h the characters. In Geor~e Eliots poems the workman- ship is not less sincere than that of her prose writings, and a token of sincerity is that inasmuch as she lab~ured under a dis- advantage that disadvantage immediately shows itself. These honest failures are immensely more precious than any possi: ble piece of splendid mendacity in art, which might have gained a temporary suc- cess. The poems are, conspicuously in- ferior to the novels, and a striking indica- tion that poetry is not George Eliots ele- ment as artist is this, that in her poems the idea and the matter do not really in- terpenetrate; the idea stands above the GEORGE ELIOT. 101 matter as a master above a slave, and sub- naked will, like Fichte, a central point of dues the matter to its will. The ideal soul which knows not imagination or tnem- motives of The Spanish Gypsy, of Ju- ory, or the sweet inspirations and confi- bal, of Armgart, can be stated in a dences of the flesh and blood. Such a na- concise form of words. For the mystery ture as George Eliots may indeed arrive of life there is substituted the complexity at a very partial solution of the problem of a problem of moral dynamics, a calcula- of highest living, and may record its an- ble composition of forces. And with this swer in the phraseology of a sect; but the the details of the poems are necessarily in result will have been reached by some agreement. A large rhythm sustains the process different from the easy one of nar- verse, similar ia nature to the movement rowing the terms in which the problem of a calmly musical period of prose; but has been stated. at best the music of the lines is a measur- In this nature, complete in all its parts, able music; under the verse there lies no and with every part strong, the granite- living heart of music, with curious pulsa- like foundation of the whole is conscience, tion, and rhythm, which is a miracle of the. the moral perceptions and the moral will. blood. The carefully-executed lyrics of Abstract the ethical interest from her Juan and Fedalmna are written with an ac- chief prose work, Rornola, or from her curate knowled~e of what song is, and chief poe~n, The Spanish Gypsy, and how it differs from speech. The author there is total collapse of design, characters, was acquainted with the precise position incidents. Other story-tellers centre our of the vocal organs in sin0ing; the pity is hopes and fears in the happiness or unhap- she could not sing. The little modelled piness of their chief personages; a wed- verses are masks taken from the dead ding or a funeral brings to an end at once faces of infantile lyrics that once lived our emotional disturbance and the third and breathed. volume of the novel. George Eliot is pro- Having been brought into the presence foundly moved by the spectacle of human of the nature which has given us these joy and human sorrow; death ~ her is books, the first thing which strikes us is always tragic, but there is something more its completeness. No part of our human- tragic than cessation of the breath, and ity seems to have been ori0inally deficien t~ of the pulse; there is the slow letting go or malformed. While we read what she of life, and the ultimate extinction of a has written the blood circulates through soul; to her the marriage joys are dear, every part of our system. We are not but there is something hi~,her than the held suspended in a dream with brain highest happiness of lovers. What asleep. The eye of common observation greater thing, she muses, while Adam is not blinded by an excess of mystical and Dinah stand with clasped hands, and glory; the heart is made to throb with satisfied hearts, what greater thing is fervour; the conscience is aware of the there for two human sou!s than to feel that awful issues of life ani death; the life is they are joined for life, to strengthen each made facile to laughter. The genius of other in all labour, to rest on each other this writer emnbraces us like the air on in all sorrow, to minister to each other in every side. If sonne powerful shock.have all pain, to be one with each other in si- numbed for a while any one of our lent, unspeakable memories at the mo- nerves of sensation, she plays upon it ment of the last parting. She has shown with a stimulating restorative flow. And, us one thing greater, the obedience of in this fact of the completeness of her man and woman to a summons more au- nature we receive a guarantee of the im- thoritative than that of any personal emo- portance of any solution which George tion Eliot may have wrought out for herself of We must walk the moral difficulties of life. No part of Apart unto the end. Our marriage rite the problem is likely to have been ignored Is cur resolve that we will each be true Fromn a partial nature we can expect only a partial solution, and the formation of To high allegiance, higher than our love. a sect. To be a modern Pagan may he When Tom and Maggie sink in the hurry- easy and eminently satisfactory to a ing Floss there is left an aching sense of creature who has nothing within him abrupt incompleteness, of imperious sus- wl)ich makes the devotion of the Cross pension, of intolerable arrest; and with more than a spectacle of foolishness. To this a sense of the utter helplessness of annihilate the external world, and stand our extremest longings. The musicians an unit of volition in the presence of a hand has broken the movement in tie majestic moral order, is sufficient to a midst, and it can never be taken up again. 102 GEORGE ELIOT. This is cruel to all our tender desires for joy. But there is something more dread- ful. When the heavens break up over the head of Silas Marner, when the lots declare him, the innocent man, guilty in the rnid-t of the congregation of Lantern Yard; when he goes out with despair in his sow, with shaken trust in God and man, to Lye for weary years a life of unsocial and god- less isolation, accmnulatin~, his hoard of yellow pieces, the tragedy is deeper. When the beautiful Greek awakes from his swoon beside the Arno to find no pleasant solitary lair, but the vindictive eyes of Baldassare looking down at him, and the eager knuckles at his throat, the real pite- ousness and terror is not that a young man is about to die, but that now the visible seal of finality is to be set upon that death of the soul which had already taken place. When the story concerns it- self with the ruin or the restoration of moral character every other interest be- comes subordinate. The nodes of the plot from which new developments spring are often ii~visible spiritual events. It is a crisis, and we feel it to be such, when there falls into Maggies hands a copy of De Imi- tatione Christi; the incident is fraught, we are at once aware, with momentous conse- quences. Father, I have not been good to you; but I will be, I will be, said Esther, laying her head on his knee. Slight words, but words which determine an epoch, because as they were uttered, self- love was cast behind, and the little action of laying her head upon her fathers knee was endowed with sacramental effica~y. The relations that human beings can form with one another which are most intimate, most full of fate, are with George Eliot not intellectual or merely social relations, but essentially moral. Eppie toddles in throu~h the weavers open door, and does much more than console him for his lost treasure; she is to him the sunshine and spring breeze thawing the arrested stream of his affections, delivering him from his state of unnatural isolation, and re-unitin,, him with his fellow-men. Edgar Tryan brings happiness to Janet, but it is by saving her soul. Felix Holt is much more than a lover; painfully divested of coats and neck-ties (not an example, in this par- ticular it may be hoped to all proletarian Radicals), with his somewhat formulated nobility, and his doctrinaire delight in ex- position of principles, he yet is a genuine moral nature, and approaching Esther Lyon as a conscience approaches a con- science, and with an almost rude insistency of moral force, he becomes the discoverer to her of the heroisms which lay esneesled in her own dainty feminine nature. To Romola her early love is as a morning cloud, growing mome ntly fainter and more distant; the one profound attachment which she forms is to her spiritual father, the man who had been for her an incar- nation of the highest motives, who had forced her to submit to the painful supre- macy of conscience. The conscience of George Eliot asserts itself so strongly because there are in her nature other powers stron~ also, and urg- ing great claims upon the will. Her senses are framed for rich and varied pleasure. The avenues between the senses and the imagination are traversed to and fro by swift and secret intelligences. There are blind motions in her blood, which respond to vague influences, the moral nature of which may be determined by a contingency; there are deep incalcu- lable instincts, the heritage from pa t generations, which suddenly declare them- selves with an energy that had not beeu surmised. There are zeals and ardours of the heart, eager demands and eager sur- renders. There is the grasping, permitted or restrained, of a richly endowed nature after joy, after joy from which to avert the eyes for ever is hitter as the sunderin~ of flesh and soul. This nature, in which conscience must needs be stern, is a nature of passionate sensibility. The pure gleam- ing of gems, the perfect moulding of a wo- man s arm, the face of youth that is like a flower, and its aureole of bright hair, the strong voice of the singer that urges and controls, the exquisite movement and excitement of the dance, not one of these fails to find an answer in the large joy-em- bracing nature of George Eliot. We re- call to mind Titos presence in the dark library of Bardi, like a wreath of spring dropped suddenly in Romolas young but wintry life; and the fascination exercised over Adam by the sweet, rounded, blos- som-like, dark-eyed Hetty; and Maggie borne along by the wave of arrogant bari- tone music too stong for her; and the wonder and worship of Rufus Lyon in presence of that miracle of grace, the Frenchwoman found by the roadside; and Fedalma circling to the booming and ringing tambourine, under the flushed clouds and in the midst of the spectators of the Pla9a: Ardently modest, sensuously pure, With young delight that wonders at itself, And throbs as innocent as opening flowers, Knowing not comment, soilless, beautiful. GEORGE ELIOT. 103 All gathering influences ciilminate, the sincerest and most intelligent syinpa And ur~e Fedalma. Earth and heaven seem thy. Tito is condemned, decreed to death, one, but he is understood far too truly to be Life a glad trembling on the outer edge an object of hatred. Tessa, the pretty Of nnknown rapture. pi~eon, linda, who has littl~ more soul This capacity for pure joy, this noble than a squirrel, are lovable after their sensibility to beauty are attributes, not kind; and up trom these through the bier- of the lower characters of George Eliots archy of human characters to Romola and creating, but of the worthiest. They are Fedalma, to Zarca and Savonarola, there felt by her to be derived from the strength is not one grade too low, not oae too high of our nature, not from its weakness for love to reach. Poverty of nature and Adam Bede falls in love with a woman the stains of sin cannot alienate the pas- who has nothing to recommend her but stonate attachment of this heart to all that exquisite curves of cheek and neck, the is human. See, Lord, prays Dinah in liquid depth of beseeching eyes, the sweet the prison, I bring her, as they of 01(1 childish pout of the lips, and he cleaves brought the sick arid helpless, and thou to her with almost a humility of devotions didst heal them; I bear her on my arms, Does George Eliot think meanly of her and carry her before thee. The long un- hero for a proceeding so unbecoming a natural uses of a defeated life, which dis- sensible man? By no means. She per- tort the character and render it grotesque, ceives that beauty has an expression be- cannot hide from these eyes its possibili- yond and far above the one wotnans soul j ties of beauty. Mr. Gilfil, the caustic old that it clothes; as the words of genius gentleman with bucolic tastes and sparing have a wider meaning than the thought habits; many knots and ruggedness es ap - that prompted them: it is more than a pearing on him like the rou~h bosses of a womans love that moves us in a womans tree that has been marred, is recognizable eyes it seems to be a far-off mighty love as the Maynard Gilfil who had known all that has come near to us, mind made speech the deep secrets of devoted love, had for itself there; the rounded neck, the struggled through its days and nights of dimpled arm, move us by something more an nish, and trembled under its unspeak- than their prettiness by their close kin- able joys. And the saddest ordeal of love ship with all we have known of tender- to witness the diminishing purity and ness and peace. The noblest nature sees splendour of a star-like soul, the clouding- the most of this impersonal expression in over of a heroic nature by a film of dis- beauty. Whence sometimes, as in the honour this too is endurable by the case of Adam, tragic consequences. faithfulness of the heart. The day of the A mains or woman endowed with great great Dominicans death is to the last a susceptibility to beauty, and prior- to ex- day of sacred commemoration to Romola; perience making large demands upon all his errors, all his weaknesses are for- the world for joy, runs the risk of terrible given. calamity. Dissociated from the syrnpa- George Eliots manifold sympathies thetic emotions the imamoderate love of cre te behind her principal figures an beauty, as Baudelaire has well said, leads ample background in which they find play men to mnomistious and unheard of dis- and find repose. An English landscape orders. The appetite for joy consumes in the manner of Constable, rich with all that the errth can afford, and remains rough~ soft colour, and infallible in local fierce and insatiate. It is impossible even truth is first presented. Men, wotnen, to ima0ine such a calamity overtaking children, animals are seen, busy about George Eliot, so numerous, and full of their several concerns. The life of a whole soundness and vigour are ~the sympathies neie,hbourhood grows up before us; and which bind her to her fellows. Tuere are from this the principal figures never alto- certain artists who concentrate the light gether detach themselves. Thus a per- of an intense intelli~,ence and passionate spective is produced; the chief personages sympathy upon their two or three chief are not thrust up against the eye; actions figures, which move in an oppressive glare are seen passing into their effects; rever- of consciousness, while towards the rest berations of voices are heard strangely they show themselves almost indifferent. alterin,, and confused; and the emotions George Eliots sympathy spreads with a of the spetator are at once roused and powerful and even flow in every direction. tranquillized by the presence of a general Hetty, with her little butterfly soul, life surrounding the lives of individuals. pleasure-loving but not passionate, luxu- II tty disappears, but the affairs of the rious, vain, hard of heart, is viewed with ut11 Farm still ~o on; Savonarola falls, 104 GEORGE ELIOT. but Florence remains. No more exquisite Other teachers would fain lighten the background group can be found in the burden of the mystery by showing us that literature of flcti~n than the Poyser house- good comes out of evil. George Eliot hold, from the little sunny-haired Totty, prefers to urge with a force which we and her brothers as like their father as cannot resist, the plain and dreadful truth two small elephants are like a great that evil comes out of evil whatsoever elephant, up to Martin Poyser the elder, a man soweth that shall he also reap. sitting in his arm-chair with hale, shrunk- No vista of a future life, no array of su- en limbs, and the quiet outuiard glance pernatural powers stationed in the heav- of healthy old age, which spies out ens, and about to intervene in the affairs pins on the floor, and watches the flick- of men, lead her gaze away from the stern, ering of the flame or the sun gleams undeniable facts of the actual world. Our on the wall. The pathos of their shane deeds are like children that are born to and sorrow deepens in the presence of us; they live and act apart from our will. t.he unconsciousness of childhood, and the Nay, children may be strangled, but deeds half-consciousness of self-contented age. never: they have an indestructible life But the sympathies of George Eliot both in and out of our consciousness. reach out from the slow movement of the Other teachers transfigure and transmute village, from the inharmonious stir of the human joys and sorrows, fears and hopes, manufacturing town, from the hall Farm, loves and hatreds, with light from a spirit- and from the bar of the Rainbow Inn to nal world: the sufferings of the present the large interests of collective humanity. time are made radiant with the coming of The artistic enthusiasm of the Renaissance the glory which shall be revealed in us: in period, the scientific curiosity of the pres- George Eliots writings it is the common ent century, the political life at Florence light of day that falls upon our actions lone since, the political movements of and our sufferings; but each act, and each England forty years ago, and reli~ious life sorrow, is dignified and made important in manifold forms Catholic, Anglican, by the consciousness of that larger life of and Nonconforming, are none of them re- which they form a part the life of our mote from her imaginative grasp. Here whole race, descending from the past, pro- the heart allies itself with a vie orous in- gressing into the future, surrounding us at tellect, the characteristics of which are its this moment on every side. need of clearness, of precision; and its As was to be expected from the trans- habitual turn for generalization. The lator of Fenerbachs Essence of Chris- unlimited right of private haziness, so tianity, religion is approached with an dear to many minds, is a right which ardent tenderness. The psychology of the George Eliot never claims on her own be- religious consciousness had been accepted half. And in her mind facts, especially by Feuerbach in its entirety; but theolog- moral facts, are for ever grouping them- ical metaphysics were abandoned. For selves into laws ; the moral laws which supernaturalism, naturalism was substitut- her study of life discovers to her being ed; the phenomena remained the same, definite and certain as the facts which but the substance was chan~ed. A miracle they co-ordinate. The presence of a pow- not priestly but scientific was effected erful intellect observing, defining, and the bread and wine which feed the soul, giving precision explains in part the un- and which had been very God, became faltering insistance of the ethical purport now very man, and nothing more than of these books. It bears down upon the man; in the sacred acts and dogmas of conscience of the reader with painful religion man presents to himself his own wem~ht and tenacity. The truths in pres- flesh and his own blood, and feeds upon ence of which we live, so long as the im- them. God is an unutterable sigh, lying agin ation of George Eliot controls our in the depths df the heart. The super- own, are not surmises, not the conjectures natural basis of religion is denied; a natur- of prudence, not guesses of the soul peer- al one assumes its place; and the phenoin- ing into the darkness which lies around ena remain unchanged. Such a doctrine the known world of human destiny, nor adapts itself readily to the purpose of the are they attained by generous ventures of novelist. Absolute fidelity in represent- faith; they are tyrannous facts from ing the facts of the religious consciousness which escape is impossible. Words is not only permitted, but enjoined; and which come pealing from a glimmering every phase of relieious faith and feeling limit far withdrawn, words in a tongue from the rudest to the mo st noble and the no man can understand, do not greatly purest, becomes precious to the lover of arouse the curiosity of Geor e Eliot. mankind. Tue Rev. Rafus Lyon in the GEORGE ELIOT. 105 chapel of Malt-hou~e Yard, Dinah Morris George Eliot usually belongs to her entire on the Green of Ilayslope, the Frate in conception of a character, and cannot be the I)uomo of Florence, Mr. Tryan ~vho separated from it. Her humorous effects preached the Gospel at Milby, and Dr. are secured by letting her mind drop sym- I{enn who preached the church at St. pathetically into a level of lower intelli- Oggs one and all are dear to the affec- gence, or duller moral perception, and by tionate student of religious emotion. Dol- the conscious presence at the same time of ly W