LITTELLS LIVING AGE. Eifth Series, 1 ~Nfri IF~F4~ Arnil A. 1R74 Fzom Beginning, Volume ~i, LiW .LUU?JI ~~1M ~ d.VI hi (V61. OfT. CON1TENTS. Blatkwoods Magazine, I. INTERNATIONAL VANITIES. III. Titles, II. FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. By Thomas Hardy, author of Under the Greenwood Tree, A Pair of Blue Eyes, etc. Part IV., THE PRINCE PRINTERS OF ITALY, DISORDER IN DREAMLAND. Part IL, COLONEL CHESNEYS ESSAYS, THE CASPIAN SEA, . THE SPEAKERSHIP, POETRY ONLY A WOMANS HAIR, IN MEMORIAM Cornhill Magazine, Macmillans Magazine, BlackwoodXr Magazine, Spectator, . Chambers ~ournal, Pall Mall Gazette, . 2 EPIG2EA ASLEEP, .2 MISCELLANY, PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL & GAY, BOSTON. TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTIO ~J. For EiOHT DOLLARS, remided directly to the Publishers, the LIvINo Ane wTh be punctually forwarded for a year,free ojj5ostage. But we do lint prepay postage on less than a year, nor when we have to pay commission for forwarding the money; nor when we cluh the LIVING Age with another periodical. An extra copy of Tua Lsvi~to AGE is sent grati~ to any one getting up a club of Five New Subscribers. Remittances slsould be made by hank draft or check, or by post-office money-order, if possible. If neither of these caii be procured, the n~ney should be sent in a registered letter. All postmasters are obliged to register letters when requested to do so. Drafts, checks and money-orders should be made payable to the order ot LITraLL & GAY. III. IV. V. VI. VII. .3 59 32 46 - 55 .2 64 2 ONLY A WOMAN~ S HAIR, ETC. ONLY A WOMANS HAIR. LATE judge beside an Indian river, My wifes great-uncle, frail and old, Minus his temper and his liver, Came home with stores of wealth untold. Wed named our eldest boy Ramchunder; Wed called our house The Mangostines; And, but for a domestic blunder, Should now enjoy his princely means. We laid down yards of Indian matting; Compounded jars of sangaree; The cook had turned, by constant patting, Our Dorset butter into ghee. We warmed the house from base to attics, Although the season was July: He brought a train of Asiatics, Whose faces made the children cry. My wife received him in a hurry, Her brow perplexed with household care; Shed been all day about the curry, With scarcely time to dress her hair. The children then were all paraded; H~ loudly blessed our little Ram; Each wore a tussah richly braided, And each performed a deep salaam. We closed the windows while at dinner; How hot the soup and chutney were! John punkahed well for a beginner; My wife wore roses in her hair. The pains wed taken were not wasted: He praised our sauce of capsicum; Said that such pepper hed not tasted Since with the Rifles at Dum-Dum. The curry! careful preparation, With glowing chilis round it stuck, Appeared; he sniffed his approbation, And trifled with a Bombay duck. The rice was dried to pure perfection; He filled his mouth a silence fell Then starting, with an interjection, Which I am too polite to tell He gasped, he wheezed, he coughed, he splut. tered; We loosed his stock, we gave him air, And with a stifled voice he muttered: Youve choked me with a filthy hair. Alas! it was no hair of minion; My wife confessed she dressed in haste, And while Maria combed her chignon, Herself had mixed the curry paste! They proved the will of Thule Crompton, By which we never got a groat; His thousands found their way to Brompton, For the Diseases of the Throat. Chambers JournaL IN MEMORIAM. O SUMMER sky, so blue and clear; O sparkling eyes, without a tear, And joyous hearts without a fear. O earth so sweet, and roses fair, And bright birds glistening through the air, Trilling soft music everywhere. O form I loved so true and well, Nought on this earth can break the spell That links me to thy narrow cell, Where lies thy quiet, peaceful breast, In childhoods hours Ive oft caressed Those loving lips Ive often pressed. O life is sweet when love is young, To cheer us as we urge along This toilsome path, this busy throng. I think of thee at morning light; I see thee in my dreams by night; Thou art my guardian angel bright. Ill love thee still while life shall last; Nor fame nor fortune eer can blast Thy radiance oer my memory cast. Chambers Journal. EPIGA~A ASLEEP. DY WILLIAM WHITMAN DAILEY. Aanuvus lies beneath the snows, While Winter waits her brief repose, And says, No fairer flower grows! Of sunny April days she dreams, Of robins notes and murmuring streams, And smiling in her sleep she seems. She thinks her rosy buds expand Beneath the touch of childhoods hand, And beauty breathes throughout the land. The arching elders bending oer The silent rivers sandy shore, Their golden tresses trim once more. The pussy-willows in their play ~Theii varnished caps have flung away, And hung their furs on every spray. The toads their cheery music chant, The squirrel seeks his summer haunt, And life revives in every plant. I must awake! I hear the bee! The butterfly I long to see! The buds are bursting on the tree ! Ah! blossom, thou art dreaming, dear, The wild wind~W~owl about thee here, The dirges of the dying year! Thy gentle eyes with tears are wet; In sweeter sleep these pains forget; Thy merry morning comes not yet! Providence, 1?. I. Transcript. INTERNATIONAL VANITIES. 3 From Blackwoods Magazine. earnestness. These sentiments are in. INTERNATIONAL VANITIES, deed so developed in many of the more NO. 111.TITLES, ancient publications that it is sometimes difficult to avoid feeling a sort of envy of JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU says, in a such resolute conviction, of such persis- true but decidedly ill-tempered sentence, tent faith. The authors who believed in that kings have two main objects, to ex- Majesty believed in everything; they tend their power outside their frontiers, had no doubts ; they. went straight on- and to make it more absolute within wards to their end without a hesi- them. He might have added, with equal tation, without a flicker in their creed. reason, that another of their objects is to Even if they state that, because multiply and consolidate their titles ; in- mustard was made at Dijon, its name deed, if we are to admit the arguments of must necessarily be a corruption of Bossuet, this latter sort of action is oblig- moult me tarde, the old motto of the atory upon them they have no choice Dukes of Burgundy (who were always in about it. The Bishop of Meaux argues a hurry), there is a sincerity about the that kings, like the sun, have not re- affirmation which shows that they, at all ceived without a reason the brilliancy events, were quite certain of the fact. which surrounds them; it is necessary And so it was with all else they talked to the human race; they are bound, both about; no matter what they said, they for the peace and the decoration of the were always convinced of the truth of universe, to keep up a majesty, which is their own words. The result is, natu- but a ray of that of God. This opinion rally, that the modern reader somewhat may have been altogether in its place in mistrusts the asseverations of such un- Louis XIV.s chapel at Versailles (though reasoning writers, and that, if he wants to those who saw the German Emperor pray be as satisfied as they are, he is obliged every Sunday in that same chapel for the to take the trouble of verifying many of speedy capitulation of Paris are justified their assertions. Luckily the subject is in entertaining doubts as to its fitness amusing; what would be an ungrateful even there), but it certainly does not ex- labour in another case, becomes a pleas- press actual ideas; and though Fl~chier ant task in this one: though the early confirms it by asserting that reverence history of titles is so much scattered that for regal Majesty should be regarded as its elements have to be scraped together a sort of civil religion and of political from various outlying sources. They are worship, we seem, in these days, to have all disconnected; there is no unity in the grown altogether outside the state of story; it lies about in bits ; it does not mind in which such theories were re- appear to have been ever grouped into a garded as indisputable axioms. The whole. If this last impression be correct, books on the law of nations allude to if no history of titles has ever been com- them with veneration, but do not presume posed, there is a gap for an enthusiast to to discuss their mysteries or to penetrate fill i.~p ;.Jut it seems difficult to believe into their awe-inspiring recesses. It is that the ground has really been left un- rather in the treatises on ceremonial, in tilled: it is probable that books have the chronicles of two or three hundred been composed upon the question, but years ago in the older French, German, ,that they have left no footprints on the and Italian special dictionaries, and in sands of time, as is indeed the case, un- the earlier encyclop~dias that we find fortunately, with a good many books. disquisitions on the fundamental princi- And yet this is a world-wide subject, ples of Majesty, and on the titles with I which finds its application everywhere, which Majesty adorns itself. But, what- and which a nui~ber of learned men in ever be the sources of information on the many lands have regarded as possessing matter, they present the same invariable J qualities of the highest character. Even character of detailed reverence, of wilful now there are serious people who look at homage, of credulou~ and unsuspecting it with deep respect, and who will protest 4 INTERNATIONAL VANITIES. with indignation against its being includ- ed amongst the vanities of nations. The only answer to be given to them is, that it would be of no use at all to be a native of a Protestant country unless one could enjoy the one advantage of Protestantism, which is to be absolutely free to hold and to defend any opinion whatever. T are entitled to do the same, hey Judging from what has happened since history has been organized, it seems reasonable to suppose that in early times kings invented themselves first, and then invented titles, in order to frame in and illuminate their glory. Menes, whom we must regard as ancient the most moder- ate computation of his date puts him 4000 years back was a title in himself, for his name signified the conductor ; and though we know nothing of the spe- cial personal denominations which were adopted by the founders of Babylon and Nineveh, we find their successors in pos- session of a fair share of honorific appel- lations, at the moment when their annals become accessible to our curiosity. The Kileh-Shargat cylinder, which is the old- est monument of Mesopotamian history yet discovered, has brought down to us the designations attributed to himself by the fifth known king of Assyria, who reigned about 1200 B.C. It indicates that the potentate in question already used in some abundance the figurative, emblem- atic, and descriptive epithets which have since acquired the name of titles. He calls himself Tiglath-pileser ; the illustrious chief; whom Asshur and Her- cules have exalted to the utmost wishes of his heart ; who has pursued after the enemies of Asshur, and has subjugated all the earth ; the son of Asshur-rish-ili the powerful king; the subduer of for- eign countries; he who has reduced all the lands of the Magian world ; and more in the same style. This was pretty good for thirty centuries ago, for a prince who seems to us, at this long distance, to have been a mere beginner in the art of self-laudation; but, as times passed on, the love of titles grew, and, seven hun- dred years after Tiglath, we find Xerxes saying on another slab: I am Xerxes the king; the great~king;. the king of kings; the king of the many-peopled countries; the supporter also of the great world ; the son of King Darius. Ti- granes the Armenian borrowed king of kings from Persia at a later period and held to it so eagerly, that, when he was beaten by Lucullus, he refused to answer a letter from the latter because it was addressed to him under the ordinary name of king, instead of hearing the plu- ral mention. But let it be remembered that it has turned out luckily for arch~- ologists that this appellation should have been cherished with such care and em- ployed so frequently; for, if the signs which represented it had not been con- stantly repeated in the Persepolis in- scriptions, Grotefend would have had no reason to suspect that they might perhaps express this much-loved title, and would not have been thereby led to the discov- ery of the key by which the cuneiform writing was deciphered. It was because Darius Hystaspes persisted in calling himself king of kings that the meaning of these arrow-headed records was found out. If more recent royal titles had served an equally useful purpose, they might, perhaps, have been omitted from the catalogue of the vanities of nations. Alas lit is just the contrary. That is why they are included here. It is, indeed, most terribly the contra- ry; for whereas Xerxes and Darius whom our schoolmasters taught us most wrongfully to regard as gorgeous speci- mens of pride contented themselves, in their retiring modesty, with half-a- dozen titles,, the monarchs of our own time require at least fifty each. In this respeo& , as in so many others, the world has got on marvellously since the fight at Salamis; the progress, indeed, has been so Vast, the subject has become so huge, that it is an audacious act to attempt to dissect it in an article: nothing but its outlines can be sketched in these few pages; developed at full length, it would fill a dozen foljos. And if, instead of limiting our attention to purely royal titles (which alone present a character of internationality), ~ve were to include per- sonal and local attributions too, we should need a goods station to store the volumes TITLES. But, notwithstanding this persistent duration and this universal applicability, it cannot be pretended that titles have been of much practical utility to their proprietors. From the Egyptian Menes that we were alluding to just now, who was lamentably eaten by a hippopotamus, down to those six Deys of Algiers who were successively elected and assassi- nated in the same afternoon by a sensitive population sixty years ago, there have been innumerable, and most varied evi- dences of the now undoubted axiom that the post of safety is a private station. And if titles have not saved the lives of their possessors in those disagreeable moments through which sovereigns, like common people, have sometimes had to pass, it does not seem to be very clear that they have been more successful in rendering their owners joyful or content- ed. The King of Yvetot is the only mon- arch in history whose happiness appears to have been incontestable; and it will be admitted, without discussion, that his position, especially as. described by B& ranger, was exceptiona, and cannot be quoted as an argument. And yet the vanity of the throne has always so vio- lently tempted human nature, that some of the best heads that men have owned have been carried away by the desire of sitting in ermine, with a cro~vn and scep- tre. Etre Bonaparte, et se faire Sire ii asj5 ire d descendre / mais non, il croit monter en s~galant aux rois: il aime mieux un titre quun nom. What can be added to such a phrase as this ? What words ~an paint with clearer truth the folly of the pride of reigning? Kings persist, however; they continue to distribute titles amongst their sub- jects, and to confer titles upon them- selves. The former constitute one of the most vigorous manifestations of local and individual pride; the latter present an aggressive fqrm of the vanity of na- tions. And yet~however alike the two classes of appellations may appear in this respect, there is an enormous dif- ference in their origin and in their appli- cation. No one can deny the validity of 5 we should be forced to write. Some of the world may invent hereafter in slight allusion to the latter is, however, their stead. inevitable in talking about the former, even if it only be to call attention to the erroneous disposition into which so many of us have fallen, since this century be- gan, of looking upon a title as a privilege granted by a sovereign, far more than as one of the essential attributes of the sov- ereign himself. If the monarch had no I titles, it would be difficult to conceive his bestowal of them on his subjects; it was because he wore golden spurs himself that, in those strange days of chivalry, any knight could confer his own grade. upon a deserving squire ; and, though the right of noblesse to ennoble has van- ished with the times of lance and shield, the principle that honour only can grant honour, that rank alone can bestow rank, has remained in force, and finds its ap- plication in the universal rule that the sovereign is the exclusive fountain of dis- tinction. Chivalry, with its communistic theory of equality in merit (as merit was understood in those days), shared the power with the monarch for a time, but he has seized it back again ;and ~vhat Blackstone said of England is true of all other countries now, The Constitution intrusts the Sovereign with the sole pow- er of conferring dignities and honours, in confidence that he will bestow them upon none but such as deserve them. Generally, in these days at least, he does distribute them reasonably; and it will be owned, even by democrats, that no- bility (which is implied by titles) is an in- stitution which fits in skilfully with hu- man weaknesses and instincts, and per- haps even with social necessities. It has generally been independent of forms of government; it exists in every monarchy (except Norway) and in most republics; it preceded and it outlived barbaric times ; honour, which, in its moral sense, was but an invention of the middle ages, came long after it ; and, though nations now profess to base their motives on jus- tice and on duty instead of honour, we may presume that titles will live down these theories in their turn, and will get on just as well with the new springs of action which the futux~ Radical chieftains 6 INTERNATIONAL VANITIES. the former, because they only take effect nations may refuse it without his having within the kingdom of the sovereign who reason to complain. concedes them ; but the latter concern It was essential to begin by this defini- other sovereigns and other nations, who tion of the law (so far at least as there may, if they. think fit, dispute the titles is any law at all) which exists between which neighbouring rulers may assume.~ nations on this question of title-taking, And this right of approbation is all the for without it the position would have more indisputable because it is not limit- been difficult to follow out. But, with ed to mere honorific denominations. It this explanation before our eyes, we extends to a much larger field to the start from a clear ground; we see that, existence of foreign states as well ; for as De Martens says, if, in consequence every power reserves the right of recog- of the natural equality which exists be- nizing or of refusing to recognize another tween sovereign states, each of them can power, even though its material existence attribute to its chief such titles as it may may be so patent as to need no recogni- choose to confer upon him, other states tion even though, as Napoleon said of have the right to recognize those titles, the French Republic when he was nego- or to refuse to recognize them, or to tiating at Campo Formio, ~~it no more recognize them only conditionally. And needs recognition than the sun requires really this precautionary reserve becomes to be recognized. If, then, this latter very comprehensible when we look into right is, as we all well know, and as the the history of sovereign titles, and discov- authors on International Law take care er that it brings out the former vanities of to tell us in imposing phrases, inherent royalty with an unsparingness of precision to every independent government, it fol- which would probably humiliate the living lows that the refusal to recognize the members of the profession if they knew of titles which a foreign sovereign may attn- it. Let us hope that they are less well in- bute to himself is but a subsidiary con- formed than we are, and that they sleep sequence of itbut a result of the high- at night in peace under the soothing in- er right to disavow the sovereignty itself fluence of the conviction that their van- in virtue of which the titles have been as- ous denominations honestly belong to sumed. In principle, as Phillimore ob- them. serves, it is unquestionably competent Now w~can open out the books and to every sovereign to take any title of dig- apply ourselves to the study of the first nity or authority which it may please him principle of the science of royal appel- to adopt or the nation to confer upon lations, which is, of course, to divide him; and yet, as Vattel puts it, as it them solemnly into classes. These would be absurd in a little prince to take classes are, Titles of Dignity, which in- the name of king, and have himse If dude all the designations expressive of called Majesty, foreign nations may re- the monarchical position; Titles of Pos- ject this fancy, and will thereby conform session, which refer to territories and to sound reason and to their duty. And dominions; Titles of Relationship, of in another place he goes on to say, as Religion, and of Courtesy. And even a nation may confer upon her conductor this list, sufficient as it is, is not quite whatever degree of authority and what- complete ; for, subsidiarily, there are ever rights she may think proper, she is titles of incognito, and also the special equally at liberty in regard to the name, per~on~l or descriptive surnames which the title, and the honours with which she have been borne by so many chieftains may choose to decorate him. . . . But from Scipio the African down to the foreign nations are not bound to give present Red Prince of Prussia. way to the will of a sovereign who as- Titles of dignity are easy to compre- sumes a new title, or of a people who bend; they are made up exclusively of call their chief by what name they please. words which indicate a function ; they ap- If this title has in it nothing unreason- ply to any sort of titled situation ,provid- able or contrary to custom, it is alto- ed it be effective, and not simply honor- gether in harmony with the mutual duties ary; they are composed especially of the which bind nations together to grant to formulas by ~vhic~ each country habitually a sovereign or a conductor of a state the describes its headof Emperor, King, same title that is given to him by his and the various other epithets assumed people. But, if this title is contrary to by the chiefs of states. And yet, simple custom, if it implies attributes which do as this first category of royal substantives not belong to him whb affects it, foreign appears to be, it includes so many various TITLES. 7 designations of sovereignty that it would whole history of central Europe for four be difficult to compose an absolutely corn- centuries. But Elector has not enjoyed plete enumeration of all the shapes of the vitality of Kino the seven great rulership that the world has known. Pope Electorates that were created by the has stood first so long that we may put it Golden Bull in 1356, the seven lamps first once more, though it was not until of the Holy Roman Empire which, to the fifth century that it became the par- quote Voltaire once more, was neither ticular attribute of the Bishop of Rome, holy nor Roman have now dwindled who, so far, had been called Summps down to one little shadow of their former Pontifex: it appears to have been attrib- name. The Prince Bishops of Mayence, uted to him by the Concile of Toledo in Tr~ves, and Cologne, the Bavarian Duke, the year 400. Emperor and King are the Chiefs of Saxony, the Palatinate, and both older, especially the latter; but Em- Brandenburg, are represented now, alas, peror naturally heads the catalogue of by the Elector of Hesse Cassel! This is pride, for no other title has stood so high a fall indeed. That the emperor-makers in history, no other sound brings back to of the middle ages should (except the us as that one does the memory of Rome, bishops) have ended by becoming kings of Charlemagne, of Napoleon. And yet themselves, was natural enough in the this very title disappeared in Western times through which they passed; that Europe in 476, and remained unknown these great chieftains who had held he- from that time until the new conqueror reditarily between them the charges of revived it on Christmas-day 8oo. It ex- Arch-Chancellors of Germany, the Gauls, isted meanwhile in Constantinople, it is and Italy of Grand Steward, Grand true ; but that is no argument in the case, Equerry, Arch-Marshal, Arch-Chamber- for the schismatic Eastern Emperor lain, and Arch-Treasurer of the Empire never counted in the Catholic world. should have struggled higher still, ~vas And then we get to King, the universal but a consequence of their nature which King, which has lasted from all time with- was human, though Electoral; but that out even a change beyond that of literal the grand title of Elector, abandoned by translation from one language to another; the warrior-priests and warrior-princes the rank that has been so long-lived that who had bori~e it with savage pride for the Radicals must sometimes ask them- four hundred and fifty years, should be selves with perplexity how they are to picked up, appropriated, and retained by succeed in finally suppressing so tough the Landgrave of Hesse Cassel, is one an institution, and must wish for more of those absurd incongruities of history years like 1870, which proved again the which offend our reason and revolt our truth of Voltaires saying that offensive imagination. We get next to Duke, wars make kings, defensive wars make which ceased to be an independent soy- rebublics. It has indeed been immense- ereign title under Louis XII. in France, ly and persistently employed. Its origi- and disappeared in Germany (except in nator can scarcely have suspected, when Nassau) at the commencement of the he set the first example of it, that he was present century, with Palatine, Margrave, establishing the most durable of human Burgrave, Rhingrave, Wildgrave, and grades, and that, after him, the earth Altgrave. Landgrave alone, of all the old would behold more kings than the stars Teutonic titles, is still kept up by the we see on a frosty night. (Lest the ex- rulers of Hesse Homburg; and it is as actness of this comparison should be dis- well fhatit should be preserved, for it is puted, let it at once be observed that, in the most ancient of all the special Ger- our latitude, only 4200 stars are visible to man names. It was invented so long ago the naked eye, and that there have been as 1130, by Louis, third Count of Thurin- vastly more kings than that.) Hierarchi- gia, who adopted it in order to distinguish cally the next place belongs to Grand himself from the crowd of Counts around Duke, a designation which was first con- him. The idea was evidently admired by ceived at Moscow, but which was acclima- his colleagues; for Thierry, Count of tized in southern Europe in 1569, when Lower Alsace, appropriated the same de- Pius V. bestowed it on Cosmo de Medicis. nomination seven~ears afterwards, and But though Tuscany was the first land to Albert of Hapsburg, Count of Higher own it, Germany only has preserved it, Alsace, followed the example in ix86. the seven Grand Duchies still extant These were the three real Landgraves, being all beyond the Rhine. Then ap- the only ones that were recognized as pears Elector, a name frrll of memories of original by the Empire; all the others pride and strife, a name which tells the were imitations. Margrave was a more 8 INTERNATIONAL VANITIES. modern title ; it was limited to the four rulers of the Marches of Brandenburg, Meissen, Baden, and Moravia. We may take Doge next, with its memories of Genoa and Venice ; and Protector, which Napoleon renewed from Cromwell when he formed the Confederation of the Rhine. Stadtholder and Viceroy wake up very different recollections: one car- ries us to the chilly shores of Holland, the other to the bright skies of Naples, India, and Peru. Voivode, like Palatine, was also a Viceroys title ; but the former was Sciavonic, the latter German. Czar we will look at by itself, and Hospodar is almost the only remaining title which is worth mentioning; for we need not ex- patiate on the Bans of the Eastern Marches, though the name exists still in Croatia. Sultan must be counted as Asiatic, far it was first adopted by Baja- zet; and with it comes the old name Ca- liph, which means substitute, and was originally attributed to the successors of Mahomet; but the Caliphates of Bagdad, Fez, Grenada, Egypt, Morocco, and Tu- nis, have all become successively extinct, and their rights are concentrated in the Sultan of Turkey, who is now sole Ca- liph, and thereby Commander of the Faithful. Of Shahs there is but one, though there are three Khans (Khiva, Khokand, and Boukhara), two Imauns (Yeman and Muscat), two Regents (Tri- poli and Tunis). Bey, or Beg, has now disappeared ; but that it was once a high- er name than Sultan is shown by the fact that it was preferred to the latter by Tho- grul, founder of the dynasty of the Se- leucides. Sheikh belongs particularly to the Governor of Madina, and is otherwise a mere village chieftains name. Pasha is now replaced in Egypt by Khedive. And there we may end the list, though it is very far from being exhausted. It may, however, be as well to allude to Emir, and to add that, striQtly, it is a descrip- tion, not a title: it is the name borne by the descendants of the Prophet, who are found in every class of Arab and Turkish society, particularly amongst the beggars. The peculiarity about their situation is, that to be an Emir because your father was one is considered to be very insuffi- cient evidence of your right to claim the rank; to be so in virtue of your mother is infinitely more conclusive ; but to be so on both sides, is altogether satisfac- tory. The one privilege of Emirs is, that they are the only people who can wear green turbans; and~as the Sultan al- though he is now Caliph is notof the blood of the Prophets, such of his Min- isters as are Ernirs courteously abstain from green in his presence, so as not to remind him of his inferiority. Emir has, however, been sometimes deviated from its true meaning, and has been ap- plied as a material title to l)eople in authority; for instance, Abd-el-Kader took it, though he was but a simple Sheikh. This enumeration of the best known amongst the titles of dignity is, however, of but small interest. That certain names should exist in certain countries as designations of their leader, is a fact which we may regard as historical or geographical or linguistic, according to our fancies : the real essence of the mat- ter is not there; it lies, from the point of view where we are placing ourselves here, in the degree of right which each sov- ereign has to bear and hold the title which he may select. The history of the assumption of new titles is a very large one : it includes a singular variety of ex- tc~nsions, augmentations, adaptations, and usurpations so many, indeed, that they cannot all be counted. History is full of battles which have been fought for titles and though we have grown so careless about them now that we allow monarchs to change their names pretty nearly as they please, the process was not so easy in former times. When Christina of Sweden had herself crowned King (not Queen) no serious objection was made, because the matter was regarded by the powers as local and exceptional ; just as nobody said a word when Madame de Gu6briant was appointed Ambassador of France, when the Countess of Pembroke served as Sheriff of Westmoreland, and when the Shah of Persia sent a feminine negotiator to make peace for him with the Grand Seigneur. But in cases of male nominations to new titles, govern- ment~ used to be less courteous and more exacting. It is only of late years that they have grox~n indifferent, luckily for the five empires and the five kingdoms which have sprung up this century, and which have consequently been received with a bland politeness which showed that they provoked no emotion (with the one exception of the first Napoleon). The last two great king-makings, in i8o6 and i8i~, wer~ effected by the masters of Europe, arid therefore could provoke no hostility ; but the isolated cases of Brazil, of Louis Philippe, of Napoleon III., of Italy and Mexico, were all of the very kind which used to cause bitter op TITLES. 9 position in other days, and yet not a word about titles; it is therefore worth telling was said about them, other than Cer- in some detail. tainly just as you please; we are all The original denominations of the quite content. The same calm silence Muscovite sovereign were Autocrat reigned when the empire of Germany (which was borrowed from the Greek shrivelled into Austria; when the chiefs Emperors), Great Lord, Grand Duke, of Saxony, Wurtemberg, and Bavaria put and Czar. This last designation was an on royal crowns ; when Baden and Hesse old one it was first given to Duke Darmstadt became Grand Duchies. No Wladimir, who died in 1125, and some of one raised a finger then, and it was con- his successors partially retained it ; but, sidered to be quite natural that the Con- all the same, the Russian rulers continued gress of Vienna should confirm those to becalled Grand Dukes till the sixteenth changes, should add Hanover to the list century. In 1547, Ivan II. was crowned of thrones, and Mecklenburg to the as Czar of Moscow, and that title was Duchies, and should bestow the title of retained until, after the conquest of Lit- King of Poland on the Czar. But notwith- tle Russia and Smolensk, they became standing this generous liberality of dis- Czars of All the Russias (Great, Little, position, the plenipotentiaries of Europe New, Black, Red, White, and Southern refused to grant the prayer of that insa- Russias). During the next century they tiable Elector of Hesse Cassel, who, not began to call themselves Imperator, in content with the new Electorate that he the Latin translations of the documents had invented ten years before, came up which they addressed to other powers. again respectfully and said, Please, The Emperor of Germany, Leopold I., gentlemen, do let me he a king too, like was, however, so offended by this assump- my neighbours. At Aix-la-Chapelle, in tion of a title which he considered to be October i8i8, they rejected his pitiful his personal monopoly, that he ~yrote to demand, and, at the same time, they once Peter, in 1687, to declare that he would more proclaimed the right of every power send back all letters containing this most to exercise supervision over the titles of reprehensibly presumptuous audacity. the others. This is how they answered Peter, however, persisted ; and in 1721, that lamentable Elector Les Cabinets after his victory at Pultava over Charles d6clarent que, attendu que la demande de XII., the title of Emperor of all the Rus- S. A. R. lElecteur de Hesse nest justi- sias ~vas officially conferred upon him by fi6e par aucun motif suffisant, il ny a rien the Russian Senate and the Holy Synod. qui puisse les engager ~ y satisfaire. Les Queen Anne of England immediately Cabinets prennent en m~me temps len- recognized the new appellation, and gagement de ne reconnaitre, ~ lavenir, called Peter by the name of Emperor, in aucun changement ni dans les titres des a letter which she wrote to him that year, souverains ni dans ceux des princes de with her excuses for an attack whicl had leurs maisons, sans en ~tre prd~lal5lement been made on the Russian envoy in Len- convenus entre eux. don. Prussia also, of course, acquiesced This example shows that, after all, the in the change, for her own royalty was line really is dra~vn somewhere even now too recent to allow her to make difficul- and that, notwithstanding the degenerat- ties with others. Sweden followed in ed principles of our epoch, it is not yet 1723; Venice in 1726; Denmark in possible for everybody to create himself 1732 ~T~key engaged in 1741 to give a king. But to obtain a clearer idea of the title of Empress to Elizabeth, who the trouble there was in former times to had just become Czarina ; even the Em- get leave to change a title, we must go peroi~ of Germany recognized the Russian back to the establishment of the king- empire in 1744. Finally the Courts of dom of Prussia, and still more, to the as- France and Spain consented, in 1745, sumption of the style of Emperor by the to treat Elizabeth as Empress, on condi- Czar of Russia. When Frederic III. tion of receiving a le/Ire rdversa/e, stipu- appointed himself king, he asked leave lating that the Imperial title should cause privately from the Emperor beforehand, no change in the ceremonial then exist- (how little that Emperor knew what a ing between the two Courts. But when serpent he was warming in his bosom !) Peter III. succeeded to Elizabeth in and consequently got recognized without January 1762, France wrote to him simply much trouble by the other powers. But as Majest6 Czarienne, and claimed an- the Russian story is far more compli- other rdverstzle before she would call him cated: it is the best ex~mple we possess Emperor. A curious correspondence of the contentions which once existed took place between the Russian ambas I0 INTERNATIONAL VANITIES. sador at Versailles and the French Mm- to reject a new title, may also admit it ister of Foreign Affairs, but the Russian with the modifications and conditions Government gave way and granted the which may satisfy it. According to this rdversczle. The same difficulty arose principle, Peter the First and his succes- again six months later when Catherine sors, down to the Empress Elizabeth, took the place of Peter, for France then .have never been known in France other- claimed a third riversale. Catherine was wise than by the name of Czar. That not the woman to stand this sort of princess was the first to whom the king worry; but even she yielded somewhat granted the Imperial title; but on the to the spirit of the time, and authorized express condition that this title should in her Minister Gallitzin to communicate no way prejudice the ceremonial em- the following declaration to all the am- ployed between the two Courts. . . . The bassadors resident at St. Petersburg king, animated by the same sentiments The title of Imperial which Peter the towards the Empress Catherine, does not Great, of glorious memory, took, or hesitate to grant the title of Imperial rather renewed, for himself and his suc- . . . but if any pretension were ever cessors, has long been the property of raised contrary to the usages constantly both the Sovereigns and the Crown and followed as to rank and precedence be- monarchy of All the Russias. Her Im- tween the two Courts, from that moment penal Majesty considers that it would be the Crown of France, by a just recipro- contrary to the stability of this principle city, would resume the former style, and to renew the rdversales which xvere given would cease to give the Imperial title to when this title was first recognized. that of Russia. Charles III. of Spain Conformably with this sentiment, lien put in an analogous counter-declaration Imperial Majesty orders the Minister to at the same moment. and then the matter make this general declaration, that the dropped, after forty-one years of discus- title of Imperial having been once at- sion. tached to the crown and monarchy of We can now go on from titles of Dig- Russia, and perpetuated during several nity to titles of Possession, which com- years and successions, neither she nor prise, as their name indicates, the list of her successors forever can renew the all the states and territories which the rdversales; and, still less, keep up any sovereign may possess, including not correspondence with powers who refuse only his real possessions, but also his to recognize the Imperial title in the per- fictive or usurped ones. The conse- son of the Sovereigns of All the Russias, quence used to be, that monarchs made well as in their crown and monarchy. up such tremendous catalogues of the as And in order that this declaration m~ty lands they governed, and swelled them put an end, once for all, to any difficulties with so many countries that had never in a matter where none ought to exist, hen belonged to them at all, that their full Imperial Majesty, respecting the declara- length enl4meration became intermina- tion of Peter the Great, declares that the ble: in order, therefore to avoid pages title of Imperial shall introduce no of useless ~vniting, the chancelleries cun- chano~e in the ceremonial employed be- the Courts, which shall remain on ningly invented three sorts of titles of tween possession: the Grand Titre, the Moyen its former footing. Moscow, 21st Nov. Titre, and the Petit Titre. When the 1762. The French Court considered King of Sardinia, who was very rich in this declaration to be far too haughty; self-attributed dominions, was described so it put in the following counter declara- in all his detail as King of Cyprus, Si- tion, ~vhich expresses, in singularly clear cily, and Jerusalem; Duke, Prince, Mar- language, the theory then existing : quis, Count, Baron, and Seigneur of for- Titles are nothing by themselves. ty-seven other districts, the table was so They are only real provided they are lengthy that one can understand that it recognized ; and their value depends on was skipped over whenever etiquette al- the idea which is attached to them, and lowed the substitution of a somewhat on the extent which is accorded to them, shorter designation. The King of Naples by those who have the right to admit was in an an~ogou s condition, and he them, to reject them, or to limit them. also claimed to be Sovereign of Jerusa- Sovereigns cannot attribute titles to~ lem, as the English King professed to be themselves by their own choice ; the King of France. In treaties and official consent of their subj~ects does not suffice documents, all these pretended titles that of other powers is necessary; and were resolutely inscribed ; ambassadors every Crown being free to recognize or who were negotiating peace would have TITLES. II rather gone to war again than have con- sented to leave out one single ray of their masters glory: so, as it generally happened that two or more monarchs claimed the same title in the same docu- ment (almost every prince professing to be sovereign of all or part of the domin- ions of every other), it became usual to insert a clause of non prq/udicando, in order to stipulate that, no matter whAt were the titles claimed by anybody, no- body admitted them, and that they were simply left in for ornament and the satis- faction of the claimer. If Ghorrum Shah, the fifth Mogul Emperor of Delhi, had signed a treaty with a European state, and had described himself by his special denomination of Shah Jehan or King of the World which is the largest title of possession yet assumed by any sovereign the other side would have let him do it without asking for a rdversale, but they would have shielded their reserva- tion behind a non prcejudicando. The Titre Moyen, ~vhich grew to be generally used at the end of the eighteenth cen- tury, was made up of sub-dignities, omit- ting nearly all the territorial titles. The Petit Titre simply designates the sover- eign by the short appellation by which he is usually known, and which is al~vays the highest that he owns. Titles of Relationship do not imply family connection between the monarchs who employ them. Other people cannot say son or cousin to anybody but their own or their uncles child ; but sover- eigns use these words in a special mean- ing: they employ them to designate po- litical or religious situations, or to mark equalities or inequalities of rank. All Catholic princes give to the Pope the title of Holy Father, or Venerable Fa- ther, and denominate themselves his de- voted Sons ; in reply he calls them Ca- rissime or Dilectissime in Christo fili. Emperors and Empresses, Kings and Queens, ~vrite to each other as Fr~re and S~ur; reicrnino Grand Dukes, and that irrepressible Elector who lives at Cassel, also enjoy this fraternal privi- lege; but sovereigns who do not possess royal honours are only entitled to be called Cousins. Even Godfather and Godmother have been employed in Ger- many as forms of royal courtesy; they served there a good deal at one time, and not solely as mere formulas of politeness, but as political realities too ; for it was not at all unusual to see a town, particu- larly a Hanse town, included as an ~tre moral amongst the sponsors of a prince: Hamburg and Dantzic were several times God-mamma in this fashion. All this is a very droll shape of vanity, and there is a superb moral to be drawn from it; but there is so much more to say about other elements of the question, that we have no time to idle on the road, and are forced to rush on to the next category without stopping to learn a lesson of philosophy, or to consider what would be the effect in our day if Edinburgh or Southampton were to hold a royal baby at the font. Religious titles include the special ap- pellations of the Pope, and the distinctive adjectives which he has granted to cer- tain European monarchs. His own names have varied from time to time his present denomination of Holiness has been restricted to him only since the fourteenth century, before which period Bishops and then Kings possessed it. Louis le Debonnaire, and Bela, King of Hungary, were both called Your Holi~ ness. The same most inexact descrip- tion was applied to the Arian heretic Theodoric, who was called very pious and very holy, by the local Concile held at Rome in 501 ; and to the pagan Em- perors Valerian and Gallienus, who were styled very holy by St. Denis, Bishop of Alexandria. The Emperors of Con- stantinople, though not recognized in the West, were holy and holiness amongst thei rown people. And, stranger still than all, King Robert of France, the husband of Bertha and Constance, was called by the very name which the Pope bears now Saint Pare When Holi- ness was definitely adopted at Rome, the earlier denominations of Paternity, Beat- itude, Grandeur, and Apostolic Majesty, were all abandoned. The other titles of the Pope are older: in the ninth century he was called Vicar of St. Peter, and in the twelfth century he took his present appellation of Vicar of Jesus Christ. The 4enonination of Servant of the Ser- vants of God was first adopted by Greg- ory the Great. The religious epithets which have been bestowed by the Holy See on favoured kings are all modern. Very Christian belongs to France ; Cath- olic was conferred on Ferdinand for his conquest of the Moors ; Defender of the Faith was confirmed by Act of Parlia- ment (this is vastly comical) after the Pope had ~vithdr& ~rn his gift of it to Henry; Portugal possesses Very Faith- ful; Hungary has Apostolic Majesty; and the Sovereign of Poland was Ortho- dox. The strangest thing about these titles of religion is, not that they should 12 INTERNATIONAL VANITIES. exist at all, but that existing m on- penal Majesty, and Francis Royal Maj- archs, who are so fiercely eager for orna- esty, this being the first occasion on mental names, should not use them. which these two titles appeared face to And yet it is so. The Queen of England face. Francis does not seem, however, and the Emperor of Austria are the only to have cared much about it, if we are to rulers who describe themselves by their judge, at least, by an answer which he religious titles the others simply allow made to a letter which he got from these denominations to be employed Charles, beginning with two entire pages towards them by foreign powers or, of imperial titles his reply commenced, more exactly, that is what Portugal still in studious contrast, by the simple sen- does, and what France, Spain, and Po- tence Francis, King of France, Bour- land used to do when they possessed geois of Paris. But the Majesty of kings. This is the one example which Charles and Francis was not copied exists of voluntary renunciation of an other sovereigns continued to be called honour amongst sovereigns. Highness, Magnitude, Celsitude, or Alti Titles of Courtesy form one of the tude (it should be observed that all these largest branches of the subject. The nouns express dimension); and when reverential salutations of Sire, Majesty, Catherine de Medicis tried to get herself Highness, Monseigneur, are all included made a Majesty, like her father-in-law, in this category. Each of them has a his- the Parliament of Orleans refused to au- tory to itself; each of them has its place thorize it. Henry III. introduced the marked out with scrupulous precision. plural words Their Majesties, on his re- Sire was for a long time synonymous i turn from Poland; and yet, notwithstand- with Seigneur, which itself was not a title in~~ this he was generally called Highness. but only the substantive which desig: Ferdinand and Isabella were simple nated the chieftain of a district; and as, Highnesses; and even Charles V., though in old times, every district had a chieftain Majesty as Emperor, was Serenity as point de terre sans Seigneur, said King of Spain. Philip II. ~vas the first the lawit followed that there were a Majesty in the Peninsula; but the Em- good many Sires and Seigneurs. The peror Maximilian never called him so, memory of some of them has come down and gave him nothing but Serenidad. to us. Who has not beard of the Sire de Sebastian of Portugal imitated Philip a Coucy and his motto? Ni Roi, ni Duc, few years afterwards, and adopted the ni Comte ne suis; je suis le Sire de new name; but his immediate successors Coucy. The Sires de Rohan, de Join- dropped back again to Highness. Henry ville, de Cr~quy, were others who left a VIII. was first called Majesty by Francis name in history. The application of this at the Field of the Cloth.of-Gold; he syllable to sovereigns alone is a very new liked the name and took it home with habit. Majesty is far older; it is indeed him. To his time the Sovereibn of Eng- the most ancient of all the list of cour- land had been Your Highness and Your teous titles, for it was originally assumed Grace. The result of all this ~vas that, as a personal adornment by Diocleti an. by the end of the sixteenth century, the Still it came into use amongst our rulers kings of Europe had crept successively at a relatively recent period, and, in the into Majesty; but though they all first instance, as a religious designation claimed it for themselves, they did not only, as is proved by a letter of the Em- all give it to each other. The Chancery peror Charles IV., who, in 1355, addressed ot th~ Empire was ~ as might have been Cardinal Colombier, Chief of the Sacred expected in the face of such an auda- College, as Your Majesty. But shortly cious invasion of its rights particularly afterwards, the Emperors, who to that obstinate about it, and refused to recog- time had been called Serenity and Grace, nize a Majesty in France till 1648, and in began to entitle themselves Majesty ; and any other Stat& till 1741 ; to that date it Louis XI. of France imitated their exam- xvent on calling all kings Serenities. pie, the King of Naples and the Duke of Even in the preliminaries of peace after Milan being the first foreign princes who the Thirty Years War, when the Em- recognized him by this name. Still it was peror was w~U beaten, he called himself not universally adopted; it was regarded His Sacred E~sarian Majesty, and de- as a new fashion, and it had some diffi- scribed the King of France, his conqueror, culty in making its way. In the treaty of~as simply the Most Serene Christian Cambrai (1529) Charles V. is, however, King. France was more generous than called Majesty at last; and in the treaty j this ; for she conceded Majesty to Den- of Crespy (1544) he is denominated Im- mark in 1700, and to the then newly in- TITLES. 3 vented King of Prussia in 1713. There is perhaps more vanity in this story of the growth of Majesty than in the his- tory of any other of the titles which kings have bestowed upon themselves. Next to Majesty comes Highness, which was originally invented towards the end of the Roman Empire, when Altitudo first appears down to the tenth century, how- ever, it was mainly employed by bishops, who, curiously enough, seem to have made a trial of nearly all the lay titles now in use. Three centuries later it had filtered into Italy, and was absorbed thence into Germany under the guise of Hoheit, and applied to sovereigns who were vassals of the Empire. When kings began to denominate themselves Majesty, Highness descended to princes and to sons and brothers of sovereigns. Philip II. at once appropriated it for his children, who were the first Highnesses in Spain ; indeed Spanish sovereigns seem to have regarded Highness as hav- ing suddenly become their personal prop- erty, as a title which they alone could confer on others for Philip II. offered it in 1590 to the Duke of Mantua, provid- ed the latter would make him a loan of 300,000 crowns; and when Philip V. went to Italy in 1702, hebestowed the rank on the Grand Duke of Tuscany and the Duke of Parma. This investiture did not, however, satisfy everybody, for there was a certain curd of Montferrat who refused to call the Duke of Mantua Alti- tudo, on the ground that the name be- longed to God alone; which argument he proved by quoting from his breviary the phrase, tu solus altissimus. While all this was going on, Gaston dOrleans, brother of Louis XIII., set the example of adding on Royal to Highness; the nephews and the nieces of Louis XIV. did the same ; and, encouraged by these examples, the Prince de Condd called himself Altesse S6r~nissime. The Duke of Vend6me, however, did not dare to do the same, although he was desperately inclined to try. Then Victor Amadeus II. of Savoy, the Grand Duke of Tus- cany, and the Duke of Lorraine, made themselves Royal Highnesses like the others ; and finally, Altesse, by itself, was abandoned by all princes of the blood, and was left to members of collat- eral branches. In 1736, the Duke of Holstein Gottorp became Celsitudo Re- gia, which ~vould be an excellent name for a new plant, but scarcely represents our present notion of a princely title. Since the beginning of ttiis century it has been usual to call all princes of the blood Imperial or Royal Highnesses; and yet, in 1815, Louis XVIII. gave only S6r~nis- sime to the Duke of Orleans: it was not till 1825 that the latter became Altesse Royale. The German Hoheit, although it is accepted as the equivalent of High- ness, has changed its character since i8i8, when the Congress of Aix-la-Cha- pelle decided that Hoheit should become an intermediate title between Altesse Royale and Altesse S6r6nissime. But notwithstanding this elaboration of its sense, Hoheit is invariably accompanied by the elevating adjective Kaiserliche or Kdnigliche when it is applied to princes of imperial or royal blood. The title of Hoheit alone was adopted in 1844 by the reigning princes of the old ducal families of Germany, such as the Saxon Duchies, Anhalt, Nassau, and Brunswick, in con- tradistinction to Durchlaucht, which from that date has become the appellation of the princes who are not issued from an- cient reio~nin g families, and of such sub- b ject princes as may receive the gift of it from their sovereign. The distinction between the two titles is real enough even the dictionaries seem to understand it, for they translate Durchlaucht simply Highness; while Hoheit is said by them to signify Highness, greatness, grandeur, sublimity, majesty, augustness, and eminence, which is a good deal for one word to imply, and for one prince to merit. A third form, Erlaucht, was granted by the Diet, in 1829, to the fam- ilies of the mediatized Counts, in contra- distinction to Serene Highness which it had accorded in 1825 to the fifty media- tized princes. The word Erlaucht has the reputation of being untranslatable; there are, however, people who say that it means Illustriness; perhaps the easiest way of rendering it into English would be to call it Earlship. We.~sh~ld be wrong to laugh too scorn- fully at these refinements of German shades of rank, for there is nowhere in the world a people which has subdivided titles as we English have. We do not think of counting up the forms which we have invented, because they seem quite natural to us from habit; but when we have verified the twenty-seven sorts of denominations which exist in the British peerage withoufincluding our special grades of baronet and knight we shall own, perhaps, that no other land can match our wild extravagance of signs of rank. Our system possesses another pe- culiarity also proper to ourselves alone: INTERNATIONAL VANITIES. 4 our House of Lords is the only senate in After this parenthesis about French the world which is composed exclusively and English titles, we can go back to of hereditary peers. In Spain, Prussia, Prince, which occupies a position by it- Austria, and the other German states, the self. It means first; and the conse- Upper House is made up of three sorts quence of its meaning has naturally been of members some of them are heredi- that there have been princes of all kinds, tary, some sit in virtue of the offices they from the Roman Princes of the Senate, hold, others are nominated by the soy- from the two adopted sons. of Augustus ereign. In Belgium, Holland, and~ Den- C~esar whom he appointed Princes of mark, the Senate is elected like the Lower the young men, from the Prince of the Chamber. Here, perhaps, our system has Apostles and the Princes of the Church, a certain merit ; but our profusion of to the Prince of Door-keepers (Princeps graduated differences of titles is of no apparitorum) who kept the gate of the possible use except to puzzle foreigners. French Parliament. In the early times We have, proportionately, almost as many of the French monarchy the bishops, of them as of family names, in which we dukes, and counts were all called Princes; are notoriously the best-provided people but there were no born princes then, for of the old continent, for in England only in those days relationship gave no rank, we have 40,000 of them, or a rough aver- even to the sons of kings. Under age of one name for every five hundred Charles VI. the title of Prince belonged individuals. We have carried this ador- only to kings and dukes, and to the ing love of variety of names and titles seigneurs of such lands as composed a even into our army, where we have principality. Christine de Pisan, in her created five kinds of rank altoo~ether irre- Cite des Dames, says: En diverses spective of military grades properly so seigneuries sont demeurantes plusieurs called; our army rank may be regimental puissantes dames., ~i comme baronesse (substantive), brevet, local, temporary, or et grand-terriennes, qui pourtant ne sont honorary, and we might almost add rela- appel~es Princesses, lequel nom de Prin- tiveto this absurd list, which no other cesse naffiert ~tre dit que des Emperi- nation can understand. In our navy, at ares, des Roynes, et des Duchesses, si ce all events, rank is rank; there our officers nest aux femmes de ceux qui, ~ cause de are in reality what they say they are. leurs terres, sont appel~s Prince par le The French have five tiers of nobility, like droit nom du lieu. It was only in the ourselves ; but each member of the five fifteenth century, under Charles VII. and categories puts simple Monsieur before Louis XI., that the position and preroga- his name, with no addition of courteous tives of members of the royal family flatteries like Grace, Most Honourable, were determined; it was then that the or Right Honourable with no Lady name Princes of the Blood was first in- Mary, Lord John, or Lady John. Even vented. Henry III. confirmed their before 1789 there were only eight sorts of status by an ordinance in 1576, and Louis nobility in France: I. The King; 2. XIV. defined their powers with precision Noblesse couronnie, which included solely~in his edict of 1711. Loyseau, who wrote the princes of the blood; 3. Noblesse de in the time of Henry IV., confirms the race, or noblesse deiz5~ie, .which was hered- modern date of royal princes when he itaril y transmitted from father to son; says, Il ny a pas longtems que les males 4. Noblesse 5ar leltres, which was con- I issus de nos rois se qualifient Prince en ferred by the king; ~. Noblesse dojJice, ~ertd de leur extraction. In Germany or de robe, which was obtained by ap- none but the members of sovereign pointment to certain judicial offices; houses are called Prinz; subjects who 6. Noblesse de clocker, which grew up in have been raised to princely rank are de- the provinces by holding the post of nominated Fiirst, the latter title being the mayor or eckevin; 7. Noblesse de cozelume, special desio~nation of principalities of which was transmitted by a mother to erection. Thus Prince Bismarck bears her children, even if their father were not upon his cards Fiirst von Bismack, noble ; 8. Noblesse bdlarde. There was Kanzler des Deutschen Reiches. He also a ninth sort, called noblesse deftnance, is not Print in Germany; and it may which was considered unworthy to be be added that~is rank of Fiirst is inferior included in the list, because it was to Duke (Herzog), which comes in be- bought for money. All this has disap- tween the two sorts of Princes. peared now; the noblesse de race alone Monseigneur, which once was copious- continues to existas a purely personal ly employed, is almost forgotten as a possession, unrecognized politically. I royal title; the last lay personage who TITLES. Is bore it was Prince Napoleon: it now Kings frequently assert that they hold belongs exclusively to prelates, who, their crown by the grace of God. since Richelieu adopted it, have ceased Originally this phrase had no connection to be addressed (as they used to be) as with the theory now known as Divine R~v~rendissime Pare en Dieu. On- Right; for the latter is altogether mod- ginally Monseigneur was an attribute of em, while the words in question were the Dauphin; but it was applied as a dis- employed by bishops in the fourth cen- tinctive appellation to nobody but the tury, and by certain monarchs from the Grand Dauphin, son of Louis XLV. tenth century, when some of them de- Padischah can hardly be omitted from the scribed themselves as holding power list, though in its Eastern sense it is by the grace of God and of the Holy rather a title of dignity than of courtesy. Apostolic See. The true meaning of In Europe, however, it became known in the statement was probably to indicate the latter character, as a formula of p0- the subservience of sovereigns to the liteness accorded by the Sultan to the Pope, who was then the generally ac- King of France, and, at a later period, to cepted king-maker. These were the days the Emperors of Austria and Russia. As when Silvester II. raised Hungary to a this has taken us back again to Turkey, kingdom in favour of Saint Stephen, the it will be as well to profit by the oppor- first sovereign of the house of Arpad; tunity and to mention, though it is not when Popes Eugene and Alexander III. quite in place, that Mahomet II. was the confirmed Alfonso in the rank of King of first Turkish monarch who was called by Portugal, which had been offered to him Europeans the Grand-Turk. The Sultan by his army; when Innocent II. invested of Cappadocia was spoken of by Monstre- Roger as King of Sicily. All this shows let as the Little-Turk; but though the distinctly that the grace of the Holy smaller Turk ~vas soon afterward ab- Apostolic See was a reality on earth sorbed by the larger, and though all coin- but it had nothing at all to do with droit parison between them was therefore at an divin, which is a very different insti- end, the superlative denomination con- stution, scarcely a couple of centuries tinued to exist as the property of the old. The Roman emperors never heard ruler of Constantinople. of it ; they held their place from the sol- Excellency, which at present is the diers or the people. Even in the twelfth property of Ministers, of Ambassadors, century, the legists of Bologna admitted and of everybody who goes to Naples, no other source of royalty than the vor formerly belonged to Kings along. Henryj ~o~uli: they said, By the regia law JXT. conferred it for the first time on an which constituted the empire, the people ambassador when he gave it to the Duke has transferred its own power to the de Nevers, his representative at Rome. prince. And yet the idea of a religious It was then generally adopted for foreign source of political authority would seem envoys, but Monarchies at first refused to have assumed a vague uncertain form it to the representatives of Republics, after Pepin set the example,.in 752, of Venice succeeded; however, in obtaining asking for the consecration of the Church. it for her diplomatic agents in 1636, after But the theory of Divine Right, in its much intriguing; and since that date it present sense, is altogether new. It has been universal. It is given, too, in seems, indeed, to have been invented in Germany, to Intimate and Actual Privy England j~i Charles II.s time, by Filmer; Councellors. to Field-Marshals, and to for he was the first to argue that heredi- some other functionaries. I tary monarchy, by order of prirnogeni- Eminence was reserved to Cardinals ture, is the only government in conform- by a Bull of Urban VIII., in 1630; till ity with the will of God that it is a di. that time they had been Most Illustrious vine institution that no contrary right and Most Reverend. The knights of can be invoked against a prince who pos- Malta called their Grand Master Emi- sesses po~ver Dei gratia. Bossuet nence S~r~nissime; the Ecclesiastical took up the idea with enthusiasm, and Electors of Germany were also Emi- I defended it with brilliancy. It was, in- nences. deed, natural that h~ should do so, for it In addition to these distinctive appel- just fitted in with the attitude of homage lations, there is a formula which is em- j which he assumed toward his royal mas- ployed by a good many sovereigns when ter; but even he could not give it dura- speaking of themselves, and which, bility; and it has so died out in our time, though not a title, belongs most evidently that it is almost surprising to see both to the family of royal designations. Guizot and Macaulay take the trouble to i6 INTERNATIONAL VANITIES. seriously attack it. The former defined it with exactness when he said: This is the formula of a power from which the peo- ple must support everything, and which cannot disappear, however mad and in- capable it may be; of a power which pretends to be above all rights, to be im- prescriptible, and which would remain inviolable if all other rights were vio- lated. And yet this power so thorough, so independent of controlhas contrib- uted scarcely anything to royal titles. The details which have been given here of the origin of the present appellations borne by sovereigns, show that those ap- pellations. are, with scarcely an exception, anterior to Divine Right ; indeed, it would almost seem as if monarchs left off invent; ing new denominations for themselves when they woke up to the satisfying no- tion that they were the elect of Heaven. If so, they acted logically; for it would palpably be useless, and perhaps, indeed, irreverent, to continue to add adorning names to rulers whose sceptre has ceased to be bestowed upon them by human hands. So long as kings made them- selves, or so long as their subjects made them, the multiplication of fresh titles was but a natural consequence of the vanity of both. When kings imagined that they were direct delegates from on High, they respectfully suspended fur- ther earthly ornamentings of their office. No~v that they are relapsing to human origin once more, they will perhaps begin again to coin titles for themselves; and the day may come when Royal Highness will fade away and be replaced by Splen- did Brilliancy, inconceivable Superbness, or Extreme Enormity, and when kings will be deferentially addressed as your Stupendousness, your Vast Infinity, or your Supreme Excessiveness. If so, Sire and Majesty will, of course, descend to Dukes, Peers daughters will grow into Serene Princesses, and the lower classes generally will become Baronets. That is what is understood by progress.~~ Sobriquets which indicate a personal peculiarity constitute the last categoryof royal appellations; and really they have a special use in history, inasmuch as they generally transmit to us a tolerably exact idea of the moral or physical peculiarities of the sovereign to whom they were at- tributed. Of course no diplomatic writer who respects either his subject or him- self would condescend to class them amongst royal title~ ; but, in fact, they are infinitely more useful to us, practically, than the more serious appellations which the authors cherish. Children read with curious interest the names which tell them of the lono- hands of Artaxerxes, of the red beards of the Barbarossas, of the long hair of the Norwegian Harol d,of the short legs of Robert Courtecuisse, of the poverty of John Lackland. These details do not fade away they rest solidly in our memory; and humiliating as it may have been for kings to have received de- nominations so utterly unworthy of their grandeur, those names now serve as sign- posts in the history of their period. They remain and will go on remaining no- body will forget them; but the same can- not certainly be said of the other desig- nations which have been mentioned here. All Frenchmen, without exception, know that Henri Quatre was the Roi Vert- Galant, and can tell the reason why; but scarcely any of them are aware that he was the first king of France ~zria 6race de Dieu. This may be annoying to the learned enthusiasts who theorize about titles, but it is true and it is natural. There is nothing else to be added to the list, so far as sovereio-ns are con- cerned. The rough sketch 6f the subject which has been given here indicates the main outlines of the forms which it has assumed; people who are curious about this sort of pride can carry their study into further detail. Here there is no room for more extension about mon- archs ; for, in the short space still avail- able, we have to glance at another huge branch of this wide-spreading tree we have to enumerate some of the chief titles of kings children. Thus far we have looked at the parents only; we must turn our eyes now to the offspring for a moment. The eldest sons of sovereigns present three main categories of titles general, special, or local. The first class includes Pri~e Imperial, which is now borne in Austria, Germany, and Brazil; and Prince Royal, which is used in Bavaria, Greece, Denmark, Saxony, Wurtemberg, and Sweden. The second is or was com- posed of Dauphin and Czarewitch. The third is the most numerous; it com- prises, or has comprised, our Prince of Wales, Prince of Orange, Prince of the Asturias, Duke of Brabant, Don N. of Al- cantara (in P~-tugal), King of the Romans in the old German Empire, King of Rome in the first French Empire, Prince of Pied- mont. Their brothers and sisters are sep- arated in the same three fashions. rhe first division covers Austria, where they are Arch-Duchesses and Arch-Dukes, a TITLES. 17 title created by Frederic III. in 1453 ; vigorous a desire for them. Indeed it Russia, where Grand is substituted for may be urged that sovereigns increase Arch ; Prussia, Denmark, and the smaller the value of new titles in the eyes of their German States, where they simply add faithful subjects by the eagerness with Prince or Princess to their names. The which they claim them for themselves, second class is limited to the Infants of and that they thereby contribute to the Spain and if antiquity be a merit, it maintenance of the entire institution in really is a pity that this title should now an unweakening form. be temporarily suspended, for its a~e is All nations are absolutely alike in this great. Pelage, who lived in xxoo, tells one matter; they unanimously agree that us that before his time the name of In- variousness of rank and of titular dis- fant ~vas known in Aragon; and in a tinctions must be resolutely kept up. charter of 1174. Alfonso of Castile calls Monarchies and republics present no his daughter Infantissa. The third group real difference on the question; for, stretches into various geography and though the former monopolize the use of many dukedoms: it includes York, Clar- royal and noble appellations, the latter in. ence, Cumberland, Sussex, Kent, and contestably possess by far the largest Edinburgh ; Orleans, Montpensier, Ne~ share of general civil titles. We can mours, Chartres, Joinville, Bordeaux, and calculate without any serious effort the Aumale; Oporto, Beja, and Braganza; number of British subjects who possess Genoa, Carignan, and Savoy; Scania, a nobiliary designation; but the mind Dalecarlia, Upland, and Ostrogothland; recoils from the attempt to count up the Calabria and Rota; and, after them, the Honourables, the Generals, the Judges, Countships of Flanders and Hainault, and the Colonels who adorn the United and the Principality of Grand-Para in States. America supplies, indeed, so Brazil. There are a great many more singular an evidence of the effects of the besides, but it is scarcely necessary to love of titles in republics, that we are led recount them all. One addition that is on by it to suspect that radicalism, as perhaps worth making is, that there was soon as it becomes triumphant, will cre- a time when each son of the German ate a new nobility of its own in Europe Emperor was called Most Noble Pur- and to conclude, from that apparent prob- pIe-Born nobilissimus et purpuratus. ability, amongst other reasons, that it This sounds droll, because we are not ac- will really not be worth while to make customed to it; but, in reality, it is not the change, and that we may just as well one atom more absurd than the Royal continue as we are. But the seeming Dilection of three centuries ago, or the certainty that no modification of form of Serene Altitude of to-day. And yet, nu- government will exercise any effect on merous as princes titles are, they are the multiplicity of decorative appellations, nothing compared to those of the sover- renders that multiplicity still more un- eigns, their fathers; for even if we add worthy of our civilization. The thirst for the Hereditary Grand-Dukes and the dignities indicates a state of mind of Hereditary German Princes, and allow which no people have any reason to be largely for the unknown but possible ap- proud, either nationally or individually pellations of the sons of Asiatic poten- and though Transatlantic democrats and tates, and even of those of African and European royalists struggle after them American chiefs, we shall never get near with equal ~ppetite, that fact does not the total of the names which European diminish the childish folly of the longing. monarchs have bestowed upon them- And we cannot argue that our own re- selves. The fountains of honour really sponsibilitv is diminished because our seem to have comprehended honour, as rulers set us the example of running some people are said to understand after gilded toys. It is no justification charity, and to have retained the larger for our own vanity to urge that monarchs part of it for themselves. There is not cover themselves with sounding names; however, the slightest objection to be that we ftnd the same abundance of royal made to this way of dealing with the glo- epithets wherever we turn our eyes ; that ries of the earth, provided the fact be there is not a CourNn the Old World known and recognized. So long as glo- where titles do not exist not a Kino~ in ries are required and in the present Christianity, not a Pacha in Africab or condition of society there is not the Asia, not a naked Chief of negroes, who slightest indication of any diminution of does not call himself by an accumulated their necessity it wouh~ be folly to variety of ornamental denominations. complain because monarchs manifest so I In one land only is there an exception. LiVING AGE. VOL. U. 262 i8 INTERNATIONAL VANITIES. At J4~0 east there is a sovereign who stowed them in much variety on their considers that one description is suffi- subjects; and, indeed, have made up cient to express all his greatness, who amply by their liberality in that direction scorns all other designations as unworthy for their resolute restriction towards of his grandeur, who does not even con- themselves. Like the kings of Europe, descend to l)055C55 a family name. It is the Ten-o is and has never ceased to be but true that this rare monarch has behind (the Taicoon was nothing a Viceroy) him five-and-twenty centuries of h eredi - the fountain of honour to his people it is tary power ; it is true that he i~, in the i he who grants the sixteen degrees of rank eyes of his adoring people, Deity as well of which his nobility is composed. So King. But this extraordinary situation far, he is like any ordinary prince. But would have produced an absolutely con- he preserves his vast advantages over trary effect in Europe. If we had such Western sovereigns in the special faculty a sovereign here, his predecessors would which he alone possesses of conferring have invented new titles for themselves the rank of Dai-djo Dai-djin, which (it is as each century went by, and he would, asserted th-t there is no doubt about it) by this time, be proprietor of a collection used to deify its holder after death. It far surpassing all that the world has seen. will be recognized that no other potentate In Japan alone there exists a master who exercises any power analogous to this has held one unvarying rank since the time and it is easy to understand that Kcemp- of Nebuchadnezzar; who would regard as fer should have declared, in his odd old a degradation any addition to the single book about Japan, that this grade was so quality by which more than a hundred terrifically sacred that the Ten-o always and twenty of his fathers have been kept it for himself. This, however, is an known before him. The ruler of the em- error; the reality is that the Ten-o never pire of the Rising Sun may, however, be stooped to call himself a Dai-djo, because content with his solitary appellation, for that dignity was beneath him, and that it is far away the grandest which imperial the title has been several times be- pride has ever thought of. In old Japan- stowed. It was once more granted, three ese it is Soumela-Mik6to; but when years ago, to Sanjo, the actual prime Chinese characters were introduced into minister. It still remains at an inacces- Japan the Chinese equivalent crept into sible elevation above all other bracles use and the monarch became known as but, sad as it is to own it, it cannot be ten-o, which is the denomination he now denied that it has latterly become com- bears. The meaning of the two words is pletely human, and has lost its former identical that meaning is Heaven- remarkable privilege of god-making. Highest, and that is the one title of the It is certainly unsatisfactory to dis- sovereign of Japan. No one will deny cover, at the two ends of history, that that it surpasses all our vain attempts at Xerxes and the Ten-o offer indisputable glory, and that King, Prince, and Em- examples of voluntary abstention from peror are poor indeed by the side of this titular satisfactions ; while we Britons, superb invention. Mikado is not a title, like all other highly civilized populations, though we use it as if it ~vere ; it signifies have spent the last thousand years in in- Royal Gate, and ~s merely a descriptive venting, replacing, and renewing our indication, just like Sublime Porte, of royal adjectives and substantives. We which, singularly enough, it is a far~. hive a fond conviction that we offer an ex- Eastern repetition. In the mass of roy-. ample to the world; and so perhaps we alty, the Ten-o stands alone; alone he should, if the world consisted of nothing supplies to us the strange example of a else but docks, cheap carpets, coal, green rank which is itself and nothing else. fields and fair complexions ; but in this No other similar case exists ; and cer- particular element of royal titles, we tainly the value of our own miserably re- ought to frankly own that we are not a cent variegated grades and names shrinks model for other people; that Japan is far wofully when we see that the oldest, long-, more worth copying than we are ; and est, and sole unbroken line of kings that we ought to hope that, in her present which history has knowna line which eagerness ~o Europeanize herself, she began in 6co nc. has never changed will be ~vise enough to make an exception its title. But though the successive re- in this one detail, and th t her sovereign presentatives of this truly royal race will continue to afford to us this specta- have steadily i.~pudiated all additional cle of a ruler of thirty adoring millions dignities for themselves, they have be- who is simply Heaven-Highest. FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. From The Corr.hill Magazine. FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. CHAPTER IX. THE HOMESTEAD: A VISITOR: HALF- CONFIDENCES. BT daylight, the bower of Oaks new- found mistress, Bathsheba Everdene, presented itself as a hoary building, o~ the Jacobean stage of Classic Renais- sance as regards its architecture, and of a l)roportion which told at a glance that, as is so frequently the case, it had once been the manorial hall upon a small es- tate around it, now altogether effaced as a distinct property, and merged in the vast tract of a non-resident landlord, which comprised several such modest demesnes. Fluted pilasters, worked from the solid stone, decorated its front, and above the roof pairs of chimneys were here and there linked by an arch, some gables and other unmanageable features still retain- ing traces of their Gothic extraction. Soft brown mosses, like faded velveteen, formed cushions upon the stone tiling, and tufts of the house-leek or sengreen sprouted from the eaves of the low sur- rounding buildings. A gravel walk lead- ino~ from the door to the road in front was encrusted at the sides with more moss here it was a silver-green varietythe nut-brown of the gravel being visible to the width of only a foot or two in the cen- tre. This circumstance, and the gener- ally sleepy air of the whole prospect here, together with the animated and contrast- ing state of the reverse faqade, suggested to the imagination that on the adaptation of the building for farming purposes the vital principle of the house had turned round inside its body to face the other way. Reversals of this kind, strange de- formities, tremendous paralyses, are otten seen to be inflicted by trade upon edifices either individual or in the aggregate as streets and towns which were originally planned for pleasure alone. Lively voices were heard this morning in the upper rooms, the main staircase to which was of hard oak, the balusters, heavy as bed-posts, being turned and moulded in the quaint fashion of their ccntury, the handrail as stout as a para- pet-top, and the stairs themselves contin- ually twisting round like a person trying to look over his shoulder. Going up, we find the floors above to have a very irreg- ular surface, rising to ridges, sinkin~ into valleys, and being at present uncarpeted, the face of the boards is shown to be 9 e-tten into innumerable vermiculations. Every window replies by a clang to the opening and shutting of every door, a tremble follows every bustling movement, and a creak accompanies a walker about the house, like a spirit, wherever he goes. In the room from which the conversa- tion proceeded, Bathsheba and her ser- vant companion, Liddy Smallbury, were to be discovered sitting upon the floor, and sorting a complication of l)apers, books, bottles, and rubbish spread out thereon remnants from the household stores of the late occupier. Liddy, the maltsters great-granddaughter, was about Bathshebas equal in age, and her face was a prominent advertisement of the light-hearted English country-girl. The beauty her features might have lacked in form was amply made up for by perfec- tion of hue, which at this winter time was the softened ruddiness on a surface of high rotundity that we meet with in a or a Gerard Douw, and like the presentations of those great colourists, it was a face which always kept on the nat- ural side of the boundary between come- liness and the ideal. Though elastic in bearing, she ~vas less daring than Bath- sheba, and occasionallk showed some earnestness, which consisted half of gen- uine feeling, and half of factitious man- nerliness superadded by way of duty. Through a partly-opened door, the noise of a scrubbing-brush led up to the charwoman, Maryann Money, a person who for a face had a circular disc, fur- rowed less by age than by long gazes of perplexity at distant objects. To think of her was to get good-humoured; to speak of her was to raise the image of a dried Normandy-pippin. Stop your scrubbing a moment, said Bathsheba through the door to her. J hear something. Maryann suspended the brush. The t?~ani~ of a horse was apparent, ap- proaching the front of the building. The paces slackened, turned in at the wicket, and, what was most unusual, came up the mossy path close to the door. The door was tapped with the end of a whip or stick. What impertinence ! said Liddy in a low voice. To ride up the footpath like that Why did~t he stop at the gate ? Lord tis a gentleman I see the top of his hat. Be quiet said Bathsheba. The further expression of Liddys con- cern was continued by exhibition instead of relation. 20 FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. Why doesnt Mrs. Coggan go to the door? Bathsheba continued. Rat-tat-tat-tat, resounded more deci- sively from Bathshebas oak. Marva nn, you go ! said she, flutter- ing under the onset of a crowd of roman- tic possibilities. Oh, maam see, heres a mess The argument was unanswerable after a glance at Maryann. Liddyyou must, said Bathsheba. Liddy held up her hands and arms, coated with dust from the rubbish they were sorting, and looked imploringly at her mistress. There Mrs. Coggan is going! said Bathsheba, exhaling her relief in the form of a long breath, which had lain in her bosom a minute or more. The door opened, and a deep voice said Is Miss Everdene at home? ~ Ill see, sir, said Mrs. Coggan, and in a minute appeared in the room. Dear, dear, what a universe this world is! continued Mrs. Coggan (a wholesome-looking lady who had a voice for each class of remark according to the emotion involved: who could toss a pan- cake or twirl a iiiop with the accuracy of pure mathematics, and who appeared at this moment with hands shaggy with fragments of dough and arms encrusted with flour). I am never up to my elbows, Miss, in making a pudding hut one of two things happens either my nose must needs begin tickling, and I cant live without scratching it, or some- body knocks at the door. Heres Mr. Boldwood wanting to see you, Miss Ever- dene. A womans dress being a part of her countenance, and any disorder in the one bein~ of the sa~~e nature with a mal- formation or wound in the other, Bath- sheba said at once I cant see him in this state. What- ever shall I do ? ~ Not-at-homes were hardly naturalized in Weatherbury farm-houses, so Liddy suo~ested Say youre a fright with dust, and cant come down.~~ Yes that sounds very well, said Mrs. Coggan, critically. Say I cant see him that will do. Mrs. Coggan went downstairs and re- turned the answer as requested, adding however, on her own responsibility, Miss is dusting bottles, sir, and is quite a object thats why tis. Oh, very we~ll, said the deep voice. indifferently. All I wanted to ask was if anything had been heard of Fanny Robin ? Nothing, sirbut we may know to- night. William Smallbury is gone to Casterbridge, where her young man lives, as is supposed, and the other men be in- quiring about everywhere. The horses tramp then recommenced and retreated, and the door closed. Who is Mr. Boldwood? said Bath- sheba. A gentleman-farmer at Lower Weath- erbury. Married ? No, Miss. How old is he ? Forty, 1 should say very hand- some rather stern-looking and rich. What a bother this dusting is ! I am always in some unfortunate plight or other, Bathsheba said, complai ningly. Why should he inquire about Fanny? Oh, because, as she had no friends in her childhood, he took h~r and put her to school, and got her her place here under your uncle. Hes a very kind man that way, but Lord there! What? Never was such a hopeless man for a woman ! Hes been courted by sixes and sevens all the girls, gentle and simple, for miles round, have tried him. Jane Perkins worked at him for two months like a slave, and the two Miss Taylors spent a year upon him, and he cost Farmer Ivess daughter nights of tears and twenty pounds-worth of new clothes; but Lord the money might as well have been thrown out of the window.~~ A little boy came up at this moment and looked in upon them. This child was one of the Coggans (Smallburys and Coggans were as common among the families of this district as the Avons and Derwents among our rivers), and he arways had a loosened tooth or a cut finger to show to particular friends, which he did with a complacent air of being thereby elevated above the com- mon herd of afflictionless humanity to which exhibition people were expected to say, Poor child! with a dash of con- (xratulation as well as pity. b Ive got a pen~ne~!~~ said Master Co~gan mn~ scanning measure. Well who gave it you, Teddy ? said Liddy. Mis-terr Bold-wood ! He gave it to me for opening the gate. What did he say? He said, Where are you going, my FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. 21 little man? and I said. To Miss Ever- denes, please ; and he said, She is a staid woman, isnt she, my little man and I said, Yes. You naughty child! What did you say that for? Cause he gave me the penny! What a pucker everything is in! said Bathsheba discontentedly, when the child had gone. Get away, Maryann, or go on with your scrubbing, or do some- thing! You ought to be married by this time, and not here troubling me. Ay, mistress so I did. But what between the poor men I wont have, and the rich men who wont have me, I stand forlorn as a pelican in the wilderness. Ah, poor soul of me! Did anybody ever want to marry you, miss ? Liddv ventured to ask when they were again alone. Lots of em, I dare- say? Bathsheba paused as if about to refuse a reply, but the temptation to say yes, since it really was in her power, was irre- sistible by aspiring virginity, in spite of her spleen at having been published as old. A man wanted to once, she said, in a highly experienced tone, and the image of Gabriel Oak, as the farmer, rose be- fore her. How nice it must seem ! said Liddy, with the fixed features of mental realiza- tion. And you wouldnt have him? He wasnt quite good enough for me. How sweet to be able to disdain, when most of us are glad to say Thank you ! I seem I hear it. No, sir Im your better, or Kiss my foot, sir ; my face is for mouths of consequence. And did you love him, miss? Oh, no. But I rather liked him. Do you now? Of course not what footsteps are those I hear ? Liddy looked from a back window into the courtyard behind, which was now get- ting low-toned and dim with the earliest films of night. A crooked file of men was approaching the back door. The whole string of trailing individuals ad- vanced in the completest balance of in- tention, like the remarkable creatures known as Chain Salp~, which, distinctly organized in other respects, have one will common to a whole family. Some were, as usual, in snow-white smock-frocks of Russia duck, and some in whitey-brown ones of drabbet marked on the wrists, breasts~ backs, and sleeve~s with honey- comb-work. Two or three women in pat- tens brought up the rear. The Philistines are upon us, said Liddy, making her nose white against the glass. Oh, very well. Maryann ,go down and keep them in the kitchen till I am dressed, and then show them in to me in the hall. CHAPTER X. MISTRESS AND MEN. HALF-AN-HOUR later Bathsheba, in fin- ished dress, and followed by Liddy, en- tered the upper end of the old hall to find that her men had all deposited themselves on a long form and a settle at the lower extremity. She sat down at a table and opened the time-book, pen in her hand, and a canvas money-bag beside her. From this she poured a small heap of coin. Liddy took up her position at her elbow and began to sew, sometimes paus- ing and looking round, or, with the air of a privileged person, taking up one of the half sovereigns lying before her, and ad~ miringly surveying it as a work of art merely, strictly preventing her counte- nance from expressing any wish to pos- sess it as money. Now, before I begin, men,- said Bath- sheba, I have two matters to speak of. The first is that the bailiff is dismissed for thieving, and that I have formed a resolution to have no bailiff at all, but to manage everything with my own head and hands. The men breathed an audible breath of amazement. The next matter is, have you heard anything of Fanny? Have you done anything? I met Farmer Boldwood, said Jacob Smallbury, and I went with him and two of his rnen,~nd dragged Wood Pond, but we found nothing. And the new shepherd have been to Bucks Head, thinking she had gone there, but nobody had seen her, said Laban Tall. Hasnt William Smailbury been to Casterbridge? Yes, ,maam, but hes not yet come home. He promised to be back by six. It wants a quarte~h to six at present, said Bathsheba, looking at her watch. I daresay hell be in directly. Well, now then she looked~ into the book Joseph Poorgrass, are you there? 22 FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. Yes, sir maam I mane, said the person addressed. I am the personal name of Poorgrass a small matter who is nothing in his own eye. Perhaps it is different in the eye of other people but I dont say it; though public thought will out. What do you do on the farm? I does carting things all the year, and in seed time I shoots the rooks and spar- rows, and helps at pig-killing, sir. How much to you ? Please nine and ninepence and a good halfpenny where twas a bad one, sir maam I mane. Quite correct. Now here are ten shillings in addition as a small present, as I am a new comer. Bathsheba blushed slightly as she spoke at the sense of being generous in public, and Henery Fray, who had drawn up towards her chair, lifted his eyebrows and finbers to express amazement on a small scale. How much do I owe you that man in the corner whats your name? con- tinued Bathsheba. Matthew Moon, maam, said a singu- lar framework of clothes with nothing of any consequence inside them, which ad- vanced with the toes in no definite direc- tion forwards, but turned in or out as they chanced to swing. Matthew Mark, did you say ? speak out I shall not hurt you, enquired the young farmer, kindly. Matthew Moon, mem, said Henery Fray, correctingly from behind her chair, to which point he had edged himself. Matthew Moon, murmured Bath- sheba, turning her bright eyes to the book. Ten and two-pence halfpenny is the sum put down to you, I see? Yes, misess, said Matthew, as the rustle of wind among dead leaves. Here it is, and ten shillings. Now the next Andrew Candle, you are a new man, I hear. How came you to leave your last farm ? p- p- p- pl- p1- p1- p1- 1-1-1- 1- ease, maam, p-p-p-p-pl-pl-pl-pl-please maam- pleasem-please m As a stammering man, mem, said Henery Fray in an under tone, and they turned him away because the only time he ever did speak plain he said his soul was his own, and other iniquities, to the squire. A can cuss, mem, as well as you or I, but a cant speak a common speech to save his life. Andrew Candje, heres yours finish thanking me in a day or two. Temper- ance Miller oh, heres another, Sober- ness, both women I suppose? Yesm. Here we be, a blieve, was echoed in shrill unison. What have you been doing? Tendino thrashing-machine, and wimbling haybonds, and saying Hoosh! to the cocks and hens when they go upon your seeds, and planting Early Flourballs and Thompsons Wonderfuls with a dibble. Yes I see. Are they satisfactory women? she enquired softly of Henery Fray. 0, mem dont ask me Yielding womenas scarlet a pair as ever was ! groaned Henery under his breath. Sit down. Who, mem? Sit down! Joseph Poorgrass, in the background, twitched, and his lips became dry with fear of some terrible consequences as he saw Bathsheba summarily speaking, and Henery slinking off to a corner. Now the next. Laban Tall. Youll stay on working for me? For you or anybody that pays me well, maam, replied the young married man. True the man must live! said a woman in the hack quarter, who had just entered with clicking pattens. What woman is that? Bathsheba asked. I be his lawful wife! continued the voice with greater prominence of manner and tone. This lady called herself five- and-twenty, looked thirty, passed as thirty-five, and ~vas forty. She was a woman who never, like some newly mar- ried, showed conjugal tenderness in pub- lic, perhaps because she had none to show. Oh, you are, said Bathsheba. Well, Laban, will you stay on? -. AiYes, hell stay, maam! said again the shrill tongue of Labans lawful wife. Well, he can speak for himself, I suppose? 0 Lord no, maam. A simple tool. Well enough, but a poor gawkhammer mortal, the wife replied. Heh-heh-heh ! laughed the married ~man with a hideous effort of appreciation, for he was as irrepressibly good-hu- moured und7~r ghastly snubs as a parlia- mentary candidate on the hustings. The names remaining were called in the same manner. Now I think I have done whh you, said Bathsheba, closing the book and FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. 23 shaking back a stray twine of hair. Has William Smalibtiry returned? No, maam. The new shepherd will want a man under him, suggested Henery Fray, try- ing to make himself official again by a sidexvay approach towards her chair. Oh he will. Who can he have? Young Cain Ball is a very good lad, Henery said, and Shepherd Oak dont mind his youth? he added, turning with an a smile to the shepherd, who had just appeared on the scene, and was now leaning against the doorpost with his arms folded. 0, 1 dont mind that, said Gabriel. How did Cain come by such a maine? asked Bathsheba. 0 you see, mem, his pore mother, not being a Scripture-read woman, made a mistake at his christening, thinking twas Abel killed Cain, and called en Cain, meaning Abel all the time. She didnt find it out till twas too late, and the chiel was handed back to his godmother. Tis very unfortunate for the boy. It is rather unfortunate. Yes. However, we soften it down as much as we can, and call him Cainy. Ah, pore widow-woman she cried her heart out about it almost. She was brought up by a very heathen father and mother who never sent her to church or school, and it shows how the sins of the parents are visited upon the children, mem. Mr. Fray here drew up his features to the mild degree of melancholy required when the persons involved in the given misfortune do not belong to your own family. Very well, then, Cainy Ball to be under shepherd. And you quite under- stand your duties ? you I mean, Ga- briel Oak. Ouite well I thank you, Miss Ever- dene, said Shepherd Oak from the door- post. If I dont Ill enquire. Gabriel was rather staggered by the remarkable coolness of her manner. Certainly no- body without previous information would ever have dreamt that Oak and the hand- some woman before whom he stood had ever been other than strangers. But per- haps her air was the inevitable result of the social rise which had advanced her from a cottage to a large house and fields. The case is not unexampled in high places. When, in the writings of the later poets, Jove and his family are found to have moved from their cramped quar- ters on the peak of Olympus into the wide sky above it, thefr words show a proportionate increase of arrogance and reserve. Footsteps were heard in the passage, combining in their character the qualities both of weight and measure, rather at the expense of velocity. (All.) Heres Billy Smallbury come from Casterbridge. And whats the news ? said Bath- sheba, as William, after marching to the middle of the hall, took a handkerchief from his hat and wiped his forehead from its centre to its remoter boundaries. I should have been sooner, Miss, he said, if it hadnt been for the weather. He then stamped with each foot severely, and on looking down his boots were per- ceived to be clogged with snow. Come at last, is it? said Henery. Well, what about Fanny? said Bathsheba. Well, ma~ am, in round numbers, shes run away with the soldiers, said William. No ; not a steady girl like Fanny Ill tell ye all particulars. When I got to Casterbridge Barracks, they said, The iith Dragoon-Guards be gone away, and new troops have come. The Eleventh left last week for Melchester. The Route came from Government like a thief in the night, as is his nature to, and afore the Eleventh knew it almost, they were on the march. Gabriel had listened with interest. I saw them go, he said. Yes, continued William, they pranced down the street playing The Girl I Left Behind Me, so tis said, in glorious notes of triumph. Every looker- ons inside shook with the blows of the great drum to his deepest vitals, and there was not a dry eye throughout the town among the public-house people and the nameless women ! But theyre not gone to any war? No, maam; but they be done to take the places of them who may, which is very Jlos~ connected. And so I said to myself, Fannys young man was one of the regiment, and shes gone after him. There, maam, thats it in black and white. Did you find out his name? No; nobody knew it. I believe he was higher in rank than a private. Gabriel remained musing and said nothing, for he wa~in doubt. Well, we are not likely to know more to-night, at any rate, said Bathsheba. But one of you had better run across to Farmer Boldwoods and tell him that much. 24 FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. She then rose; but before retiring, ad- dressed a few words to them with a pret- ty dignity, to which her mourning dress added a soberness that was hardly to be found in the words themselves. Now mind, you have a mistress in- stead of a master. I dont yet know my powers or my talents in farming; but I shall do my best, and if you serve me well, so shall I serve you. Dont any un- fair ones among you (if there are any such, but I hope not) suppose that be- cause Im a woman I dont understand the difference between bad goings-on and good. (All.) Nom (Lyddy.) Excellent well said. I shall be up before you are awake; I shall be afield before you are up; and I shall have breakfasted before you are afield. In short I shall astonish you all. (All.) Yesm And so good-night. (All.) Goodnight, ma~ ~ Then this small thesmothete stepped from the table, and surged out of the hall, her black silk dress licking up a few straws and dragging them along with a scratching noise upon the floor. Liddy, elevating her feelings to the occasion from a sense of grandeur, floated off be- hind Bathsheba with a milder dignity not entirely free from travesty, and the door was closed. CHAPTER XI. MELCHESTER MOOR: SNOW: A MEETING. FOR dreariness, nothing could surpass a prospect in the outskirts of the city of Melchester, at a later hour on this same snowy evening if that may be called a prospect of which the chief constituent was darkness. It was a night when sorrow may come to the brightest without causing any great sense of incongruity: when, xvith impressible persons, love becomes solici- tousness, hope sinks to misgiving, and faith to hope: when the exercise of mem- ory does not stir feelings of regret at opportunities for ambition that have been passed by, and anticipation does not prompt to enterprise. The scene was a public path, bordered on the left hand by a river, behind which rose a high wall. On the right was a tract of land, partly meadow and partly moor, reaching, at its remote verge, to a wide undulating heath. The changes of the seasons are less obtrusive on spots of this kind than amid woodland scenery. Still, to a close observer, they are just as percep- tible ; the difference is that their media of manifestation are less trite and famil- iar than such well-known ones as the bursting of the buds or the fall of the leaf. Many ~re not so stealthy and grad- ual as we may be apt to imagine in con- sidering the general torpidity of a moor or heath. Winter, in coming to the place under notice, advanced in some such well- marked stages as the following: The retreat of the snakes. The transformation of the ferns. The filling of the pools. A rising of fogs. The embrowning by frost. The collapse of the fungi. An obliteration by snow. This climax of the series had been reached to-night on Melchester Moor, and for the first time in the season its irregularities were forms without features ; sugge~tive of anything, proclaiming nothing, and without more character than that of being the limit of something else the lowest layer of a firmament of snow. From this chaotic sky-full of crowding flakes the heath and moor momentarily received ad- ditional clothing, only to appear momen- tarily more naked thereby. The vast dome of cloud above was strangely low, and formed as it were the roof of a large dark cavern, gradually sinking in upon its floor; for the instinctive thought was that the snow lining the heavens and that encrusting the earth would soon unite into one mass without any intervening stratum of air at all. We turn our attention to the left-hand characteristics. They were flatness as regards the river, verticality as regards the wall behind it, and darkness as re- gards both. These features made up the mass. If anything could be darker than the sky, it was the wall ; if anything could be gloomier than the wall, it was the river beneath. The indistinct summit of the faade was notched and pron~ed by chim- neys here and there, and upon its face were faintly signified the oblong shapes of windows, though only in the upper part. Below, down to the waters edge, the flat was unbroken by hole or projec- tion. An indescr~able succession of dull blows, perplexing in their regularity, sent their sound with difficulty through the fluffy atmosphere. It was a neighbouring clock striking ten. The bell was in the open air, and being overlaid with several FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. 25 inches of muffling snow, had lost its voice assignations and communications had for the time. probably been made across the river be- About this hour the snow abated: ten fore to-night. flakes fell where twenty had fallen, then Is it Sergeant Troy ? said the one had the room of ten. Not long after blurred spot in the snow, tremulously. a form moved by the brink of the river. By its outline upon the colourless back- ground. a close observer might have seen that it was small. This was all that was positively discoverable. Human it seemed. The shape xvent slowly along, but with- out much exertion, for the snow, though sudden, was not as yet more than two inches deep. At this time some words were spoken aloud : One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Between each utterance the little shape advanced about half a dozen yards. It was evident now that the windows high in the wall were being counted. The word Five represented the fifth win- dow from the end of the wall. Here the spot stopped, and dwindled small. The figure was stooping. Then a morsel of snow flew across the river towards the fifth window. It smacked against the wall at a point several yards from its mark. The throw was the idea of a man conjoined with the execution of a woman. No man who had ever seen bird, rabbit, or squirrel in his childhood, could possibly have thrown with such utter imbecility as was shown here. Another attempt, and another; till by degrees the wall must have become pim- pled with the adhering lumps of snow. At last a piece struck the fifth window. The river would have been seen by day to be of that deep smooth sort which races middle and sides with the same gliding precision, any irregularities of speed being immediately corrected by a small whirlpool. Nothing ~vas heard in reply to the signal but the gurgle and cluck of one of these invisible wheels together with a few small sounds which a sad man would have called moans, and a happy man laughter caused by the flap- ping of the waters against trifling objects in other parts of the stream. The window was struck again in the same manner. Then a noise was heard, apparently produced by the opening of the window. This was followed by a voice from the same quarter. Whos there ? The tones were masculine, but not those of surprise. The high wall being that of a barrack, anc~ marriage being looked upon with disfavour in the army, This person was so much like a mere shade upon the earth, and the other speaker so much a part of the, building, that one would have paid the wall was holding converse with the snow. Yes, came suspiciously from the shadow. What girl are you? 0, Frank dont you know me said the spot. Your wife, Fanny Robin. Fanny! .said the wall, in utter as- tonishment. Yes, said the girl, with a half-sup- pressed gasp of emotion. There was a tone in the woman which is not that of the wife, and there was a manner in the man which is rarely a hus- bands. The dialogue went on. How did you come here ? I asked which was your window. For- crive met b ~ did not expect you to-night. In- deed, I did not think you would come at all. It was a wonder you found me here. I am orderly to-morrow. Ydu said I was to dome. Well I said that you might. Yes, I mean that I might. You are glad to see me, Frank?~ 0 yes of course. Can you come, to me! My dear Fan, no! The bugle has sounded, the barrack gates are closed, and I have no leave. We are all of us as good as in Melchester Gaol till to-mor- row morning. Then I shant see you till then! The words were in a faltering tone of disappointment. How did you get here from Weather- bury ? I walked some part of the way the rest by the carrier. I am surprised. Yes -~ so am I. And, Frank, when will it be ? What? That you promised. I dont quite recollect. 0. you do! Dont speak like that. It weighs me to the earth. It makes me say what ought to ~ said first by you. Never mind say it. 0, must I ?it is, when shall we be married, Frank? 0, I see. Wellyou have to get proper clothes. 26 FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. I have money. Will it be by banns or license ? Banns, I should think. And we live in two parishes. Dowe? Whatthen? My lodgings are in St. Marys, and this is not. So they will have to be pub- lished in both. Is that the law? Yes. 0, Frank you think the for- ward, I am afraid! Dont, dear Frank will you for I love you so. And you said lots of times you would marry me, andandIII ___ Dont cry, now ! It is foolish. If I said so, of course I will. And shah I put up the banns in my parish, and will you in yours? Yes. To-morrow? Not to-morrow. Well settle in a few days. You have the permission of the offi- cers? Nonotyet. 0 how is it? You said you almost had before you left Casterbridge. The fact is, I forgot to ask. Your coming like this is so sudden and unex- pected. Yes yes it is. It was wrbng of me to worry you. Ill go away now. Will you come and see me to-morrow, at Mrs. Twillss, in North Street? I dont like to come to the Barracks. There are bad women about, and they think me one. Quite so. Ill come to you, my dear. Good night. Good night, Frank good night ! And the noise was again heard of a window closing. The little spot moved away. When she passed the corner, a subdued exclamation was heard inside the wall. Ho ho Sergeant ho ho! An expostulation followed, but it was in- distinct; and it became lost amid a low peal of laughter, which was hardly dis- tinguishable from the gurgle of the tiny whirlpools outside. CHAPTER XII. FARMERS: A RULE: AN EXCEPTION. THE first public evidence of Bath- shebas decision to be a farmer in her own person and by proxy no more was her appearance the following market -day in the corn-market at Casterbridge. The low though extensive hall, sup- ported by Tuscan pillars, and latterly dignified by the name of Corn-Exchange, was thronged with hot men who talked among each other in twos and threes, the speaker of the minute looking sideways into his auditors face and concentrating his argument by a contraction of one eyelid during delivery. The greater number carried in their hands ground-ash saplings, using them partly as walking- sticks and partly for poking up pigs, sheep, neighbours with their backs turned, and restful things in general, which seemed to require such treatment in the course of their peregrinations. During conversations each subjected his sapling to great varieties of usage bending it round his back, forming an arch of it between his two hands, over- weighting it on the ground till it reached nearly a semi-circle ; or perhaps it was hastily tucked under the arm whilst the sample-bag was pulled forth and a handful of corn poured into the palm, which, after criticism, was flung upon the floor, an issue of events perfectly well known to half a dozen acute town-bred fowls which had as usual crept into the build- ing unobserved, and waited the fulfil- ment of their anticipations with a high- stretched neck and oblique eye. Among these heavy yeomen a feminine figure glided, the single one of her sex that the room contained. She was pret- tily and even daintily dressed. She moved between them as a chaise between carts, was heard after them as a romancc after sermons, was felt among them like a breeze among furnaces. It had re- quired a little determination far more than she had at first imagined to take up a position here, for at her first entry the lumbering dialogues had ceased, nearly every face had been turned towards her, and those that were already turned rigidly fixed there. Two or three only of the farmers were ~er~nally known to Bathsheba, and to these she had made her way. But if she was to be the practical woman she had intended to show herself, business must be carried on, introductions or none, and she ultimately acquired confidence enough to speak and reply boldly to men merely known to her by hearsay. Bathsheba too had her sample~bags, and by degrees adopted the, professional pour into the hand hold~hg up the grains in her nar- row palm for inspection, in perfect Cas-~ terbridge manner. Something in the exact arch of her upper unbroken row of teeth, and in the keenly pointed corne-rs of her red mouth FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. 27 when, with parted lips, she somewhat de- fiantly turned up her face to argue a point with a tall man, suggested that there was depth enough in that lithe slip of humanity for alarming potentialities of exploit, and daring enough to carry them out. But her eyes had a softness in- variably a softness which, had they not been dark, would have seemed mistiness as they were, it lowered an expres~ion that might have been piercing to simple clearness. Strange to say of a female in full blo6m and vigour, she always allowed her inter- locutors to finish their statements before rejoining with hers. In arguing on prices, she held to her own firmly, as was natural in a dealer, and reduced theirs persistently, as was inevitable in a woman. But there xvas an elasticity in her firm- ness which removed it from obstinacy, as there was a nafvet~ in her cheapening which saved it from meanness. Those of the farmers with whom she had no dealings (by far the greater part) were continually asking each other Who is she ? The reply would be Farmer Everdenes niece; took on Weatherbury Upper Farm; turned away the baily, and swears shell do everything herself. The other man would then shake his head. Yes, tis a pity shes so headstrong, the first would say. But we ought to be proud of her hereshe lightens up the old place. Tis such a shapely maid, however, that shell soon get picked up. It would be ungallant to suggest that the novelty of her engagement in such an occupation had almost as much to do with the magnetism as had the beauty of her face and movements. However, the in- terest was general, and this Saturdays ddbz~t in the forum, whatever it may have been to Bathsheba as the buying and selling farmer, was unquestionably a tri- umph to her as the maiden. Indeed, the sensation was so pronounced that her in- stinct on two or three occasions was to merely walk as a queen among these gods of the fallow, like a little sister of a little Jove, and to neglect closing prices alto- gether. The numerOus evidences of her power to attract were only thrown into greater relief by a marked exception. Women seem to have eyes in their ribbons for such matters as these. Bathsheba, with- out looking xvi thin a right angle of him, was conscious of a klack sheep among the flock. It perplexed her first. If there had been a respectable minority on either side, the case would have been most nat- ural. If nobody had regarded her, she would have taken the matter indifferently such cases had occurred. If everybody, this man included, she would have taken it as a matter of course ,people had done so before. ButAhe exception, add- ed to its smallness, made the mystery just as when the difference between the state of an insignificant fleece and the state of all around it, rather than any novelty in the states themselves, arrested the attention of Gideon. She soon knew thus much of the recu- sants appearance. He was a gentle- manly man, with full and distinctly, out- lined Roman features, the prominences of which glowed in the sun with a bronze- like richness of tone. He xvas erect in attitude, and quiet in demeanour. One characteristic pre-eminently marked him dignity. Apparently he. had some time ago reached that entrance to middle age at which a mans aspect naturally ceases to alter for the term of a dozen years Or so; and, artificially, a womans does likewise. Thirty-five and fifty were his limits of va- riation he might have been either, or anywhere between the two. It may be said that married men of forty are usually ready and generous enough to fling passing glances at any specimen of moderate beauty they may discern by the way. Probably, as with persons playing whist for love, the con- sciousness of a certain immunity under any circumstances from that worst pos- sible ultimate, the having to pay, makes them unduly speculative. Bathsheba was convinced that this unmoved person was not a married man. When marketing was over, she rushed off to Liddy, who was waiting for her be- side tl~ yellow gig in which they had driven to town. The horse was put in, and on they trotted Bathshebas sugar, tea, and drapery parcels being packed behind, and expressing in some inde- scribable manner, as well by their colour and shape, as by their general linea- ments, that they were that young lady- farmers property, and the grocers and drapers no more. Ive been ti~ough it, Liddy, and it is over. I shant Thind it again, for they will all have grown accustomed to seeing me there; but this morning it was as bad as being married eyes everywhere ! I knowed it would be, Liddy said. FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. Men be such a terrible class of society between the two rather cruelly used to look at a body. I and rather reserved. But there was one man who had more 0 dear no, missI cant change to sense than to waste his time upon me. between the two The information was put in this form Thats most likely. that Liddy might not for a moment sup- Well, yes, so it is. I am convinced it pose her mistress was at all piqued. A is most likely. You may take my word, very good-looking man, she continued, miss, that thats whats the matter with upright; about forty, I should think, him. Do you know at all who he could be? Liddy couldnt think. CHAPTER XIII. Cant you guess at all ? said Bath- SORTES SANcTORUM: THE VALENTINE. sheba with some disappointment. I havent a notion; besides, tis no IT was Sunday afternoon in the farm- difference, since he took less notice of house, on the thirteenth of February. you than any of the rest. Now, if hed Dinner being over, B athsheba, for want taken more, it would have mattered a of a better companion, had asked Liddy great.deal. to come and sit with her. The mouldy Bathsheba was suffering from the re- I pile was dreary in winter-time before the verse feeling just then, and they bowled candles were lighted and the shutters along in silence. A low carriage, bowling closed; the atmosphere of the place along still more rapidly behind a horse seemed as old as the walls; every nook of unimpeachable breed, overtook and behind the furniture had a temperature passed them. of its own, for the fiie was not kindled, in Why, there he is ! she said. this part of th~ house early in the day Liddy looked. That! Thats Farmer and Bathshebas new piano, which was Boldwood of course tis the man you an old one in other annals, looked partic- couldnt see the other day when he ularly sloping and out of level on the called. warped floor before night threw a shade 0, Farmer Boldwood, murmured over its less prominent angles and hid Bathsheba, and looked at him as he out- the unpleasantness. Liddy, like a little stripped them. The farmer had never brook, though shallow, was always rip- turned his head once, but with eyes fixed pling; her presence had not so much on the most advanced point along the weight as to task thought, and yet enough road, passed as unconsciously and ab- to exercise it. stractedly as if Bathsheba and her charms On the table lay an old quarto Bible, were thin air. bound in leather. Liddy looking at it Hes an interesting man dont you said, think so? she remarked. Did you ever find out, Miss, who 0 yes, very. Everybody owns it, you are going to marry by means of the replied Liddy. Bible and Key? I wonder why he is so wrapt up and Dont be so foolish, Liddy. As if indifferent, and seemingly so far away such things could be. from all he sees around~him. Well, theres a good deal in it all the It is said but not known for certain same. that he met with some bitter disap- Nonsense, child. pointment when he was a young man and 4~Arw1 it makes your heart beat fear- merry. A woman jilted him, they say. fully. Some believe in it; some dont; People always say thatand we I do. know very well women scarcely ever jilt Very well, lets try it, said Bath- men; tis the men who jilt us. I expect sheba, bounding from her seat ~vith that it is simply his nature to be so reserved. i total disregard of consistency which can Simply his nature I expect so, miss be indulged in towards a dependent, and nothing else in the world. entering into the spirit of divination at Still, tis more romantic to think he once. Go and get the front door key. has been served cruelly, poor thing! Liddy fetched it. I wish it wasnt Perhaps, after all, he has. Sunday, she s~d, on returning. Per- Depend upon it he has. 0, yes, haps tis wrong. miss, he has. I feel he must have. Whats right week days is right Sun- However, we are very apt to think ex- days, replied her companion in a tone tremes of people. L~ shouldnt wonder which was a proof in itself. after all if it wasnt a little of both just The book was opened the leaves, FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. 29 drab with age, being quite worn away at much-read verses by the fore-fingers of unpractised readers in former days, where they were moved along under the line as an aid to the vision. The spe- cial verse in the Book of Ruth was sought out by Bathsheba, and the sublime words met her eye. They slightly thrilled and abashed her. It ~vas Wisdom in th p ab- stract.facing Folly in the concre te.Foily in the concrete blushed, persisted in her intention, and placed the key on the Book. A rusty patch immediately upon the verse, caused by previous pressure of an iron substance thereon, told that this was not the first time the old volume had been used for the purpose. Now keep steady, and be silent, said Bath sheba. The verse was repeated ; the Book turned round; Bathsheba blushed guilt ilv. Who did you try ? said Liddy curi- ously. I shall not tell you. Did you notice Mr. Boldwoods doings in church this morning, miss? Liddy continued, adumbrating by the re- mark the (rack her thoughts had taken. No, indeed, said Bathsheba, with serene indifference. His pew is exactly opposite yours, miss. I know it. And you did not see his goings on? Certainly I did not, I tell you. Liddy assumed a smaller physiognomy, and shut her lips decisively. This move was unexpected, and pro- portionally disconcerting. What did he do? Bathsheba said perforce. Didnt turn his head to look at you once all the service. Why should he ? again demanded her mistress, wearing a nettled look. I didnt ask him to. 0 no. But everybody else was no- ticing you; and it was odd he didnt. There, tis like him. Rich and gentle- manly, what does he care Bathsheba dropped into a silence in- tended to express that she had opinions on the matter too abstruse for Liddys comprehension, rather than that she had nothing to say. Dear me I had nearly forgotten the valentine I bought yesterday, she exclaimed at length. Valentine ! who for, miss ? said Liddy. Farmer Boldwood? It was the single itrame among all possi- ble wrong ones that just at this moment seemed to Bathsheba more pertinent than the right. Well, no. It is only fog little Teddy Coggan. I have promised him some- thing, and this will be a pretty surprise for him. Liddy, you may as well bring me my desk and Ill direct it at once. Bathsheba took from her desk a gor- geously illuminated and embossed design in post-octavo, which had been bought on the previous market-day at the chief stationers in Casterbridbe In the cen- tre was a small oval enclosure; this was left blank, that the sender might insert tender words more appropriate to the special occasion than any generalities by a printer could possibly be. Here is a place for writing, said Bathsheba. What shall I put? Something of this sort, I should think, returned Liddy promptly: The rose is red, The violet blue, Carnations sweet, And so are you. Yes, that shall be it. It just suits itself to a chubby-faced child like him, said Bathsheba. She inserted the words in a small though legible handwriting; enclosed the sheet in an envelope, and dipped her pen for the direction. What fun it ~vouldbe to send it to the stupid old Boldwood, and how he would wonder! said the irrepressible Liddy, lifting her eyebrows, and indulging in an awful mirth on the verge of fear as she thought of the moral and social magni- tude of the man contemplated. Bathsheba paused to rezard the idea at full length. Boldwoods had begun to be a troublesome image a species of Dan- iel in her kingdom who persisted in kneeling eastward when reason and com- mon sense said that he might just as well fotIo~suit with the rest, and afford her the official glance of admiration which cost nothing at all. She was far from being seriously concerned about his non- conformity. Still, it was faintly depress- ing that the most dignified and valuable man in the parish should withhold his eyes, and that a girl like Liddy should talk about it. So Liddys idea was at first rather har~ssing than piquant. No, I won - do that. He wouldnt see any humour in it. I-Ied worry to death, said the per- sistent Liddy. Really, I dont care particularly to send it to Teddy, remarked her mis- 30 tress. Hes rather a naughty child sometimes. Yes that he is. Lets toss, as men do, said Bath- sheba, idly. Now then, head, Bold- ~vood; tail, Teddy. No, we wont toss money on a Sunday, that would be tempt- in~ the devil indeed. Toss this hymn book; there can~t be no sinfulness in that, miss. Very well. Open, Boldwood shut, Teddy; no, its more likely to fall open. Open, Teddy shut, Boldwood. The book xvent fluttering in the air and came down shut. Bathsheba, a small yawn upon her mouth, took the pen, and with off-hand serenity directed the missive to Bold- wood. Now light a candle, Liddy. Which seal shall we use ? Here~ s a unicorn s head theres nothing in that. Whats this ?two dovesno. It ought to be something extraordinary, ought it not, Lidd? Heres one with a motto I re- member it is some funny one, but I cant read it. Well try this, and if it doesnt do well have another. A large red seal was duly affixed. Bathsheba looked closely at the hot wax to discover the words. Capital! she exclaimed, throwing down the letter frolicsomely. Twould upset the solemnity of a parson and clerk too. Liddy looked at the words of the seal, and read The same evening the letter was sent~ and was duly sorted in Casterbridge post- office that night, to be returned to Weath- erbury again in the morning. So very idly and unreflectingly was this deed done. Of love as a spectacle Bath- sheba had a fair knowledge; but of love subjectively she knew nothing. CHAPTER XIV. EFFECT OF THE LETTER: SUNRISE. AT dusk, on the evening of St. Valen- tines Day, Boldwood sat down to supper as usual, by a beaming fire of aged logs. Upon the mantel-shelf before him was a time-piece, surmounted by a spread eagle, and upon the eagles wings was the letter Bathsheba had sent. Here the bachelors gaze was continually fastening itself, till the large r~l seal became as a blot of blood on the retina of his eye; and as. he eat and drank he still read in fancy the words thereon, although they were too remote for his sight, ~Thxrr~ me, The pert injunction was like those crystal substances, which, colourless themselves, assume the tone of objects about them. Here, in the quiet of Bold- woods parlour, where everything, that was not grave was extraneous, and where the atmosphere was that of a Puritan Sunday lasting all the week, the letter and its dictum changed their tenor from the thoughtlessness of their origin to a deep solemnity, imbibed from their acces- sories now. Since the receipt of the missive in the morning, Boldwood had felt the spheri- cal completeness of his existence here- tofore to be slowly spreading into an abnormal distortion in the particular di- rection of an ideal passion. The dis- turbance was as the first floating weed to Columbus the contemptibly little sug- gesting possibilities of the infinitely great. The letter must have had an origin and a motive. That the latter was of the smallest magnitude compatible with its existence at all, Boldwoocl, of course, did not know. And such an explanation did not strike him as a possibility even. It is foreign to a mystified condition of mind to realize of the mystifier that the very dissimilar processes of approving a course suggested by circumstance, and striking out a course from inner impulse and intention purely, would look the same in the result. The vast difference between startino a train of events, and directing into a ~articular groove a series already started, is rarely apparent to the person confounded by the issue. When Boldwood went to bed, he pla~ed~he valentine in the corner of the looking-glass. He was conscious of its presence, even when his back was turned upon it. It ~vas the first time in Bold- xvoods life that such an event had oc- curred. The same fascination that caused him to think it an act which had a delib- erate motive prevented him from regard- ing~it as an impertinence. He looked again at the di~ection. The mysterious influences of ni~t invested the writing with the presence of the unknown writer. Somebodys some womans hand had travelled softly over the paper bearing his name : her unrevealed eyes liad watched every curve as she formed it: FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD. 3 her brain had seen him in imagination the while. Why should she have im- agined him ? Her mouth were the lips red or pale, plump or creased ?had curved itself to a certain expression as the pen xvent on the corners had moved with all their natural tremulousness what had been the expression? The vision of the ~voman writing, a~ a supplement to the words written, had no individuality. She was a misty shape, and well she might be considering that her original was at that moment hound asleep ~nd oblivious of all love and let- ter-writing under the sky. Whenever Boldwood dozed she took a form, and comparatively ceased to be a vision when he awoke there was the letterjus- tifying the dream. The moon shone to-night, and its light was not of a customary kind. His win- dow only admitted a reflection of its rays, and the pale sheen had that re- versed direction which snow gives, coin- ing upward and lighting up his ceiling in a phenomenal way, casting shadows in strange places, and putting lights where shadows had used to be. The substance of the epistle had occu- pied him but little in comparison with the fact of its arrival. He suddenly won- dered if anything more might be found in the envelope than what he had with- drawn. He jumped out of bed in the weird light: took the letter, pulled out the flimsy sheet, shook the envelope searched it. Nothing more was there. Boldwood looked, as he had a hundred times the preceding day, at the insistent red seal: Marry me, he said aloud. The solemn and reserved yeoman again closed the letter, and stuck it in the frame of the glass. In doing so he caught sight of his reflected features, wan in expression, and insubstantial in form. He saw how closely compressed was his mouth, and that his eyes were wide- spread and vacant. Feeling uneasy and dissatisfied with himself for this nervous excitability, he returned to bed. Then the dawn drew on. The full po~ver of the clear heaven was not equal to that of a cloudy sky at noon, when Boidwood arose and dressed himself. He descended the stairs and went out towards the gate of a field to the east, leaning over which he paused and looked around. It was one of the usual slow sunrises of this time of the year, and the sky, pure violet in the zenith, was leaden to the northward and murky to the east, where, over the snowy down or ewe-lease on Weatherbury Upper Farm, and ap- parently resting upon the ridge, the only half of the sun yet visible burnt incandes- cent and rayless, like a red and flame- less fire shining over a white hearth- stqne. The whole effect resembled a sunset as childhood resembles age. In other directions,~the fields and sky were so much of one colour by the snow, that it was difficult in a hasty glance to tell whereabouts the horizon occurred; and in general there was here, too, that before-mentioned l)reternatural inversion of light and shade which attends the prospect when the garish brightness commonly in the sky is found on the earth, and the shades of earth are in the sky. Over the west hung the wasting moon, now dull and greenish-yellow, like tarnished brass. Boldwood was listlessly noting how the frost had hardened and glazed the sur- face of the snow, till it shone in the red eastern light with the polish of marble how, in some portions of the slope, with- ered grass-bents, encased in icicles, bris- tled through the smooth wan coverlet in the twisted and curved shapes of old Venetian glass, and how the footprints of a few birds, which had hopped over the snow whilst it lay in the state of a soft fleece, were now frozen to a short permanency. A half-muffled noise of light wheels interrupted him. Boldwood turned back into the road. It was the mail-cart a crazy, two-wheeled vehicle, hardly heavy enough to resist a puff of wind. The driver held out a letter. Boldwood seized it and 6pened it, expect- ing another anonymous one. So greatly are peoples ideas of probability a mere sense that precedent will repeat itself, that they often do not stop to think whether the fact of an event having once occurred is not in many cases the very circ~m~ance which makes its repetition unlikely. I dont think it is for you, sir, said the man, when he saw Boldwoods action. Though there is no name, I think it is for your shepherd. Boidwood looked then at the address: To the New S/zey5herd, Wea/herbzry Farm, ~Near Gasterbridge. Oh what a mistake it is not mine. Nor is it for my shepherd. It is for Miss Everdenes. You had better take it on to himGabriel Oakand say I opened it in, mistake. 32 THE PRINCE PRINTERS OF ITALY. At this moment, on the ridge, up against the blazing sky, a fi~ure was vis- ible, like thc black snuff in the midst of a candle-flame. Then it moved and began to bustle about vigorously from place to place, carrying square skeleton masses, which were riddled by the same rays. A small figure on all fours followed behind. The tall form was that of Gabriek Oak the small one that of George; the articles in course of transit were hurdles. Wait, said Boldwood. Thats the man on the hill. Ill take the letter to him myself. To Boldwood it was now no longer merely a letter to another man. It was an opportunity. Exhibiting a face preg- nant with intention, he entered the snowy field. Gabriel, at that minute, descended the hill towards the right. Th eglow stretched down in this direction now, and touched the distant roof of Warrens Malthouse whither the shepherd was apparently bent. Boldwood followed at a distance. From Macmillans Magazine. THE PRINCE PRINTERS OF ITALY. THE rivalries and jealousies of the Italian States, their struggles for liberty, and their individual feuds, have been a common theme with historians of the Middle Ages. But however deplorable may have been the effect of such a continual state of civil war upon the general welfare of the country, it has not been altogether barren of good results. The rulers of the various Italian States were indeed always striving to outshine each other in the splendour and mag- nificence of their Courts, but they cher- ished at the same time a far nobler emu- lation. They soon perceived that genius of any kind was the brightest ornament which they could obtain for their respec- tive Courts, and that, by the protection which they vied with one another in affording to literature and art, they se- cured celebrity at the time, and a lasting renown for the future. They were, there- fore, at all times careful to cherish and kindle the smouldering fire of that native genius which was the special heritage of Italy, and which she preserved through all the rude vicissitudes of external con- quest and internal warfare. In Italy first appeared that dawn of light, destined in its meridian splendour to dissipate the dense ignorance into which Europe generally was plunged. The earliest efforts of her language, half a century before Dante wrote the poem which so largely contributed to form it, were protected and fostered at the Court of Frederick II. King of Sicily. To touch only upon great. examples In 1316 we find Dante entertained at the Court of the Scaligeri at Verona, and the princely hospitality of his host is immor- talized in that portion of the Divina Commedia which, as a further proof of Dantes gratitude, was dedicated to Can Grande della Scala Il Gran Loin- bardo, as the poet calls him. Similar hospitality was shown to Dante during the last years of his life by Guido da Polenta, Lord of Ravenna; and Pe- trarch, following closely upon the foot- steps of Dante, was sought after and honoured by all the princes of Italy, as we have recently shown in these pages. Nor did the princes only extend their favour to what may be called the crea- tive genius of the thirteenth century they were also foremost in promoting that research among the long-lost classics which was the distinguishing mark of the next century. This research, first begun by Petrarch and Boccaccio, and pursued with infinite labour in circumstances of great difficulty, received in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries very general encouragement. The Pontiffs in Rome, the Medici in Florence, the Visconti, afterwards suc- ceeded by the Sforza, at Milan, the Arra- gon kings of Naples, the Houses of Gon- zaga in Mantua, and of Este in Ferrara, the Dukes of Urbino all promoted this revival of learning. They sent emissa- ries to all parts of the world for the pur- pose of collecting manuscripts, and no journey was accounted too dangerous or too protracted to obtain them. Pre- e?~ii~ntly, Lorenzo de Medici spared neither trouble nor expense in his re- searches. He sent to explore both Eu- rope and Asia for Greek and Latin man- uscripts, which, when brought to him, he purchased at any price ; and twice, ~vith a lnagnificence worthy of his name, did he despatch the celebrated Giovanni L~scari to the Sultan Bajazet, in order that under th Imperial protection he might carry lus researches through Greece. Two hundred manuscripts, of which eighty were new discoveries, were the result of these journeys.* * Tiraboschi, Storia della Letteratura Itallana. vol. vi. p. 537. THE PRINCE PRINTERS OF ITALY. 33 On the discovery of the twelve come- dies of Plautus in 1429, for up till that time only eight were supposed to exist copies of the manuscript had immediately to be made for the several Houses of Visconti, of Este, and of the Medici. It is further related as a proof of the esteem in which these treasures of classical learn- ing were held by the princes, that a man- uscript of Livys Annals, sent by Cosmo de Medici to Alfonso, King of Naples, sufficed to appease a quarrel between them; though the king was counselled by his physicians to examine it carefully lest Cosmo should have introduced poison between the leaves.* But none of the princes of this time deserves so much praise as an encourager of learning as Nicholas V. (Thomas Sar- zana), who became Pope in 1447. He founded the Vatican Library, and left it at his death enriched with 5,000 volumes, a treasure far exceeding that of any other collection in Europe. Every scholar who needed maintenance, found it at the Court of Rome, and the works of several Greek authors were translated into Latin, by order of Pope Nicholas V.t Almost all the works of the classical authors were either found in Italy or else- where by Italians, and the enthusiasm which had been shown in collecting manu- scripts next took the form of bestowing them in those magnificent libraries which are among the great wonders of Italy. Niccolo Niccoli, a Florentine of eminent learning, first conceived the idea, and founded the first public library in the convent of the S. Spirito at Florence, of which Boccaccios private collection of books was the germ, he having left them as a legacy to that convent. From this eventually sprang the famous Medicean library, only one among many of the princely libraries of Italy. The fall of the Eastern Empire towards the middle of this century compelled the Greeks in considerable numbers to seek a refuge in Italy, when they further dis- closed those immortal monuments of their language which the Crusades had been the first means of revealing to the European mind. Thus a new and still more powerful stimulus was given to the general desire for information. This thirst was very partially relieved while the fountain of learning continued to trickle out, drop by drop, through the difficult and costly channels of copies and * Tiraboschi, Storia della Letteratura Italiana vol. vi. p. 126. I Hallam, Lit. of Eurole, vol. ~. p. 143. LIVING AGE. VOL. VI. 263 transcriptions. But the wonderful dis- covery of Gutenberg suddenly opened the spring, and diffused the long-pent-up waters of learning over the civilized world. Printing could not have been invented at a more propitious moment for the per- fecting of this wondrous art. The espe- cial circumstances of the age caused it to be universally appreciat~d, and it seemed to crown the joint labours of the princes and learned men with a success which, in their wildest dreams, they could not have expected to attain. Although Germany must fairly claim the honour of this great invention, it has never been questioned that Italy was the first to follow in her footsteps ; and it is worthy of notice how quickly she adopted and succeeded in appropriating to her- self the invention of another country. This was only natural. Abundantly rich in her own talents, she had no cause to envy a foreign discovery, and at that moment of supreme activity of mind she did not hesitate to adopt the new invention, al- though it did not originate with her. On the contrary, nursed and cherished in the centre of art and learning, printing soon reached its highest perfection. The rude wooden movable characters, Gutenbergs great discovery and improve- ment on the still ruder engraved blocks of wood, from which the so-called block- books were printed, and which was the earliest form of the art * were now dis carded for types cut by the artist-hand of a Francia; men of profound erudition and cultivated talents were employed to select and revise the manuscripts about to be printed ; while princes were willing to devote much of their wealth, and even to sacrifice a portion of their territories, to this new and wonderful method for the diffusion of knowledge. Thus when Aldo Manuzio, who may be rightly~ca~ed the father of Italian typog- raphy, first set up his printing-press in Venice, it was Alberto Pio, Prince of Carpi, who defrayed the costs whose family name of Pio Aldo was permitted to bear, on account of the great affection and intimacy which existed between them, and by it the princes of Italy will al- ways be associated with the first great printer of their country. Before proceedi~ to speak of Aldo, whose life and works are more generally known, some few words should be said * Hallam, Lit. of Euro~iie, vol. i. p. iso. This mode of printing from blocks of wood has been practised in China from time immemorial THE PRINCE PRINTERS OF ITALY. 34 about Ls patron, whose remarkable tal- ents ~nd singular excellence, while they deserved a better fate in his lifetime, have been allowed to remain too long in obscurity after his death. Tiraboschi * the great historian of Italian literature, first brought them to the light. Till that time no one had ever written any account of the life of the Alberto Pio. He was the son of Leonello, Prince of Carpi, a small principality, now only a town in the present Duchy of Modena. His mother was the sister of Pico della Mirandola, the accomplished friend of Lorenzo de Medici. It had been arranged that Al- berto Pio, and his brother Leonello, should divide the principality with Gi- berto and his brothers, the descendants of another branch of the same family. This division of authority, especially when the state to be governed was of small dimensions, caused, as may easily be imagined, fierce and continual dissen- sions, and the estates of the Pio family were the scene of perpetual warfare. As usual, the Emperor of Germany was ap- pealed to, and, as usual, no good result ensued. The neighbouring Dukes of Ferrara also strove more than once to appease the quarrel in Carpi. Bi.it the truces were always of short duration, un- til in the year 1500, Giberto, in order to revenge himself on his cousin Alberto, sold his rights over the principality of Carpi to the Duke of Ferrara, receiving in exchange a few towns belonging to the dukedom. Thus did Ercole, Duke of Ferrara, first obtain a hold over the principality of Carpi, and his successor, Alfonso, was not slow to avail himself of this sem- blance of a right. By the payment of 100,000 forms to the Emperor Charles V., he obtained from him in 1552 the in- vestiture of the principality, in defiance of a former decree of the Emperor Maxi- milian, which upheld the rights of Alberto Pio and anulled the cession made by Giberto to the Dukes of Ferrara. The Prince of Carpi, when thus robbed of his dominions, retired to the Court of Fran- cis the First, and found his best consola- tion in those literary pursuits which in his brighter days he had so liberally pro- tected. Passing by the further political vicissi- tudes of Carpi before its final absorption into the Duchy of Ferrara, which have but a remote bearing on the subject of this paper, we will now look upon her * Sioria, vol. vii. PP. 236, 283, ci seq. Prince from a literary point of view. Our admiration for the eminence which he ob- tained, both in the cultivated use of his own mind and in his endeavours to pro- mote it in others, is increased by the con- sideration of the perpetual state troubles by which he was harassed. From his ear- liest years, at the age of four, he was the pupil of Aldo Manuzio,* and for nine years he enjoyed the advantage of so dis- tinguished a tutor, whereby he acquired a permanent taste for literature. The gratitude which the young prince felt on this account to Aldo, lasted through life, and showed itself on every occasion. Aldo, on the other hand, had the highest esteem for his young pupil, and paid a striking tribute to his zeal for learning in dedicating to him the first volume of his magnificent edition of Aristotle of 1495, called Editio Princeps.~ In this dedi- cation, Manuzio addresses Alberto Pio as the patron of all learned men, his own patron more especially; adverts to his enthusiasm for collecting Greek books, thus following in the footsteps of his learned uocle, Pico della Mirandola; and dwells upon the fair promise of his early years, so admirably spent in the improve- ment of his own mind and in endeavour- ing to promote the revival of learning, since he had for many years been inde- fatigable in collecting Latin, Greek, and Hebrew manuscripts, while he enter- tained with a princely magnificence the most learned men he could find, to cor- rect and explain them4 Of a similar nature is the eulogium of Federigo Asolano, who also dedicated to the Prince of Carpi the second volume of the works of Galen. But Aldo Manuzio was more especially bound to express his sense of obligation to Alberto Pio, for, together with his uncle, Pico della Miran- dola, this prince had formed a design which may well entitle them to be called th~ Prince Printers of Italy. Their scheme was to publish an entire set of new and correct editions of Latin and Greek authors, in order the better to pro- mote the study of the two languages. The greatest printer of the age, Aldo Manuzio, was chosen to execute their project, which Erasmus, in his Prov- erbs, afterwards printed by Aldo, right- ly terms o i~e of princely ma,,nificence for it inclu~d the restoration of litera * Manni, Vila di A ido Pio Meenuzio, p. 9. 1 This edition of Aristotle was in five vols., the first bearing date 495, the last 1498. HALLAM, Lit. of Eurc~5e, vol. 1 pp. 224, 225. ~1rauosci1, Vii. p. 29!. THE PRINCE PRINTERS OF ITALY. 35 ture fast falling to decay; the disinter- In order to compress the contents of ment of that which had lain concealed these folios into the 8vo size which he for ages the supply of what was defi- invented, and which has since become so cient; the correction, by careful compar- common a form of volume, he caused to ison, of manuscripts which appeared er- be engraved that peculiar kind of type, roneous.* 1which for a long time bore the name of For this purpose Alberto Pio, although the Aldine Type, and which we now according to R6nouard he was then only term Italic) twelve years old, and his uncle, Pico della It was originally copied from the hand- Mirandola, wished to set up a magnificent writing of Petrarch in the manuscript of printing-press in Carpi for Aldo Manuzio, the Canzoniere, and the characters to giving him absolute possession of one of which Aldo owes so much of his fame, his castles in which to carry on the work, I and which may justly claim our admira- and even as a further mark of honour in- tion for the grace and taste of their forms, vesting him with the goverment of a part are supposed, with good reason, to have of his territory. An Academy of Arts been cut by no less a hand than that of and Sciences was to be included in the the great artist Francesco Raibolini, or scheme, in order that these might flour- Il Francia. ish in his dominions, and Carpi be the From the beginningof the inventionof centre whence the Aldine editions should printing, the types were for the most part emanate. Unhappily, so splendid a de- engraved by either goldsmiths, coiners, sign was frustrated by the political dis- or engravers of some kind or another, turbances already alluded to, and Aldo and the chief masters in the art were al- had to betake himself to Venice, where ways chosen for this purpose. It is well he set up, in 1488,t his famous printing- known that Francia was unrivalled in press, the cost of which was defrayed by his goldsmith work; that the medals and the two princes, Alberto Pio and Pico money stamped with coins of his engrav- della Mirandola, who by no means aban- ing were equal to those of the famous doned that part of the project because Caradosso of Milan, and that when they could not have the glory of executing employed to paint the Altar-piece of the it in their own dominions. On the con- Bentivoglio Chapel, he signed hi~ work trary, they gave large sums of money for Franciscus Francia, Aurifex, as if to this purpose, and throughout the various denote that he was by profession a gold- vicissitudes of the life of Aldo these two smith, and not an artist.* princes, despite their own political The first time that this type was em- troubles, continued to befriend him. The ployed was in the edition of Virgil pub- printing-press thus established at Venice: lished by Aldo in 1501, and he is careful had a marvellous success. Before twenty to acknowledge his obligation to the ~ crip- years elapsed there was scarcely a Greek great artist in the followino ins or Latin author whose works had not is- tion sued from it in one of those beautiful edi- In Grammatoglypt~ Laudem tions now so rare and so eagerly coveted. Qui graiis dedit Aldus, in latinis The full merit of these editions can Dat nunc Grammata scalpta d~daleis only be rightly appreciated when we con- Francisci manibus Bononiensis4 sider that the manuscripts from which they were printed were often Imperfect, It is only much to be lamented that Aldotlid4not continue to act in accord- mutilated, and half effaced the copies of ance with this acknowledgment. Far the same author not always agreeing to- from doing so, he obtained from the Gov- gether, and demanding as much patience, eminent of Venice a monopoly for the wisdom, and sagacity on the part of the use of these types during a period of ten critic as manual dexterity on the part of printer. years, and three successive Popes the Alexartder VI., Julius II., and Leo X. Hitherto books had been usually print- laboured to secure Aldo this monopoly, ed in folio, but Manuzio was first in- while it was forbidden to Francia to cut spired with the idea of publishing them in a smaller and more convenient form. * Lanti, S/aria Pi/to~ca deli Italia, vol. v. p. 20. t Rtnouard, A nnales des Aide, vol. i. p. r6~. There * Maffei, S/aria delia Left. I/al. vol. i. p. 242. has been some doubt as to whether this Francisci was t Manni, Vita di A ida Pio Mansezio, p. 52. There the same person as the famous Francis, but Sir Antonio have been various opinions as to the exact date of this Panizzi, in a beautiful little treatise (from whence this event, but Manni founds his assertion on Aldos Preface information has been drawn) entitled Chi era Fran to Aristotle, dated s495, in which Aldo affirms that he cesco da Bologna, and privately printed in s556, has been seven years engaged in the difficult and proves this point to the satisfaction of all his readers. ciatly undertaking of printing. See also Blade, L of Caxton, vol. ii. p. 24. 36 THE PRINCE PRINTERS OF ITALY. types for any one else, and to all, save Aldo, was their use forbidden. In all the history of monopolies and privileges one more odious than this could hardly be found. Even admitting, as it is com- monly urged, that Aldo first invented the characters to which he gave his name, the mere fact of their having been exe- cuted by another hand ought to have re- strained him from demanding, and the Government from according, so unjust and so exclusive a monopoly. In the rare and beautiful edition of Petrarch ~vhich Francia published at Bologna, where he set up his printing-press after his separation from Aldo, is to be found, on the title-page, his lament that he had lost both the glory and the profit which he would have derived from the charac- ters cut by his own hand, had not both fallen to the share of Aldo Manuzio. The rival printers of Soncino, near Cre- mona, who first printed the Hebrew char- acters, and who, although they afterwards set up their printing-presses throughout Italy, always preserved the name of their native town till it became a family name, declared also, without hesitation, that Aldo had usurped from Francesco da Bo- logna the honour of the invention and the design of the runn.ing characters.* They further added that no one was to be com- pared with Francia for skill in engraving, not only Latin and Greek, but also He- brew characters. It must, however, also in fairness be stated that R6nouard does his best to justify Aldo from this accusation, by as- serting that the inscription in the Virgil is-an all-sufficient acknowledgment of the artists share in the invention of the run- ning characters4 Be this as it may, it would still seem much to be regretted that even the semblance ot so great a blot should rest on the character of a man who, like Aldo Manuzio, spent his whole life in efforts to contribute to the prog- ress of the human mind and the advance- ment of civilization. - It is indeed difficult to form an idea of the enthusiasm with which Aldo laboured to place once more before mankii~d those grand productions of ancient classical literature which had so long been allowed to remain in obscurity. If he discovered a manuscript which had not yet been printed, he never ceased in his efforts till he had gained possession of it, regardless of trouble and expense. While he thus promoted the interests of learned men, * Familiarly called caratteri corsivi. t A nnaies des Aide, vol. iii. p. 22. they in return gave him their best assist- ance. From all sides contributions of manuscripts flowed in, some for sale, and some sent gratuitously as gifts. From 1501 to 1505 the Aldine Press was in the fullest activity, publishing all the principal classical and Italian au- thors in that smaller form of which the Virgil of 1501 had been the first sample. The transition from the cumbersome and expensive folios to these cheap and port- able editions was so great a ste p in the progress of printing, that it appeared only second in importance to the discov- ery of the art itself. Nor does the reputation of Aldo rest only on his printing, or even on his editorial labours, the Greek and Latin dissertations, prefaces, and criticisms with which he illustrated the books which issued from the press he left behind him also some original works, chiefly of an instructive kind, of considerable merit. His first work was a Latin Grammar written to take the place of the old scho- lastic Doctrinale of Alexandri da Villa Dei, written in barbarous and meaningless rhymes, which had been the torment of his youth. This was followed by a Greek Grammar, a Greek and Latin Dictionary, and other works, whose names cannot be inserted in this paper for want of space. PART II. SOME writers have affirmed that Aldo Manuzio first invented the Greek types. This, however, R6nouard declares to be only so far true that up to the time of Aldo, whenever a Greek passage occurred in a book, it was left blank to be filled up with the pen, because few of the printing establishments were furnished with Greek types. But Greek books, many of them of importance, were known to be printed ~ef~r~ that time, such as the Grammar of ILascaris at Milan in 1476, a Homer at Florence in 1488, and others besides. Nevertheless, there is no doubt that Aldo was the first to introduce a great improvement in the existing Greek types, which were badly shaped and rudely cut, whereas he had new ones formed after the pattern of the best manuscripts. Moreover, Greek books, which had been printed sloWII and at rare intervals, now issued from the great Venetian Press with astonishing speed. When Aldo had amply furnished himself with Greek and Latin types,* his next step was to * A contemporary writer affirms that Aldo had silver types cast for his favourite editions. Another declares THE PRINCE PRINTERS OF ITALY. 37 adopt a peculiar device whereby his Erasmus, many of whose works he books might be distinguished all over the printed, makes allusion in his epitaph world. He chose wits singialar sagacity upon the printer: the mark of the Dolphin and Anchor Here I lie, Theodoric of Alost. well known to all, and which, adopted by English printers * and publishers, is still I employed to adorn many of the choicest The sacred anchor remains, emblem dearest to editions of our books. Be my youth. Thou, 0 Christ, I pray, my sacred anchor The Dolphin was chosen because of the speed with which the fish is saki almost to leap through the waves, while The dolphin and anchor were indeed the Anchor, on the contrary, represents more or less imitated by many printers stability and repose. By these emblems of this century at Paris, Basle, Cologne, Aldo meant to imply. that, in order to Rome, Parma, & c. & c. John Crespin, of labour to any purpose, the scheme of Geneva, placed them at the foot of a work must be carefully and maturely Greek Testament, with the initials J. C. ~veighed, and then executed with rapid- and the following lines : ityt It is said that two Emperors, Titus Les agit~s en mer, Christ, seule anchre sacr~e avid Domitian, made use of the same em- Asseure, et en tout temps seule sauve et recr~e. blem, and that Aldo was presented by a These printers, for the most part, adopted member of his Academy (Ii Bembo), with the device after the death of Aldo, but a silver medal of the time of Titus, bear- during his lifetime he suffered most ino the stamp of the Dolphin and An- annoyance from the printers at Lyons, chor. Although he had for some time who imitated his editions without scruple, entertained the idea of employing this and even copied his prefaces. device, it was only used for the first time These frequent piracies at last com- in 1502, for a small 8vo Dante, and all pelled Manuzio to draw up a formal re- the books which subsequently issued monstrance, in which he pointed out the from his press bear this celebrated em- typographical errors and general incor- blem. As might have been expected, rectness of the fraudulent editions. But there were many counterfeit dolphins even this the Lyonese printers turned to and anchors employed by printers, who, account, for they quickly extracted the disregarding the monopolies granted to erroneous sheets, which they replaced Aldo, sought by the aid of this stamp, I with new ones, corrected according to and by imitating his types, to pass off Aldos remonstrance, and thus their fraud their books as productions of the cele- was doubly secured. brated Aldine Press. Among these were It is now time to speak of the Acad- the Giunti of Florence, of whom Frances- Aldi Neacademia, formed co dAsola, a partner and relation of Aldo, emy, the in his Preface to the by Aldo in Venice for the especial pur- bitterly complains pose of presiding over the editions of the Titus Livius of 1518. He discovered classics, and ensuring their excellence their fraud by the fact of the dolphins and correctness. All the learned men mouth being turned to the left, and not of Italy of that time esteemed it an. to the right, as in the Aldine stamp. honour to belong to this Academy.t Theodoric Martens, a Belgian printer, The name of Erasmus is also enrolled who died at Alost, in i534 stamped his h among t e list of members. His Ada- editions with a double anchor; to which gia,~ as4 has been already stated, were printed at the Aldine Press, and Aldo that the Pope promised Panlo Manuzio a set of types announces, in the preface, that he had in the same precious metal, Argentei typi ; bet R6 nouard casts doubt upon this, declaring that the ex- purposely delayed the printing of many pense of casting types in silver would have been too, classical editions in order to publish great. Nor would they have been sufficiently durable. immediatel On the same account, he refuses to believe that silver y this most excellent work. types were employed to print a Bible at Cambridge, by Erasmus, on the other hand, observes, itt Field, in s6~6. A an. des A ide, iii. 1~ * As, for example, William Pickering, of London, the same book, that If some tutelary with the inscrintion Aidi Discip. Angiva. Hisf~~~ deity had promoted the views of Aldo, tion of the Bitish Poets is in the small Svo. the learned would shortly have been in which Aldo had invented. The mark which he adopted for his books was the later and more finished impres- sion of the Dolphin and Anchor, struck in the time of * Hic Theodorictis jacto prognatus Alosto. Paolo Manuzio, and technically termed LAncore . . . . . . grassa. The original stamp of the Aldine Press, as Anchora sacra manet, not~ gratissima puhi. employed by the great Aldo, appears in the books of Christe, precor, nuoc 515 anchora sacra Mr. Basil Montago Pickerin~,..the present publisher. t For a list of members see Rdnouard, A an. des t Annales des Aide, vol. iii. p. 97. Aide, vol. iii. pp. 3638. THE PRINCE PRINTERS OF ITALY. possession not only of all the Greek and Latin authors, but even of the Hebrew and Chaldee, insomuch that nothing could have been wanting in this respect to their wishes. * It is sad, however, to relate that this friendship between Aldo and Erasmus, which had been founded on mutual esteem, did not last. It was even ex- changed for a dislike almost approaching to hatred, and difficult to account for. Whereas it had been the pride of Eras- mus to assist in the correction of the great Venetian Press, he afterwards in- dignantly disclaimed having undertaken the correction of any but his own works, and is careful to explain that he never received from Aldo the wages of a cor- rector of the press. Some affirm that the Italian manner of living appeared to Erasmus frugal and parsimonious when compared with the good cheer of Ger- many or of his native country, and that he left Venice on that account. But a more probable solution would seem to be that as his opinions inclined towards those of Luther and his party, they be- came distasteful to Aldo, who had every reason to attach himself to the cause of the Popes, to whom he owed three suc- cessive monopolies. It is certain that, after the quarrel, whenever Aldo or his successors printed a book for Erasmus, they inserted the contemptuous designa- tion of Transalpinus quidam homo in the title, instead of the name of the au- thor, as if to signify his complete dis- grace at the Court of Rome. Moreover, the Prince of Carpi, who had supplied the funds for establishing the Aldine Press, was strongly opposed to the views of Erasmus, and even xvent so far as to refute them in a work of much erudition. When Luther first began to declare his opinions, the eyes of the world were fastened on Erasmus as one of the most learned men of the age, to see which side he would embrace. While the Luther- ans, in spite of the protestation of Eras- mus, declared that he held their opinion, he was an object of interest to two parties in the Church of Rome: the one headed by Leo X., Clement VIII., and Cardinal Sadoleto, who tried by praise and flat- tery to keep him within the pale of the faith and to induce him to lay down those opinions which led him to be suspected and on the other hand, those who thought it their duty to protest openly against him, to point out his errors and mistakes, * Roscoes L of Leo K., vol. i. p. s68. in order that others might not make ship- wreck of their faith upon the same rocks which had wrought his ruin. Foremost among these was Alberto Pio, Prince of Carpi. Erasmus, to whom the char- acter and learning of this Prince were well known, and who had besides seen him often in Venice, remonstrated with him for the harshness of his language, to which Alberto replied in a learned trea.. tise, dated May 12, 1526, pointing out to Erasmus the dangerous nature of his opinions, so little removed from those of Luther, at the same time praising both his genius and learning. Erasmus defended himself against this attack, and the controversy continued. Theology had always been the favourite study of the literary prin6e of Carpi, and he now undertook an elaborate work, sin- gularly free from the scholasticism of the age, eloquent in style, and full of erudi- tion, in which he examines and com- pares the works of Erasmus and of Luther. This work he printed at Paris, where he had taken refuge after the sack of Rome, by the troops of Charles V. It was in the press when he died (1531), and was published in Paris that same year.* These few frabments are all that can be collected of the history of a prince who has perhaps, literally, the most right to be called a Prince Printer of Italy, his name appearing in conjunction with that of the first Venetian Printer on the title-page of each one of those splen- did volumes of Venetian typography as they issued from his press. His tutor and friend, the great Manuzio, whom he had been the means of so largely benefit- ing, and who in return, had spent his whole life in executing the vast literary designs of the prince, had pre-deceased him by some years. Aldo died in, 1515, at the age of 66, before he could accomplish his cherished project of printing a Bible in tli~ee~.languages, Hebrew, Greek, and Latin. One page only was executed of this great undertaking, but the beauty of the characters of all three languages, in each of which Aldo was an equally good scholar, is sufficient to show what a noble work the first Polyglot Bible would have been had he lived to execute his design.~ Aldo was by his own especial wish * Alberti Pu ~rporunm comitis Illustrissimi et Viri longe doctissimi pr~ter prxfalionem et opens con- clusionem, tres et Viginti iibri in iocos lucubrationuni vaniarum D. Erasmi Roterodami quos censet ab eo recognoscendos et retractandos. TIR. S/oria, vii. 295. t For fac-iimile of page see R~nouard, A nesales, iii. 44. THE PRINCE PRINTERS OF ITALY. 39 buried at Carpi, in the Church of San Paterniano. But the reputation of the Aldine Press, which he had founded, was not destined to expire with him, nor was the patron- age of the princes of Italy only exer- cised in Carpi. Paolo Manuzio, the third son of Aldo il vecchio, and the only one who fol- lowed the profession which his father had rendered so famous, was but three years old at the death of Aldo. The work of the Aldine Press was not, however, sus- pended on that account, but, still bearing the name of its illustrious founder, was maintained by Andrea Torresano dAsola, the father-in-law of Aldo il vecchio, with whom he had entered into partnership on marrying his daughter, and who had as- sisted him in his pecuniary difficulties. Andrea was himself ~n adept in the art of printing, and, some years previous to his entering into this partnership, had purchased the printing establishment of Nicholas Jenson, another Venetian print- er of some reputation, which thus became incorporated into the Aldine Printing House. The operations of this great firm were thereby still further extended, and were carried on by Andrea dAsola and his two sons, Francesco and Fe- derigo, during the minority of Paolo Manuzio. The books printed during this period are marked In ~dibus Aldi et Andre~ soceri. vecchio. In 1546 the stamp underwent a still greater change, the anchor having, to use an heraldic term, two cherubs for supporters on either side, and the words Aldi Filii substituted for the single name, which, divided in two, Al-Dvs, was formerly placed on either side the anchor.* In the year 1571, th~ Emperor Maxi- milian II. conferred upon Paolo a patent of nobility, with the right to add the Ea- gle of the Empire to his coat of arms, which was the same as the mark of his press. But Paolo died before he could make use of this new device, and the only books which bear it were printed after his death by his son. Paolo Manuzio, being now sole propri- etor of the firm, applied himself diligently to follow his fathers footsteps, and gave himself up entirely to literary and typo- graphical labours. The editions which he issued from his press were universally famed for their beauty and correctness, and for the erudition of their notes and prefaces. His edition of Cicero of 1540 was considered the best and most impor- tant of any classical author yet pub- lished4 The Aldi Neacademia, which his father had founded, and which had existed but a few years, was replaced in Paolos time by a great Accademia Veneziana, also called Della Fama, from its emblem a representation of Fame with the motto Jo volo al ciel per riposarmi in Dio. It was founded in 1556 at the cost of Federigo Badoaro, a Venetian senator, and about a hundred of the most distinguished literary and scientific men of Italy belonged to it, with Bernardo Tasso, father of the poet, as president. It was intended for the general encouragement of the arts and sciences, with the special objects of cor- recting the numerous mistakes of the old books on philosophy and theology, add- ing ~nn~tations and dissertations, and translating them into various languages. The printing was entrusted to the Aldine firm, and Paolo Manuzio was chosen as corr~ctor of the press. He was, besides, appointed to fill the chair of eloquence in the Academy. In a short time many books were issued, which, for the beauty of their type, the quality of their paper, and the ac curacy~~of their corrections, ob- tained a great rep~ation for this Academy. But, unhappily, the brilliant expectations to which this institution had given rise, The stamp of the Press was preserved unchanged, with the addition of the pe- culiar mark of the Torresania. tower with the letters A. T. till the death of Andrea in 1529, when the establishment ceased to work for afew years. It was re-opened in 1533, by the young Paolo Manuzio, who, although only twenty-one, inspired confidence both by his name and the diligence with which he had applied himself to his studies. In i540 the partnership with his uncles, the Torresani, was dissolved. They Went to Paris, ~vhere they set up, a few years later, a printing establishment, while Paolo, with the advice and assistance of his fathers learned friends, conducted the Aldine firm at Venice. The books which now issued from this press bore either the inscription Apud Aldi Filios or In ~edibus Pauli Manutii. A new and more careful stamp of the dolphin and anchor was struck, which is termed by Italian booksellers ~ LAncora grassa, ~ For these various forms, see R~nouard, A tmsles, to distinguish it from that of Aldo ii ~ Li. o/Eur~e, vol. i. p. 3~5. 40 were dashed to the ground by the bank- ruptcy of its founder, and the Acca- demia della Fama was as short-lived as the Aldi Neacademia had been. It struggled on for a few months after this catastrophe, until its complete collapse, after an existence of but four years, and thirty years went by before another Ve- netian Academy could be established. Still, the manner in which Paolo Manu- zio, during his brief connection with this institution, had discharged his functions, won for him a great reputation, so that when after its collapse he travelled through Italy for the purpose of visiting the fine libraries which it was the pride and glory of the princes to collect, it was the endeavour of each and all to retain him in their principality. The Senate of Bologna offered him a large sum to carry on his printing in their city, and the Car- dinal Ippolito dEste tried in the same way to retain him in Ferrara, but the hon- our of an Aldine establishment was re- served for the Imperial city. In the year 1539, the Cardinal Marcello Cervini and Alessandro Farnese had formed the de- sign of setting up a printing-press in Rome for the purpose of printing the manuscripts of the Vatican. Antonio Blado Asolano, the printer selected to execute the design, previous to going to Rome, went to Venice to implore the as- sistance of the Aldine Press in the prep- aration of types, paper and other requi- sites for the undertaking. The Venetian firm gladly lent their powerful assistance, and beautiful editions of Greek and Latin authors soon issued from the Blado Press, of which the most remarkable was a Homer with the commentaries of Eus- tathius, published in 1542. But it was the age of Luther, and the presses of the Holy See were required for other purposes than that of reproducing ancient classical authors. Pius IV. therefore summoned no less a person than the great Venetian printer to estab- lish a branch of the Aldine Press at Rome, for the purpose of printing the works of the Fathers of the Church, and other ec- clesiastical writers, in order to oppose some barrier to the flood of new opinions which was rapidly overspreading the world. At the cost of Pius IV., who, be- sides an annual salary of five hundred scudi, paid in advance the whole expense of the transfer of himself and family, Ii Manuzio opened his printing-house in the Campidoglio, the very palace of the Ro- man people, and the books printed there bear the stamp of Apud Paulum Ma- nutium in ~edibus Populi Romani, 1561. It would seem as if so classical a resi- dence and so important an employment must have fixed Paolo Manuzio for ever in Rome. But nevertheless, from various reasons (and no satisfactory one has yet been discovered), either because his gains were not in proportion to his Ia- bours, or because the climate was not suited to his health, after the lapse of nine years he left Rome and returned to Venice. Yet he was never able, after his sojourn in Rome, to settle again. He went both to Genoa and Milan, and in 1573 once more to Rome, for the purpose of visit- ing a daughter whom he had left in a con- vent there. Gregory XIII. then occupied the papal chair, but like his predecessor, he knew too well the value of a man of so great a literary reputation as Paolo to let him escape out of his hands. Gregory offered him an annual stipend, with en- tire liberty to attend to his own puruits, if he would once more conduct the Al- dine Press at Rome. Paolo agreed, but his second sojourn in Rome was shorter even than the first ; not, however, this time from any inconstancy on his part, but because death overtook him early in the following year (r574). Although Paolo Manuzio was inferior to his father, in that he only maintained what Aldo had cre- ated, he was equal to him as a printer and editor. Some writers say that his taste as a critic was not so faultless as that of Aldo 11 vecchio, but his works place him among the most polished writ- ers, both in Latin and Italian, of his age. His most famous Latin treatises are the two upon the Roman Laws and Polity.* In his letters Manuzio carefully copied the style of Cicero, whose letters he also commented on. The literary men of his time even went so far as to say that iCwa~s difficult to decide whether Manu- zio owed most to Cicero or Cicero to Manuzio. But while Hallam places him among those writers of the latter part of the sixteenth century who were conspic- uous for their purity of style, he blames him for too close an imitation of Cicero, which causes the reader soon to weary of his writings, however correct and pol- ished they mai~ be. Paolo Manuzio also wrote and pub ished various small trea- tises in elegant and beautiful Italian. * De Legibus Romanorum, and Dc ~ Hallam, Lit. of Earoj~e, i. $23. THE PRINCE PRINTERS OF ITALY. THE PRINCE PRINTERS OF ITALY. 4 He made a careful study of Roman an- tiquities, and was the first to discover on an ancient marble the Roman Calendar, which he puhlished in 1555, with an ex- planation, and a short treatise on the an- cient manner of counting the days. Like all eminent men he had his detract- ors, such as Gabriello Barn, who accused him of being a plagiarist, but the accu~- tion was entirely without foundation.* At the same time Tiraboschi blames Paolo for his discontent, and for his re- peated complaints of the indifference shown by the princes of his time to the progress of literature. The short sketch of the life of Manuzio just given is sufficient to prove the injustice of these complaints, and Tiraboschi shows that at the time when they were made (1595) there was not a province in Italy without a prince whose pride and glory it was to cherish and protect literature and learning, and who has not left behind him the recol- lection of his munificent protection of science and art. But Manuzio was often hindered in his great labours by ill-health and weakness of eyes; and this may perhaps account for that peevish and querulous disposition which led him to find fault with the times in which he lived. He left four children, but only one son called Aldo, after his illustrious grand- father was destined to maintain the family reputation. Aldo il giovane, so called to distin- ouish him from the founder of the fain- fly, seemed destined to fulfil the brilliant expectations suggested by his name, by publishing, at the age of eleven, a small collection of choice Latin and Italian authors, together with a treatise upon the two languages ; ~ and, this was followed in three years time, by a more learned and more considerable treatise upon Latin orthography4 That his father must largely have as- sisted him in these two works can admit of little doubt; indeed, R6nouard sug- gests that it was probably the work of Paolo himself with some few contribu- tions from his son, and that the father published the book in the name of Aldo in order to give him a brilliant start on his literary career. His after reputation did not at any rate keep pace with so remarkable a begin- * See Tiraboschi, vii. 211. t Eleganze insieme con Ia copia della lingua Toscana e Romana, scelte da Aldo Maniftio, 1558. $ Orthographi~ Ratio ab Aldo Manuejo. Ann des Aide, vol. iii. j3. 176. ning, and the success which he did achieve was due more to his name than to his individual efforts. He profited by his residence at Rome during his fathers lifetime to augment his collection of an- cient inscriptions, by studying the monu- ments themselves instead of the accounts of them in books. He was thus able con- siderably to improve his work on Latin orthography, of which he published a new edition in 1566. This work, the fruit of great research, is even now con- sulted by those who wish to write or re- print Latin books.* Paolo Manuzio entrusted his son with the management of the Aldine Press at Venice, himself conducting the branch which he had transferred to Rome. The Venetian Press, under the super- intendence of Aldo il giovane, did not so much produce new works as reprints of those editions on which its reputation was already founded. From 1540 to 1575 it was chiefly occupied upon the works of Cicero; and the most celebrat- ed work of Aldo il giovane was his com- mentary upon the works of this author, in ten volumes. Five of these it must, however, be stated, were the work of Paolo, and only the latter five were added by his son. In 1572 the young Aldo married Fran- cesca Lucrezia, a daughter of a branch of that same Giunti family of printers who had been the early rivals of the Aldine Press. His career at Venice does not seem to have been very distinguished, al- though, perhaps more as a tribute to his name than his merits, he was made Sec- retary to the Venetian Senate, and other marks of distinction were conferred upon him. Yet he was not loyal to a city which had honoured himself and his fam- ily, or to an institution which had immor- talized his name. In the hope of greater gains ~nd4a more extended reputation, he accepted the post of Professor of Latin ~Eloquence at Bologna, in the room of the learned Sigonius; and he left Venice (i~8~) never to return, having previously made over the famous press which bore his name to Niccolo Manassi. Aldo ii giovane had a full share of that princely favour which his father and grandfather had enjoyed. His Life of Cosimo de Medici rocured him the fa- vour of Francesco; his descendant, the then reigning duke, who placed him in the chair of belles le/tres at Pisa, through which he became a member of the Flor * A nnnles des Aide, vol. iii. p. 178. THE PRINCE PRINTERS OF ITALY. 42 entine Academy. At the same time he was offered a similar position at Rome, vacant by the death of the famous Latin scholar Muretus. This he at first re- fused, but it was kept open in the hope that he would one day accept it, which at last he determined to do. Yielding to the entreaties of Pope Sixtus V., he transferred himself and his vast library the result of the united labours of his father and grandfatherto Rome in the year i~88. He fulfilled the duties of the Professors chair during the lifetime of this Pope, and at his death in 1590, his successor, Clement VIII., gave Aldo, in addition to this post of honour, the more lucrative position of superintendent cf the Vatican Printing Press. This re- sponsible office he only held during five years, dying it is commonly supposed, of a surfeit in 1597. Such was the un- satisfactory end of an unsatisfactory life, which by no means fulfilled the brilliant promise of its early years. Dazzled by the glory of a premature reputation, Aldo neglected the profession which his father and grandfather had raised to so much honour and instead of being, like them, the first printer of his age, filled an in- ferior place among literary men. It would seem also that he possessed more learning than taste in employing his knowledge, and that, while gifted with a retentive memory, he was by no means in other respects a genius. His works are those of a learned man, well acquaint- ed with his subjects, but written in a dry, repulsive style. One of those supposed to be the most interesting is the Life of Castruccio Castracani, the usurper who became Lord of Lucca. The life of this singular individual had already been written by Macchiavelli in Italian, and by Tegrimi in Latin but Aldo, dissatis- fied with both these biographies, made a journey to Lucca for the purpose of con- sulting the public archives and family documents. With their assistance he published at Rome a new life of this ex- traordinary soldier of fortune, entitled, Le Attioni di Castruccio Castracani degli Antelminelli, Signore di Lucca. It is praised by De Thou, and a new edi- tion was published at Pisa as lately as 1820. Aldo il giovane left no surviving chil- dren, and with him the family became ex- tinct ; while the Press which will for- ever bear their name, passed into other hands. He died moreover, without a ~vill, and the splendid library of 8o,ooo volumes, which it had taken three gen erations to collect, was divided among his creditors. Angelo Rocca wrote an epitaph upon the three Manuzii, in which, however, he shows an undue partiality for Aldo il giovane.* The annals of the Aldine Family have been given the place of prominence in this paper, and pursued as closely as its brief limit will allow, because they illus- trate not only the progress and perfect- ing of the typographical art in Italy in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, but also the princely favour and patron- age to which that art was in its in- fancy so much indebted. The circum- stances also in which the Manuzii were placed, and the nature of their labours, give their history an interest which does not perhaps belong to that of any other. printer. Nor are similar circumstances likely to occur again. Never again, as in the case of Aldo il vecchio, will it fall to the lot of any printer to exhume and res- cue from destruction the ancient clas- sics nor will it again be the privilege of any prince to lend his countenance and supply the funds requisite for so arduous and so glorious a task. Reddo Diem is the apt motto placed by Manni on the title-page of his life of Aldo Pio Manuzio, and it is not easy to determine whether the Venetian printer deserves most the gratitude of posterity for the light of knowledge which his dis- coveries shed upon the world, or for the preservation of that knowledge by an art which he brought to perfection and which seems to render a future dark era impos- sible. But although these two achieve- ments may fairly give him the claim to be considered the chief printer of Italy, it must be admitted that in point of time others had preceded him. It is common- ly supposed that the first Italian press was set up by two Germans, Sweinheim and Pannartz, in the monastery of Subi- aco~ then inhabited by German monks in the Roman Campagna. They first printed the works of Donatus, followed by those of Lactantius and the De Civitate Dei of St. Augustine. From Subiaco the monastery was trans- ferred to Rome, where it was under the patronage of the Popes, Paul II. and Six- tus V., who conferred the Episcopate of Aleria, in ~2ersica, on the corrector of * Aldus Manutius senior, moritura Latina Gr~caque restituit mortua ferme typis. Paulus restituit calarno monumenta Quiritum Utque alter Cicero scripta diserta dedit. Aldus dum luvenis miratur avumque patremque Films stciueuepos, at avus atque Pater. R~nouard, A an. des A ide, vol. iii. p. zoS. THE PRINCE PRINTERS OF ITALY. 43 their press, Giannandrea dei Bussi, a man paratively untried area of Oriental litera- of great learning, but at that time in the ture, and the restoration of the Greek very depths of poverty. Another bishop, and Roman languages was speedily fol- Giannantonio Campano, bishop of Ter- lowed by the study of the Eastern ramo, corrected the proofs of a rival tongues, which, although necessary to printing-house, that of Udalrico Gallo at the better knowledge of the sacred writ- Rome.* ings, had been for a long time neglected. Before the time of Aldo, Venice had The first Hebrew book ever printed is her printing-presses, one set up in I4~9 supposed to have been the Pentateuch, by Giovanni da Spira and Vendelino printed at Bologna in 1482, prior even to his brother, another that of Niccolo Jen- those issued by the famous Hebrew press son, which, as has been already seen, at Soncino, already alluded to, which was was purchased by Andrea dAsola, the established in 1484. In the next century father-in-law of Aldo. the Hebrew language was studied to a In this same year books were also considerable extent for controversial pur- printed in Milan, which may boast of hay- poses, on the one side by the German ing printed the first Greek book, the Protestants, and on the other by the Grammar of Lascaris, of Constantinople, champions of the Roman faith. It was in 1476, by Dionigi da Paravisino. the favourite language of the great Bel- Florence was celebrated for the family larmine, himself a considerable Hebrew of the Giunti, who attained a great repu- scholar. tation in their own city, and also estab- The Syriac and Chaldee, closely related lished branches of their firm at Venice to Hebrew, were studied for the same and Lyons. Luc-Antonio Giunta and theological purposes, also the Arabic, by Filippo his brother were the first printers far the most fertile in books. The first in this family, and like the Manuzii, of Arabic press was set up at Fano by the whom they were often the not very scru- Venetian Giorgio, at the cost of Pope Ju- pulous rivals, they published a great lius II. It was the first press with On- number of editions of the classics. Of ental types established in Europe, and these, the most celebrated was an edition although no book was issued from it dur- of Plutarchs Lives in Greek, first pub- ing the life-time of that Pope, one year lished in that language by Filippo Gi- after his death (in i~i6~ there appeared unta; while Bernardo, his son, published the first attempts at a polyglot Bible in a the celebrated edition of Boccaccios Psalter printed in foar languages, He- Decamerone. ~ The Giunti maintained brew, Greek, Arabic, and Chaldee, of their printing reputation through several which a Dominican, Agostino Giustiniani, generations, and their rivalries with the was the editor.* Aldine firm were finally extinguished by This instance of good-will, which in the marriage of the grand-daughter of the midst of his devouring ambition Luc-Antonio Giunta with the grandson Pope Julius II. manifested to literature of Aldo il vecchio, in 1572. The family and art, would have been more highly did not become extinct till the middle of esteemed, had not his immediate succes- the next century. sor, Leo X., the worthy son of Il Mag- The art of printing spread in Italy with nifico, opened another Augustan age for surprising rapidity, not only in the large literature and learning in Italy. And yet cities among which it was soon the ex- an eminent literary historian observes, ception to find one without a press, but that altl~ugh these times are generally also in the smaller towns, and even vil- distinguished as the age Qf Leo the Tenth, lages. Books were printed in St. Orso, I cannot perceive why the Italians have near Vincenza; Polliano, near Verona ; agreed to restrict to the Court of this Pieve di Sacco, Nonantola, and Scandi- Pontiff that literary glory which was corn- ano, in the duchies of Modena and Reg- mon to all Italy. It is not my intention gio; so that it may be fairly said that if to detract a single particle from the Italy did not invent the art, she did her praises due to Leo X. for the services utmost to propagate it with rapidity. rendered by him to the cause of litera- Moreover, the influence of printing ture. I shall only ~emark that the great- was not confined to the field, however en part of the Itali d~ princes of this pe- vast and fruitful, of classical learning. nod might with equal right pretend to It also penetrated into the wide and corn- the same honour; so that there is no particular reason for conferring on Leo Tiraboschi, Sz~oria, vir 162, z66, i68. t R~nouard, A nnales, iii. ~. * Gingudn4 vol. vii. p. z.~. THE PRINCE PRINTERS OF ITALY. 44 the superiority over all the rest. * Still, the patronage of the Holy See, which was accorded to the earliest beginnings of printing in Italy, was exercised with a continual munificence worthy of especial consideration. The Popes lost no oppor- tunity of protecting and furthering the progress of an art whose manifold im- portance to the Holy See became daily more apparent. Leo X. has been blamed, and not with- out reason, for cultivating the classics to the neglect of sacred literature. Th~ two opposite historians of the Council of Trent (Fra Paolo Sarpi, and Pallavicino) seem to agree upon this point.t A further witness to the devotion of this Pope to classical study and litera- ture, appears in his edition of the first five books of Tacitus, purchased for five hundred scudi from the Abbey of Cor- vey, in Westphalia, and printed and pub- lished at Rome in a new and costly edi- tion at his own private expense, with the monopoly secured for ten years under pain of excommunication. The edition of Plato dedicated to him by Aldo Manu- zio was also secured to the Venetian printer in a similar manner. On the other hand, instances may be urged of the encouragement afforded by him to many learned men who devoted themselves to the study of the sacred writings. On being informed that Pa- gnini, a learned ecclesiastic then in Rome, had undertaken to translate the Bible from the original Hebrew, Leo requested to be allowed the inspection of this work. He also ordered that the whole should be transcribed at his own expense, and gave directions that it should be immedi- ately printed.4 Tesco Ambrogio of Pa- via, who is said to have understood no less than eighteen different languages, was employed by this Pope to translate the liturgy of the Eastern clergy from the Chaldee into Latin, and was also appoint- ed by him to a chair at the University of Bologna, where he delivered instruction in the Syriac and Chaldee languages. Moreover, the great Cardinal Ximenes dedicated his Complutensian Polyglot Bible to Leo, as an acknowledgment of the encouragement which he had afforded to Oriental learning. Leo the Tenth died in 1382. It was during the brief Pontifi- cate of his immediate successors, nine of whom filled the Papal chair in an interval of sixty-three years, that the Manuzii (Paolo and his son Aldo) were summoned to establish a branch of their printing press in Rome. It was the glory of Sixtus V., elected Pope in 1585, to securely establish the Vatican printing-press. T.his press was principally intended for early Chirstian literature, and the dedication to him of the works of Gregory the Great, by Pie- tro da Tossignano, sets forth that infinite praise is due to Sixtus V., both for the idea and the execution of so magnificent a scheme as the publication of the Holy Fathers of the Church, whereby a great and solid advantage is obtained for the Catholic Faith. The splendid editions of the Vulgate and of the Septuagint, and many other works of great value, were the fruit of this last scheme of Sixtus V. After the death of Aldo il giovane, the regulation of this press, which had been placed under his charge by Clement VIII., and upon which forty thousand scudi had been already expended, was confided to Domenico Borso. This expense does not appear so extraordinary when it is re- membered that this press was furnished not only with Greek and Latin, but also with Hebrew and other Oriental charac- ters, with paper of great value, and every other requisite for the perfection of this art. Above all, the most learned men of the age were paid high salaries to super- vise and correct the editions which issued from it. Many of the Cardinals imitated the ex- ample of the Popes. Even before Sixtus V. had conceived or executed his vast scheme, another, almost equally magnifi- cent, had been carried into effect by Car- dinal Ferdinando de Medici. In 1580 he opened a printing-press in Rome, with Oriental types, to be entirely devoted to the ~publication of books in Eastern lan- ~u~es, for the purpose of propagating the Roman faith among the people of the East, and bringing them into the fold of the Roman Church. Gregory XIII. placed under his care the two Patriarch- ates of Alexandria and Antioch, and de- clared him also Protector of Ethiopia, thus committing the salvation of those far-off countries to his charge. The Cardhjal did not neglect his trust, but a ch ~d learned and expert trav- ellers throughout Syria, 19ersia, Ethiopia, ~ Roscoes Leo ~ke Ten~k (from Andres, Dell on- and other Oriental provinces, in search of gine dogni Let/ertetura), manuscripts, which they brought to Rome t See their judgmen~Sarpi, Slonia, ~ ~ to be printed. First there issued front Pallavicino, Conc. di Trento, lib. i. cap. ii. p. ~s. $ Roscocs Ljfe u/Leo A., vol. ii. p. 401. his Oriental press an Arabic and Chaldaic THE PRINCE PRINTERS OF ITALY. 45 Grammar, the works of Avicenna and Euclid, then the four Gospels, first in Hebrew, and afterwards in a Latin ver- sion, of which 3,000 copies were printed. He had also intended to print the Bible in six of the principal Eastern languages, in order that these, joined to the four already printed, Latin, Greek, Hebrew, and Chaldee, might make altogethei a Bible in ten languages, the grammar and dictionary of each tongue also forming part of the work. But the simultaneous death of Pope Gregory XIII., and of his o~vn brother Francesco de Medici, whom he succeeded as Grand Duke of Tuscany, prevented the accomplishment of this de- sign. His Oriental press, however, con- tinued to work for many years. In fact, most of the books in Oriental types pub- lished at Rome in the beginning of the seventeenth century contain the imprint Ex Typographia Medicea linguarum externarum. These types were after- wards transported to Florence, and are still preserved in the Palazzo Vecchio. Thus it may be said that both the Pon- tiffs and Cardinals of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries made use of their power no less than of their treasure in furthering the interests of science. In- deed, the dedications of the infinite num- ber of books printed in this century, the letters of the learned men of the age, and all the various monuments of Papal mag- nificence which still exist in Rome, bear witness to this fact. The two other princely houses which vied the nearest with Rome in munificence were those of Este and of the Medici. It would be difficult to decide which of these two carried off the palm in the opin- ions of contemporary writers. To Cosi- mo de Medici Florence and all Tuscany, of which he was the Grand Duke, are in- debted for the enthusiasm with which during his reign the arts were cultivated, and the perfection to which they were brought. The favour of this prince was also extended to printing, and at his own cost he sent for Arnaldo Arlenio, a Ger- man printer, established him in Florence, and associated him with Torrentino, whose beautiful editions date from 1548. Torrentinos editions cease with the year 1563, and it is supposed that the wars in which Tuscany was then involved caused him and his associate to seek a more peaceful retreat in Mondovi, where the Duke Emmanuel Philibert is said to have entered into partnership with them. He at any rate assibned them a provision of twenty scudi a month for three years, a fact of which Arlenio re- minds him in a petition for the mainte- nance of his partnership with the heirs of Ii Torrentino, and the payment of the promised provision, which, by some mis- take, they had as yet not received. The Duke acceded to their request in a decree issued at Turin, March 15, 1571.* The Duke of Ferrara did not suffer himself to be eclipsed by the magnificent patronage of the Grand Duke of Tuscany. Alfonso II. dEste also opened a printing- press in Ferrara for the special purpose of printing works hitherto unedited, and manuscripts which he had acquired by diligent search. So many famous printing-houses, es- tablished in every part of Italy, contrib- uted to the general cultivation of litera- ture. The multiplication of good copies of books rendered them accessible, not only to the princes themselves, but also to private individuals ; while, numberless new libraries were formed, and the fa- mous old ones increased. It would have been impossible in these few pages to do more than indicate how powerful was the assistance ac- corded by the princes to the art of printing during the first two centuries after its introduction into Italy. But enough has perhaps been said to prove that her potentates were fully aware of the great advantages to be derived from so wonderful an invention; more espe- cially as it seemed to come as a re~vard for their incessant labours to promote the interests of literature, science, and art. Not only did the stores of classical learn- ing thereby revealed to them repay their efforts, but the Pontiffs found also a re- turn for their liberality in the spiritual weapons with which printing supplied them, out of the armoury of the early Fathers. Such were some of the first effects pro- duc~d iA Italy by an art whose influence was scarcely less great over the other countries of Europe, although productive of different results. Printitig reached its highest perfection shortly after its intro- duction into Italy. In point of rapidity of execution no doubt the quantity of printed matter issued in the present time is in~measurably greater. But, on the other hand, as to~he quality of typogra- phy, there can be no comparison between the ephemeral productions of these days and those marvellous works, of which one alone would suffice to establish the repu- tation both of printer and editor. * Note to Tiraboschi, vii. ai8. 46 DISORDER IN DREAMLAND. The earlyItalian editions are not only sought for and prized on account of their rarity, but also on account of their un- rivalled beauty, the excellent quality of their paper, the brilliancy of their type, the largeness of their margins, and the careful attention bestowed on every typo- graphical detail. Nor then, as now, were some extravagantly-luxurious editions issued side by side with others of start- ling inferiority, with bad paper and worse ink. The great printers of those days the Aldi of Italy, the Elzevirs of Leyden, the Estiennes of Paris printed for the general benefit of all readers. It is true that their publications were often dearer than the common productions of some inferior contemporary printer, but then these great printing-houses issued no bad editions all were good, carefully ex- ecuted, correct, and in good taste. So much for the manual labour which be- longs to the printer; but if we turn to the intellectual share of the work which fell to the lot of the editor, there is still more to excite our admiration in the sagacity and erudition displayed in se- lecting the works most fitted for publica- tion, and in arranging for their issue in the best possible manner. Looking back on those early days of printing, on the reverence with which the new discovery was employed, and thegrand end which it subserved, we experience a feeling of regret that familiarity with its use should have placed in unworthy hands, and di- verted often to unworthy purposes, per- hap~ the greatest discovery man was ever permitted to make. It is a very striking circumstance, says Mr. Hallam, that the high-minded inventors of this great art tried, at the very outset, so bold a flight as the print- ing of an entire Bibie,* and executed it with astonishing success. It was Mi- nerva leaping on earth in her divine strength and radiant armour, ready at the moment of her nativity to subdue and destroy her enemies. . . . We may see in imagination this venerable and splendid volume leading up the crowded myriads of its followers, and imploring, as it were, a blessing on the new art by dedicating its first fruits to the service of Heaven. In Italy, also, as we have seen, printing was never employed except in the service of erudition, or, higher still, in that of Divine revelation. Thus contemplated, the art of printing seems raised above the ordinary level and bustle of common life, and surrounded by the same kind of dignified repose which especially belongs to the great libraries of Italythos~ store-houses of accumu- lated science, the result of years of labour on the part of her learned men, and costly expenditure on the part of her princes. There may have been many political and social evils connected with the divi- sion of Italy into a variety of States, each more or less despotically governed, but it must be owned that the emulation caused by that very fact stimulated a number of individual efforts whereby the treasuries of classical learning were secured to the world, literature and the arts were cher- ished and protected, and the graver sciences promoted in the same manner. The rise and rapid progress of typography in Italy may also be traced to the same source. Italy has long sighed for unity and liberty, and, within the last few years, both these wishes have been ac- complished. Great things are also ex- pected from a form of government which seems to realize the wishes of her great- est sons. No longer Son le terre dItalia tutte piene di tiranni. No longer does Rome Vedova, sola, e dl e notte chiama: Cesare mio, perch~ non maccompagna ? * C~sar, in the person of a native monarch, sits firmly in the no longer empty saddle, and upon a free country now devolves the duty of cherishing the genius which may spring out of her inexhaustible soil; yet must she never forget the debt which she owes to those princes by whose fostering care the great art of printing was uphold- en during its early struggles for existence in Italy. CATHERINE MARY PHILLIMORE. ,~- 4 * Purg. c. vi. From Blackwoods Magazine. DISORDER IN DREAMLAND. PART II. MISS FUL~Q RD fretted herself a good deal about t~ is rumour of Lieutenant Hardinges approaching removal from Wetton. She feared that his departure * Commonly called the Mazarin Bible, the edition at any early date would give the death- being unknown until fou~i about the middle of the last blow to her hopes, which were now never century in Cardinal Mazarins library at Paris. Hal- over-lively. Lydia Tarraway, who re- lam, Lit. of Euroj5e, i. ~53. DISORDER IN DREAMLAND. 47 turned home the day after the dinner- to lose you soon, said Miss Fulford to party, did not write very speedily, and so the Lieutenant, as they danced together left Gertrude much tormented by sus- on one of the evenings. It cost a pain- pense. She owned to herself now that ful effort to say this with any appearance she had given her affections to Har- of indifference while her heart was flut- dinge; and the prospect of his going tering and thumping like a flying beetle away, never probably to be seen by her trying to steer himself along a wall. again, was almost more than she could Lose me! echoed Hardinge. I bear. When she did meet Lydia, the i.n- think not. Who says ~o? Its very kind formation which that young lady had to of you to express regret. give was not comforting. Lydias brother Her heart shook and drummed worse Phil had been to stay for a few days at I than ever as this answer caused a renais- Plymouth, and had been commissioned to sance of hope. She could not get on find out from some military acquaintances with her quest but by putting great force whether there was a regulation such as on herself. Oh, I understood that is, her militia friend had mentioned. The I heard some one say that you had only youth, not knowing how anxiously Ger- come for a fixed time, and would have to trude waited for his reply, did not hurry go away soon: of course it isnt cor- to fulfil his errand, and thus it was some rect. days before Lydia told her that the rule There is a fixed time when I must re- about recruiting was certainly as the join my regiment; but it isnt soon. Ive militia officer had stated. Lydia, it is to three or four months more of this work be feared, was not without some little to do. feeling of satisfaction at her friends dis- Only three or four months ? in- appointment. She had herself conde- quired Gertrude, with an emotion which scended to think of fascinating Hardinge, Hardinge did not perceive. and ol course it wouldnt be pleasant to Well, three or four months make a see a man who was insensible to her at- pretty good spell. It will secure me what tractions fall a victim to her neighbours. remains of the winter amusements, give Miss Tarraway, however, by no means me a chance of some trout-fishing, and intended to waste in despair because this get me off the spring drills. By that romance had come to nought ThouTh time, you know, it will be high time for some years off the guilt and ignominy of me to go in; I feel myself getting rusty old-maidenhood, she knew, nevertheless, as it is. Thus answered that insensible that a good many shining hours had been young man. There was only one ray of allowed to slip away unimproved, and she comfort (if comfort it could be called) in was not in the least disposed to daIly what he said. The man seemed perfectly with flowers from which no honey was to heart-whole: there was no sign of a be gathered. With an eye to building rival. her cell, she had been, since her visit to One can suppose how, with this trouble Colkatton, investigating the Church in- upon her, Gertrude chafed inwardly at terest of Mr. Norcotts family, and ex- the Admirals attentions. But, as I have amining herself whether she could be before hinted, it was not her nature to content to settle down as the lad) of a let others see much of what she felt ; so, rector or vicar, and whether a young man spite of the chagrin that was fretting her, who painted in oils could be a help meet she p~y~l her part with some spirit, re- for her. She saw with some little regret plied without weariness to the Admirals that Gertrude was unhappy; but then, remarks, and even found herself able to why could not Gertrude do as other peo- take a few observations of the affairs of pIe had been obliged to dogive up ro- her friends. mantic fancies, and turn her thoughts to I am to have the honour this qua- designs that were practicable ? drille, am I not? said Admiral Taut- The evening parties which Hardinge brace, coming in from the tea-room. had mentioned in his leave-takino at Col- They wanted me to sit ddwn to a rub- katton duly took place. He was fairly ber and there would have been plenty attentive to Gertrude; but Admiral Taut- of time, as you we~ engaged for so many brace, who was likewise a guest, was so dances; but I said to myself If it marked in his devotion, that if quantity~ should detain me only two minutes from could have made up for kind, the love- the side of a certain fair lady that I .know sick lady would have been amply com- after she is disengaged, it would be a pensated. dearly bought amusement; so I saun I am sorry to hear that we are likely tered patiently about the rooms, and now 48 DISORDER IN DREAMLAND. have been refreshing with a cup of tea. Will you come and do likewise ? It is very hard upon us fellows who have passed our youth to have these whirligig dances come into fashion. I could foot a hornpipe ~vhen I was a middy, and steer a craft through a country-dance as well as any pilot going, hands across, you know, down the middle and up again, lots of life in that and now I can man- age to walk through a quadrille; but old timbers would never stand twirling at that pace. Everything getting too fast, by George, I say! dancing on shore like teetotums, and sending hulls through the water with steam: all a mistake, depend on it; we shall have to come back to reasonable, sensible ways. But the waltz is very delightful, I as- sure you, with a partner, who, as you say, knows how to steer a craft. Then I shall say no more on that head, except to regret that when I passed as able to knot, reef, and steer, the art of navigating a maelstrom was not consid- ered a necessary part of education. Our friend Miss Tarraway is not dancing so much as usual to-night. No indeed. As Mr. Norcott does not dance, Lydia and he appear to be en- joying each others company in the sit- ting-down way. Happy curate! she has given up her waltzes to talk to him. Hardinge came to see Gertrude to her carriage; but though she was glad to lean on his arm for only a minute or two, she was too well assured of his indiffer- ence, after the tone in which he had spoken of his departure, to go home with a lightened heart because he came to bid her good-night. Her spirit, which had endured so well while she was under the eyes of others, gave way as soon as she was alone, and the poor girl wept tears of poignant mortification. She felt certain that she must love the young officer for- ever, and could never love any one else and she began to contemplate a heroic martyrdom, and to think about the rose i the bud, and Patience on a monu- ment, and so on. Poor soul! proud science never taught her to stray into the doctrines of womans rights~ but there did arise in her breast a little rebellious feeling against the restrictions to which her sex was subject. For when the idea of a martyrdom and smiling at grief be- gan to look less captivating on further acquaintance, she asked herself who could say that, if the netion of falling in love with her once were suggested to Hardinge, he wouldnt do it ; and yet she might not do anything at all to make him understand how acceptable his affection would be. She had heard and read of shrewd ob- servers who had penetrated secrets like hers, and by a word of well-timed ex- hortation or explanation had made every- thing smooth, and put two people in the way of making each other happy. Was there nobody to act the part of the kind fairy? Anon she would lose all patience with her beloved for being so obtuse and impassible, and then blame herself for blaming him, be overcome with tender- ness, and cry again as if her heart would break. Mr. Benjamin Saunders, as he rode home on the evening before mentioned, did not feel that his visit to Colkatton had been very efficacious indeed he felt subdued and discouraged to a degree with which his sanguine nature was not familiar. By the time he got home he had decided that there were difficulties in his way, unlike what he had ever before en- countered in paying his addresses, and that he was a donkey for ever thinking of a thing so hard of achievement. This was very like giving up the idea alto- gether; and when he began to think of the many quarters in which his atten- tions would be acceptable, he felt already consoled to some extent, and able to put aside his chagrin. He was kind and affable to his mother that evening, told her all about the grate, and what he pro- posed to do with it, and entered into two or three business matters so as quite to delight the poor old lady, who could not help expressing her satisfaction ; which having done at some length, she unfortu- nately reverted to his flippant mention of Miss Fulford the night before, and pro- ceeded to point out the folly of it. It may sound very free and inde- pendent, my son, said she, but I never kn~Wed any good to come of it. Gentry folks may bend theirselves to we, but us mustnt never presume nothing with them. Well they know the difference betwixt us, and never forgets it. Chay- ney is chayney, and crockery is crock- ery. His mortification returned when the young man found himself alone at night. He asked hjmself what could ever have set him on ~uch a quest, and wondered how the deuce a sharp fellow like him, who could be so successful on his own level should have invited such humiliation. And then he remembered that it was his dream that had tempted him; and, his DISORDER IN DREAMLAND. 49 mind once turned again to the dream, he to show that the condescension was great couldnt help going over all its scenes, and exceptional. With all their broad which came up now as vividly as when base, the members could not produce a they were first l)resented. Once more he decent field of cricketers ; and in order realized the blissful feelings produced by to insure play they were compelled to in- the vision, and felt his whole nature vite young men of all grades, down to stirred by the touch of the old peer, and mechanics and labourers, to join the the sight of his coronet. After all, could sport, although these were not members. I be so wrong? inquired Benjamin of Now Benjamin, after his year at Ply- himself; that dream meant somethimig mouth, where he learned to play cricket Ill be hanged if it didnt! There was if he did not acquire much book-lore, was no promise that all this jolly catch of fish frequently honoured by an invitation to was to be had without a little trouble and play with the club, which he highly patience, or perhaps without a little dis- prized; and once or twice when Wetton appointment, only that it is to be had; played Muggytown or Slushton, he had and by George! its worth putting up been of the eleven, having some reputa- with something for. His ambition re- tion as a bowler, which reputation was vived, you see, as he reflected on the set against another reputation which he dream, and with it came a sense of shame bore of being a forward and not particu- at being so easily downcast. He had larly agreeable young person. Hitherto probably begun rashly and injudiciously; he had been quite proud of this left- he would now set to work with more handed alliance with the club; but now forethought. A moderate amount of ru- when he began to cast about for a lift up mination showed him that his main diffi- the social ladder, he felt that the full culty arose from his inferior station in rights of membership must form the first life; and he was painfully impressed by rung for him to mount by; accordingly his mothers remark about chayney and he began to think over the possible crockery. But then, although there was means of feaching this dignity. His no denying that crockery is crockery, it fathers friend, and his own early precep- was equally undeniable that crockery tor, the schoolmaster, had a son of about might by clever alchemy be transmuted Benjamins age. This son had been to chayney. In brief, he perceived that wrought into a good mathematician, and the first step towards the attainment of sent to Cambrmdg~, where he came out as his object must be social advancement a senior op. Before taking orders, for himself. This would have been dif- which was his destination, he had come ficult to most men in his position; but, home to spend a little time with his fain- as we have seen, he ~vas bold and prompt. ily; and the club, unsolicited, had shown He did not let a day pass before he put its sense of the credit which he had an iron in the fire, as he called it. brought to Wetton by electing him a mem- Wetton boasted of a club, such as ber. Now this young Coryton (or Carry- clubs in those days were. The Wetton ten as they were commonly called, partly Association played cricket and made ex- from ignorant corruption of the name, cursions (sometimes giving picnics) in and partly from the frequency of carrying the summer; in winter it played cards ten in the old gentlemans instructions) once a-week and supped. Its meetings was a sort of link between Benjamin and were held at the hotel. In order that it the club. They had played in the Wet- might be kept going at all, it had to be ton glttes together, stolen apples in established on a somewhat broad basis. concert, been, under a common sentence, The auctioneer, appraiser, and land-sur- wellnigh flayed (for old Carryten gener- veyor (one and the same person) was a ally left his mark upon offenders, and member, so was the cashier of the bank, didnt spare his own flesh), and were still so was the teacher of music and church great friends. Ben was not aware of organist, so was the young man who having reflected credit on his native place came originally to lecture at the Wetton except by his appearance and general Institution, and then remained to in- style; but in every other respect he struct youthful Wetton in Euclid trio~- might aspire to thejlub as well as Cory- onometry, the use of the Gunters chain, ton. He thought, too, it would only be and geology. But for all that, it claimed reasonable of his friend to propose him, to be a vei-y blue-blooded society indeed ; and so he asked him to do him that fa- and if, like other orders of that kind, it your. Coryton, although he could do any- occasionally admitted a somewhat doubt- thing with figures and quantities short of ful candidate from necessity, it took care squaring the circle, was very much Ben- LiVING AGE. VOL. VI. 264 DISORDER IN DREAMLAND. 50 jamins inferior in point of assurance. Well, then, Ben, he is likely to be He would have preferred at most times expanded and raised to the nth power of not to put himself forward in the affairs graciousness to-morrow evening, when of the club ; but, elected as he had been, the tradesmens club are going to pre- and that very recently, he saw a peculiar sent him with a snuff-box; catch him impropriety in attempting to introduce after that, and hell be cleared of frac- another member from his own stratum of tions and surds, and prepared to be dealt society. Thus he was made excessively with by any process that you like. uncomfortable by Benjamins iequest, Im a member of that club, responded and hardly knew how to answer it. Ben, and can go if I like. (He didnt Look here, Ben, he said, after some like, though.) hesitation ; dont fancy, old chap, that Then go by all means. I shant be I wouldnt be delighted to have you a there, because I dont belong to em. member, because I would, and you ought But you, being homologous, should at- to know that I would; but you know I tend and do him honour; when hes ra- doubt if my bringing you forward would diant, extract his opinion, and obtain his be the best means to insure success. goodwill. Your chance of election would be much All right, said Ben; and he went to better if your name were put up by one give notice that he would be at supper. of the older members. But Tom Coryton went to meet his father, Perhaps so; but who, except your- who would be then just on his way home self, is likely to do it for me? Why, from the schoolhouse, to talk to him about dash it, Tom, yourre as good a member this embarrassing matter. Tom was in as any of em, and have just as much high favour after having taken so good a right to propose a candidate. degree, as maybe supposed: the old gen- Let that be granted, answered the tleman~ countenance brightened at the dif- siTht of him; he got a favourable hearing senior op ; still, proposing is a ferent thing from electing. Say that I for his little trouble, and was, moreover, enter your name, I must have a coef- gratified by his parents entire approval ficient, a seconder, you know, and who I of the manner in which he had met Mr. will he be? If they take offence, and Saunderss request. look upon me as an irrational quantity Right, Thomas, right: everywhere presuming on the favour they have shown but here you are Mr. Coryton, the Bach- me, we shall never make the proposal elor of Arts, and high-class mathemati- binomial: that is, my boy, we shall not cian; and here, too, I hope, my son, get the two names necessary for candida- youll some day hold up your head x~ith ture, far less shall we command the se- the best of em. But just now people ries that will secure election. wont forget that your old father is the The impetuous Benjamin could not writing-master, and theyd look down help seeing some reason in this, but he upon you for that if you were the head of did not choose at once to acknowledge it, a coll5ge. Wait a little; youll be acler- and he vented his vexation as if he had gyman before long, and I shall be out of still to complain of Corytons indispo- your way. Then theyll forget about your sition to help him. By George! he origin, and be ready enough to recognize said, flinging away his cigar impatiently, you. it seems a fellow might just as well be Dont talk that way, father, please, without a friend as have one. eri~reated Tom. I dont want to be any- That is as much as to say that to thing grander than you and mother, and have and not to have is the same thing, I dont wish for any worship or any sta- which is absurd. Given your friend, he tion where you cant be a witness, and is a unit, and valuable in his degree ; but where we shant all be on the same level, the problem is to find a multiplier that I just as we are now. shall make you friends of the body of j Youll feel otherwise by-and-by, per- the club, and I dont, at this moment, haps, my son, answered old Carryten, see my way to the solution of it. What who was nevertheless touched by Tom s do you say to consulting my father? honest fee g. But about Ben Saun- Father 11 tell us what we had best do, ders, now; I would lend him a hand for and will help an old scholar if he can. his old fathers sake, if I knew how. Ill Humph, replied Benjamin; of think about it. Pity that Ben isnt pleas. course Ive no objection to consulting anter. He wishes for peoples good opin- the old gent, if r can only get him in a ion, Im sure, but he doesnt go quite the favourable humour. way to get it. Ill think it over, Tom, Ill DISORDER IN DREAMLAND. 5 think it over, my son. And Tom knew very well that his fathers interest was gained for his friend. It was a fortunate thing for young Saunders that he was induced to attend the tradesmens meeting. A very unfa- vourable impression would have been given if, on this first meeting of the soci- ety after his fathers death, and on this opportunity of doing honour to his o~ld schoolmaster and his fathers friend, he had absented himself, as he certainly had intended to do; for he thought that now when he was resolved to move on a high- er level, the less he had to do with the old low level the better which, I am afraid, was no proof of his fitness for so- cial promotion. At all events, there he was, and nobody had a right to suppose that he didnt come with all his heart. The members, all in their simple way, evinced sympathy with him, and he was asked to be one of the half-dozen picked members who stood out to receive old Carryten, the guest of the evening. Ben was rather pleased that he had came. He couldnt help being friendly when every- body was so cordial; and I fancy that he made himself very agreeable, pulling out a cigar when they were all taking their pipes, and damning the infernal punch, ~vhich he said was made with British rum and rotten lemons not being consid- ered ill breeding, but rather a proof of familiarity with the beau monde. The presentation of the snuff-box was done by the president, a jolly old hard- ware man, who, in tendering the gift and proposing old Carrytens health ,~didnt try to he a hit fine, but spoke up just as he would on any ordinary night; and, prompted by a full and honest heart, was very effective. We are wishful, said the chairman in the course of his ad- dress, of showing our regard and es- teem for a gentleman, an old friend, who has been amongst us now moren thirty year ay, more n thirty year (for the time shoots away). There isnt but one or two in the room besides me can mind his coming, but every one in the roomll say twas a fortinate thing he did come. To the older ones he has proved an hon- est and kind friend, and the younger have learned to respect him as an in- structor so well as to love him as a friend, for there isnt one under thirty but have passed under his hand. (Great applause and drumming on the table at this last remark, Mr. Saunders contributing liber- ally to the noise.) Thewse that cried loudest wasnt, I believe, always they that got beat the hardest, though, perhaps, they wanted it the most. (Mr. Saunders silenced. Cheers from quarters that had been quiet before.) Well, as I was say- ing, young and old have good reason to respect and valley him, independent of what we as a body feel. But it is as the clerk of this club that we are now regard- ing of him a club that has been pros- pering for more than twenty year, and a club that, I may safely say, never would have prospered, nor never would have lasted to this day at all, if it hadnt been for the good management, and good sense, and good feeling of our friend what I am speaking of. Mr. Carryten, sir, in the name of the club, which feels greatly beholden to you, I request you to accept of this box, a trifle in itself, but a weighty matter if you take account of all the hearty good-will that we give long with it. May you live many, many years, sir, to make use of this small present, and may every new year find you in- creased in prosperity and in public esti- mation. The speaker then made a graceful allusion to the honours acquired by Mr. Tom Coryton, and drank to the health and prosperity of Mr. Coryton and family. Old Carrytens hand trembled a good deal as he received the box, and he spent some time looking over it and admiring it, and then expressing his admiration of some of its workmanship, and of the gra- cious inscription, to those who sat next him, while the whole company hemmed and blew their noses and fidgeted until he should get on his legs, which he was in no particular hurry to do. A man severe he was, and stern to view; I knew him well, and every truant knew. That was true enough; but then he wasnt always severe and stern, and he wasnt always stern when he was severe. I have kt~wn him sometimes, when tak- ing the rind off a young gentlemans loins (for, bless you, we were not squeamish about a little excoriation in those days), convulse his pupils the subject of his discipline excepted with irresistible jokes. And, when he was clear of the school altogether, it was astonishing what good company he could be, what fun there was in h~, what capital stories he could tell. a a fair tenor voice, too, though it had begun to crack by this time, and was commonly asked for a song or two on festive occasions. He was cer- tainly not liable in a gener~ 1 way to be overcome by his feelings; but somehow, DISORDER IN DREAMLAND. 52 on this occasion he not only postponed as long as he could the acknow~eclgment of the flattering gift, hut when he did get up, he took refuge at first in a little fun. ~ said he, I have been in the habit of giving boxes for many ears, but never till this year has a box like this been given to me. This brightened the whole company again in a moment,; there was scarcely a pair of ears among them that didnt tingle at the ]eu des~rit. The laughter was loud, and the applause very hearty. The merriment had a composing effect on the speaker, who, being quite in his element, spoke of his early acquaint- ance with Wetton, and told one or two of his very best stories, with voice imita- tions, about some of the local characters. Though this was very effective, and de- lighted his audience, he knew very well that he was only postponing the dreaded response to the genial old hardware- mans gracious personalities. It had to be made, however, and as soon as he got on that subject, it was evident that he would, even in the presence of his old scholars, betray a weakness most deroga- tory to the character which he had hith- erto maintained among them. He made two or three acknowledgments, very feebly, and in a somewhat broken voice; took a pinch of snuff and a sip of punch; went at it again; got out one or two sen- tences with great gulps in them; and at last old Carryten broke down utterly and ignominiously, subsided into his seat and covered his eyes with his hands, while the table rang with plaudits, Kentish fire,. the jingling of glasses, and finally a very boisterous performance of the chorus, For he is a jolly good fellow. Poor old Carryten perhaps if more kindness had come his way before, more expression of feeling might have come out of him But how could that have been, I should like to know? To all of my generation, and to all our mothers, who saw our welts and bruises, he was the very impersona- tion of cane and rod. He has cut the buttons from my jacket aforetime, and~ sent me to my seat with my shirt stick- ing to my back. All admitted that he would drive knowledge into any mind whatever capable of receiving it, and 1 suspect that Magas compositors have been indebted to him for the legible MSS. of more than one contributor; but it has taken a long life to raise in my mind a suspicion even that any feeling softer than fear and obedience would have been acceptable from his scholars. And yet, when I come now to think of that night at the tradesmens club, and the old fel- lows emotion it strikes me that he may have had a sense of a hard and laborious life devoted to duty according to his lights, with mighty small material reward, and with only the consciousness that he was useful in his generation to support him ; also, that deep down in his breast under the stony and scarifying strata, lay a yearning for an encouraging word or two,, for some small appreciation of the devotion which kept him like a mill-horse forever at his grinding labour. Well, everybody was affected, and, for- tunately for Mr. Saunders, it was his al-, lotted duty to break the awkward silence by rising to propose the health of Mrs. Coryton. The subduing influence of the recent scene kept him within bounds, and he made his little speech very nicely, and was rewarded by a glance out of old Corytons eyes such as he had never before seen proceeding from those or- gans. They finished the evening very merrily: the schoolmaster wrung every- bodys hand at parting; and when Saun- ders offered his company on the walk home it was graciously accepted. In that auspicious quarter of an hour the young man opened his mind. I dont think, said the old gentle- man, that it would be well for either you or Tom, Benjamin, that he should be your proposer, and he gave reasons for this opinion similar to those which Tom had given. But, added he, per- haps if Tom cant manage it, I can. I assure you we both desire to serve you, he an old friend, I an old scholar; and, provided you obtain your wish, I dont suppose you mind exactly by what agency the thing is worked. Leave it to me. And now, good night: I hope the evening has been as pleasant to you as it has been to me. Ben knew that old Carryten wouldn~t ~all~ in that way unless he saw his way pretty clearly to attainment; but how he was to pass a not quite eli~ible friend into a society of which he wasnt himself a member wasnt quite apparent. He went to sleep, however, veiy tranquilly upon the assurance which he had re- ceived, but before doing so, had very much fortified his resolution to realize the dream We will n~ follow old Carryten through his negotiations on Benjamins behalf. There might be some amusement in doing so, but it would carry us too far from the trunk-line of our story. His mode of operating was this. There were DISORDER IN DREAMLAND. 53 in Wetton, as there are in most places, Benjamin Saunders had his foot on the certain gentlemen who managed to parti- ladder. cipate in the amusements and indulgences This step achieved, our hero of the that were tobe had there, without being dream followed it up by dissociating him- as remarkable for prompt payment as self more and more from the business, for prompt fruition. Such as these, one except the office part thereof, and by being may be sure, were in the club, and were seen now and then out with the harriers its most regular attendants; and they on a good-looking horse. Through his were also in the books of a good many exhibitions of himself on the outside of. tradesmen, whom to reconcile to the sys- this same horse arose a little adventure, tem of small profits and slow returns was which he looked upon as arranged by the a feat which they all achieved with more good genius who had sent him the dream, or less brilliancy, though sometimes at but which did not seem so fortunate to the the imminent risk of being taken by the other actors in it as it did to him. He insolent foe. Now, the schoolmaster, was out on the road one afternoon, when from his long intimacy with Saunderss he met a drayman who was conveying two affairs, knew pretty well who they were huge logs of timber to his building-yard. that stood indebted to the estate. He The logs were lashed on to a rest formed knew also that some of the debtors were by timbers, which were supported by the of the free-and-easy class which I have axles of two pairs of immense wheels, just mentioned. He contrived to let such as the reader has often seen used a few of them know that the books of in a similar way. Benjamin stopped the the estate were likely soon to be put in drayman, to whom he had something to the hands of a man of business, with a say; but his steed fidgeted so at the view of clearing off all old scores and neighbourhood of the tall wheels that it starting afresh under the new owners. was a difficult matter to converse, and a He likewise hinted at Mr. Benjamin good deal of time was lost through the Saunderss ambition to be elected a mem- animal edging away, and then being her of the worshipful society known as forced up again. While this little scene the Wetton Club; whereat these exclu- was going on, a lady on horseback hove sive aristocrats laughed scornfully, asked in sight, as the Admiral would have said, if he didnt wish he might get it (which and came on at a canter towards the dray. was then considered a smart form of When she was near enough to be distin- speech), and remarked, that though the guished, the youth saw that it was Miss club had got deuced low, yet, byJupiter! Fulford; upon which recognition he it hadnt quite come down to that yet. coloured very much, ceased to attend to The better part of their nature, however, the man, and patting and soothing his prevailed, when they perceived that to horse, tried to make it stand quiet while do Saunders a kindness might secure for the young lady passed. But the rapid the doer of it exemption from the pres- approach of another horse is not calcu- sure that was to be apprehended; and lated to make a horse already restive re- two or three of these genial fellows, after main motionless. He plunged and sidled putting aside the crabbed air with which more and more, but did not prevent him they first pretended to meet the propo- from showing the efforts he was making sal, entered heartily into the design, and to subdue these capers, nor from raising even vied with each other in showing his hat as the young lady passed. their zeal for it. These were really the Whether Miss Fulford knew him or not ruling members of the club, who were was not clear; but she had reined in her there continually, fussing and complain- horse to a walk as she came up to the ing and managing. They knew how to unsightly vehicle, and, keeping to the beat about and get promises not to op- side opposite to Benjamin and his gyra- pose; also how to bring on the election tions, slightly inclined her head in ac- at a favourable time. In short, they car-! knowledgment of his salute; then ned in their man; and though a good thanks to the steadiness of the beast many independent members raged and which carried her, which did little more stormed afterwards, yet, as the rules had than prick his ear~ she got clear of the in a fashion been complied ~vith, they obstruction, and st tched into a canter were given to understand that it was their again. So far well; but her groom, who own fault that they didnt attend and had not slackened his pace, and who at- black-ball. It ended in growling only, tempted to dash past, was not destined and the growling died ~away, and Mr. to be so successful. The grooms horse DISORDER IN DREAMLAND. 54 shied wildly at the wheels, and, upon a sight of the house showed this to he being pressed, made a sharp wheel with impossible. There were fellows drinking his fore legs in the air, which brought the all over the place, and a decent sitting- rider off upon the top rail of a gate, room was not to be had. Saunders said across which he fell heavily, while the that he would have been quite ready to animal galloped off. By the time Saun- stay, but then Miss Fulford would have ders and the carter got up to him, he had had to ride home alone; and, through the fallen to the ground. The man could delay caused by the accident, it was get- speak to them in gasps, but he w~s evi- ting late, and would be dusk before she dently severely shaken, and in great pain, could reach Colkatton. There was noth- Several of his ribs, he said, were broken. ing for it but that Benjamin should at- Now, it was a question what was to be tend her. If he would have taken the done; for, after they had supported him grooms place, and followed her at a dis- into a sitting posture against the gate, tance, the arrangement might have been and picked up his hat and replaced it very well; but there was no chance of upon his head, he said he could not sit that. Benjamin thought that he would upon Saunderss horse if he were lifted be able to lift her on to her horse ; but thereon. Then the drayman said he she, too quick for him, xvent to the stock knew of no better plan than to make a and swung herself into the saddle in a bed of some hay which he carried with moment, earning a commendation from him for his horses, spread it on the logs, the ostler, who said, as he drew his hand and let the poor fellow be stretched upon across his upper lip after letting go her it till they could reach a wayside inn reins, Yew be a lightsome on e,Miss; about half a mile on. While ihey were darned if yew bant. Yew oft to be in by very slow motions raisins him to this Powells trewp, yew did. ive a seed rude bed (for he was in great agony, and heavier maidens that they thought woth could hardly bear to ke touched), Miss puttin into pantalewus. But it is a Fulford, xvho had missed her attendant question whether this panegyric was not and turned to see what had become of due entirely to the fear she was in of Ben- him, rode up. jamin touching even the sole of her boot. Hell go home safe enough, Miss ; he She had an instinctive perception that he wont come to no hurt, feebly moaned was a person to be kept at a considerable the poor man, in reply to her alarmed distance. Ben, however, by this time Good heavens, Corder! what is this? quite understood the necessity of greatly Dear me, never mind the horse ; are restraining himself, and intended this you much hurt? time to make an impression by extreme Feared I be, Miss. deference, curbing his vivacious fancy. Then Mr. Saunders explained the man- And when he got a chance of saying any- ner of the accident, and what they pro- thing at all, he said nothing that any one posed to do, to which, as no alternative could object to ; but his chances were presented itself, she was fain to assent. exceedingly limited, for Miss Fulford He also said that he would ride forward kept at something more than a canter to the little inn, send a more comfortable whenever the ground permitted it; and conveyance if he could get one, and order in a very short time they were in the a bed to be prepared for the sufferer. outskirts - of Wetton, and at the door Permitting him to do so, Miss Fulford of Mr. Pound the Apothecary and Sur- said she would remain with the dray. A ~ed~. That practitioner himself im- little way on; Saunders met a farmer re- mediately appeared at the door of turning in his tax-cart from town, and his pharmacy, and received directions, made him promise to turn back and bring first, to go himself to see her servant up the. injured groom when he should immediately; second, to send for a car- meet the dray. He then pricked on to riage for herself; third, to let one of his the inn, called out the landlady, and told men lead her horse to Colkatton ; fourth, her to prepare a bed. It was some time to afford Miss Fulford the shelter of his before the tax-cart came up, for Corder house till the carriage should be ready. could not bear to be driven at more than On the app ~rance of Pounds man she a slow walk. They lifted the patient lighted off h horse, thanked Mr. Saun- carefully out, and promised to have him ders very impressively for the great as tenderly undressed and put to bed till trouble he had been at on her account, a doctor should arrive. Miss Fulfords said she. would not detain him another intention had been to remain at the inn minute, and disappeared into the house. till a carriage could be sent for her; but Thus, you see, she shook off her cavalier COLONEL CHESNEY S ESSAYS. almost as soon as they were among the houses: Pound, the most prudent of pestle-drivers, would be sure to make no remark concerning her being so escorted: and so the whole annoying adventure would be at an end, with no gossiping body cognizant of it. But Gertrude reck- oned without her host. Owing to the pace at which she had travelled, there was still plenty of light in the sky when she reached Wetton, and there was a pair of eyes in the window of the house opposite to Pounds, ~vhich in a moment perceived all the circumstances of the arrival. Old Mrs. Yeo, the owner of the house, was infirm and purblind: she could seldom go to church, and she could not see to read; so she received a visit once or twice a-week from the vicar or his curate, who read to her and oave her ghostly advice and comfort. Thus Mr. Norcott was with her at this time, but the eyes I spoke of didnt belong to him then. Moreover, Mrs. Yeo was aunt I believe I ought to say grand-aunt to Miss Lydia Tarraway, and that young lady it was, who, having accidentally called in to see how her dear old aunty did, was the owner of the eyes in ques- tion. It was with the greatest difficulty that she suppressed an exclamation which would have been highly inopportune while the reading was going on. What can Gertrude Fulford be about? said Lydia to herself. She perceived the manner of Saunderss dismissal, and guessed that the occurrence must have heen accidental; at the same time she considered it only her duty to regard it as stranoe. Her feeling towards Ger- trude ~vas friendly rather than otherwise. She had quite retired from the Hardinge contest, since it was ascertained that the Lieutenants days in Wetton were num- bered, and that Norcott had an uncle, a hishop, and a cousin, in the House of Commons; for there would be many ri- vals in this quest also, and fine exercise for Lydias talents. She did not imagine that there was the smallest chance of Gertrudes obtaining Hardinges regard; but then why was Gertrude so. silly and so vain as to fancy that she could capti- vate a man who was probably pre- engaged, aiid at any rate not going to lose his heart in Wetton ? It must have been impatience at her friends manifest folly, or else I know not what it was, that made Lydia feel quite a complacent glow when she saw the riders together at Pounds gate, and mace her resolve with the severity of a censor that the matter might be the means of conveyitig a lesson against overweening pretensions. When Mr. Norcott escorted her home in the dusk of the evening, she told him what she had seen. From The Spectator. COLONEL CHESNEYS ESSAYS.* AMONG modern essayists, Colonel Charles Chesney is entitled to a high rank, because he not only possesses a power of clear statement, but what many of the so-called brilliant writers lack, he is remarkable for accurate knowledge and sound judgment. Sometimes, indeed, he strains a point a little too far, in his anxiety to reach that judicial impartial- ity which, if it tempers the ardours of composition, is an error on the right side. Order, lucidity, vigour, are the salient qualities of his style, as a thirst for truth, habits of exact investigation, and a trained, dispassionate faculty, which en- ables him to form sound conclusions, are the qualities of his well-balanced mind. The essays collected and published in this volume are not only of a nature to interest the military, but the general reader. Whether he carries us into the camps, or along the track of the Grand Army on Muscovite soil, guided by the accomplished De Fezensac, or throws a light on Suchets Spanish compaigns, while sketching the career of Henry von Brandt; whether he draws a picture of Cornwallis, or renders the exploits of Chinese Gordon intelligible not his easiest task or whether he finds a theme in recent American warfare, Col- onel Chesney is always entertaining and instructive. But we call especial atten- tion to the four essays which relate to the American war, not only because they are ~vell4done, but for the reason stated in the authors preface, namely, that the military excellence displayed during the mighty struggle has been unduly de- preciated by comparison with the late events on the Continent; and, indeed, we may add, unduly depreciated from the very first, notably by soldiers who should haveknown better than to surrender at discretion their judgment to their politi- cal prejudices. ~ lonel Chesney was al * Essays in Military Biogra~~ky. By Charles corn- wallis Chesney, Colonel in the Army, and Lieutenant Colonel in the Royal Engineers. Reprinted chiefly from the Ediabargk Review. London: Longman~ and Co. 55 COLONEL CHESNEY S ESSAYS. ways an exception, and in his preface he has the courage to repeat some striking truths which the vulgar, no matter what their rank, and the ignorant, no matter whether professional or not, have gen- erally disregarded. Thus, measured by: actual fighting, the most seasoned sol- diers of Europe are but as conscripts compared with the survivors of tha~t con- flict; while the conditions of war on a grand scale, says our author, were il- lustrated to the full as much in the con- test in America, as in those more recent- ly waged on the Continent. He justly points out that in the art of feeding and supplying an army in the field, the Amer- icans displayed quite as much ability as any Continental power; that as regards courage, the actual fighting was far more stubborn ; and that if the organ- ization and discipline were inferior, coin- pared with European models, yet consid- ering that the armies on both sides were improvised, under the very stress of col- lision, they were certainly the best troops built up from nothing which have been seen in modern days. Colonel Chesney rightly says the actions were inconclusive, chiefly because the beaten side would not break up, but retired in good order, keeping a bold front to the victor. In order to pursue there must be some one to run away, and to the credit of Amer- icans, the ordinary conditions of. Euro- pean warfare in this respect were usually absent from the great battles fought across the Atlantic. It may be added that the nature of the country favoured the exhibition of what Colonel Chesney calls an inherited quality, enabled infantry to resist horsemen, and check a whole army until fresh arrangements could be made by the conquerors. There was, doubtless, a deficiency of cavalry, but even Seidlitz himself, had he been there with his squadrons, would have been puzzled how to use them in an American forest. The battles were relatively in- conclusive, because the troops on both sides were good, and the country abounded in natural obstacles, and be- cause rapid movements were impossible in the face even of slight resistance. Yet the greater actions were quite as decisive as all but the e~ceptional fights in Europe. Fort Donelson and the much-criticised Pittsburg Landing really cleared an im- mense tract of country. Grant took Vicksburg when he defeated Pemberton on the Big Black; he saved Tennessee when he won Missi~nary Ridge. Meade, in one of the best fought battles of the whole war, Gettysburg, decisively freed the North from invasion, and forced the Confederates thenceforth to stand on the defensive. Against the troops they pos- sessed and the country on which they fought, Napoleon himself could not have won anything like an Austerlitz, still less a Waterloo. The strange disposition to carp at American Generals must be mainly the fruit of a very imperfect study of their campaigns and the conditions under which they were fought. It is all the more remarkable, because America pos- sessed what England did not, a first-rate military school. Whence could you hope to get good Captains, if not from West Point? We also had excellent establish- ments in our Artillery and Engineers, but the untrained and uneducated Infan- try and Cavalry monopolized all the com- mands, and laughed to scorn scientific soldiership. And iut of the genuine Military Academy on the Hudson caine really educafed soldiers, although so many of them, absorbed in commercial and industrial pursuits, or engaged in obscure duties, lived comparatively unknown. When the war broke out they came to the front as natural leaders, and with one ex- ception, they alone did anything great or decisive. It was West Point, divided against itself, which fought the cam- paigns, and we say they are worthy of being compared with any ~campaigns of modern times. Men of transcendent genius, since the very dawn of recorded history, have been so few that they may be counted on the fingers. But among those who stand in the second rank, Lee, Grant, Sherman, and Sheridan must find a place ; and of these four, beyond ques- tion, the man who approached most near- ly to the highest genius, the man who showed the profoundest insight into strategy, was General Sherman. There were many bright strokes in that pro- longed war, but the brightest, the most Napoleonic, the greatest, as well as the truest conceptions, were the march through Geor~ia, and subsequently from the Savannah to Cape Fear River. And they were purely Shermans own inspi- rations, or rather, to speak correctly, in- vehtions, and he obtained permission to execute both ~ly after considerable hesi- tation at head-quarters. If Marlborough deserves credit for marching through a peaceful country to the Danube; if Na- poleon is exalted because, crossing t~me Alps, he suddenly placed an army on the Ticino and Po, then also is Sherman en- COLONEL CHESNEY S ESSAYS. 57 titled to renown for having the brain to conceive and the boldness to execute a great march through a hostile country, which deaLt the deadliest blow struck at the Confederacy. It must, as a stroke of supreme generalship, take rank among the finest recorded in military history. In saying this, we do not intend to underrate the military qualities of Grar~t, and still less of Lee. There are now, as there were in the early years of the war, many who refuse to credit Grant with in- tellectual ability or military genius. Cer- tainly Colonel Chesney is not of the num- ber. Although, as we think, he is too severe on the General when treating of the Virginian campaign, he speaks in no equivocal terms respecting the enterprise against Vicksburg. The time came, he says, when, pursuing one great object steadfastly, he was to win it at last, by a display of resource such as the most bril- liant or scientific of modern Generals could not surpass. Sherr~an was a competent judge, and in his famous letter to Grant, in March, 1864, he frankly writes, My only points of doubt were in your knowledge of grand strategy and of books of science and history, but I con- fess your common-sense seems to have supplied all these. Of the men of books of science and history, some, at least, still entertain doubts which the great soldier who saw his comrade at work flung away forever, certainly after Vicks- burg. What is genius, at least of the highly practical sort, but the soundest common-sense, set in motion and re- duced to fact by that infinite capacity for taking pains of late so much talked about? No mistakes made by Grant in the overland advance upon Richmond can blot out or seriously diminish his credit among competent men. It would almost seem that some critics are angry with him for perceiving that the sound- est strategy was to operate directly against Lees army, wherever it could be found, the strategy he announced to Sherman on April 4, 1864, conveying plans which gave the latter General in- finite satisfaction, and made him ex- claim, That we are all now to act on a common plan, converging on a common centre, looks like enlightened war. No doubt the method of carrying it out is open to sharp criticism, and that the man~uvres ~f Sherman compare fa- vourably with the bloody fighting which preceded the manc~uvring of Grant. Yet here we should do well~to remember the words of Colonel Chesney, when speak- ing of the charge of wasting his army by pressing it on against unfair odds of position. He says, A little more of success in the results, and we should have heard nothing but praise. After all, he gained his point, which was to break up Lees army, if possible ; if not, to force it hack into Richmond, and hold on until the Confederacy was vanquished. He did this, partly by fighting bloody battles, and partly by outfianking his ad- versary. Lee met with his match, en- countered a foe who could stand up to him, frustrate his tactics, and march round him; but naturally the force act- ing on the defensive, a line which the Confederate was soon obliged to ad opt, lost the fewer men, yet could ill afford to lose those. We never could understand the statement that Grant changed his line of operations, since, outfianking his opponent, he still went direct upon Rich- mond. He shifted his immediate base several times, but how and when did he shift his line of operations? As to the allegation that he might have moved, in the first instance, from the Rapidan to the James by water, and not by land, we have always thought the criticism did not sufficiently appreciate the political and physical conditions of the campaign. It certainly was, as we well remember, origi- nally advanced in this country solely by political opponents of the North, desirous of detracting from the reputation of a General who had driven Lee into Rich- mond, and who held him. there. But we have not the space required to state even the pros and cons upon a question pos- sessing, how ever, almost wholly a specu- lative interest. We are bound to say that Colonel Chesney throws upon Presi- dent Lincoln all blame for the adoption of the impracticable plan, which, how- ever, ended in the capture of Richmond. When G~ne ral Badeau finds leisure to compt~te that Military History of Gen- eral Grant which he began so many years ago, we shall have sounder materials for a judgment than any we now possess. The subject is so vast, that we can only touch slightly on a few salient points, and refer the reader to Colonel Chesney~ suggestive essays, if he has neither time nor inclination for a deeper study of military operation~~uite as instructive as any which have occurred since Napo- leons career as a soldier came to its abrupt close. We can only regret that our able military essayist has not given us his estimate of Sherman, whose vol- ume of despatches furnishes a tempting THE CASPIAN SEA. 58 theme exactly suited to Colonel Chesneys first form the greater part of the western gifts. But we are glad to see his weighty I basin the rocky plains extend eastwards protest against the vulgar error that in thedirection of Tartary; and the sa- American Generals are inferior to their line occupy a considerable space between European brothers in arms. That the the Volga and the Ural. As a general troops raised from nothing were long in- rule, they all merit the title of desert; ferior in organization and discipline is and when the locusts arrive3 which is true; but we doubt whether at the end very frequently, there 4oes not remain a of the war many, if any, European armies single blade of grass, and the reeds grow- have surpassed in these respects, the ing near the marshes are eaten to the soldiers whom Grant and Sherman led very level of the water. It may be imag- back to Washington in May, 1865. med how miserable is the scene in the depth of winter, when the great plain is ______________ concealed under a veil of snow, which the icy wind raises in whirlwinds; but even in the joyous season of summer there is From Chambers Journal, nothing pleasing in the broad extent of THE CASPIAN SEA. white and red sand, with a patch here and THE late successful march of a Rus- there of spurge or mugwort shewing their sian army from Khiva has directed atten- dark leaves. Sometimes the traveller tion to the extensive wildernesses which crosses with difficulty a deep ravine ~vorn border the shores of the Caspian Sea. by the torrents of rain, then skirts a That great inland sea of salt water with marsh, with its waters glancing through a no outlet to the ocean, but the reservoir forest of reeds. In the distance, a clump of the Volga and other rivers, is one of of willows narks a saline spring: the the geographical wonders of the world. breeze blowing over the burning steppe By geologists it is considered to be the raises a cloud of dust. The remains of chief remnant of a vast sheet of water dried-up plants rush along by thousands, which once stretched across Europe from curiously rolled into balls by the wind, the Euxine to the northern Polar Ocean. seeming to pursue each other, and leaping The changes to produce this result ~vere up many yards in height, as if they were caused by no great convulsion, but took living beings. At the end of each stage place slowly and imperceptibly. In the the carriage stops before a miserable present day, armies toil over solitudes cabin, half-buried in the sand, where a dreary and saline, once the bottom of a human figure appears ; but rarely are the sea more vast than the Mediterranean. tents of the Kalmucks or Kirghiz tribes Humboldt has described under the seen, and hundreds of leagues may be name of the concavity of the Caspian traversed without a trace of man. basin, that enormous extent of land, as The largest of these steppes exceeds large as France, which the Caspian would five hundred miles. The coasts of the even now cover, if its level were equal to Caspian to the north are flat, and the that of the Black Sea; but it is, in fact, banks of sand render navigation almost eighty-five feet lower. The low plains impossible, where the mighty streams of around Astrakhan have nothing pictur- the Volga, the Terek, the Ural, and the esque about them ; they cannot be com- Emba, ceaselessly labour to fill up the pared to the southern shore of Mazande- a itself. To the south, the Caspian ran, where the shadowy palm-tree waves diviPes itself into two basins; a peninsula its branches, and the green hills and blue almost meeting the opposite coast. Ac- distances of Demavend present such cording to local tradition, it was possible beautiful landscapes : nor to the Caucasus to walk across from Baku to Tartary mountains, raising above the waters their thus the depth of the water varies much, plains of verdure, where the defile of in some places not exceeding eight or Derbend, guarded by its city, built like nine feet; and its greatest depth is a few an amphitheatre, or a pyramid of gigan- hundred feet. At recurring periods of tic blocks of stone, charms the eye ; but seven years, it increases about three feet, it is in the northern plains, ~vith their and then dim~~ishes for the next seven. desolation and uniformity, that the work The saltness of the water also is very un- of the ocean may be clearly read by the equal : where the rivers pour in the fresh geolo,,ist. stream it is possible to drink it ; in other The Russians divide these steppes ac- places it is charged with salt, a fact which cording to the nature of the soil, into the has given rise to much discussion. sandy, the rocky, and the saline: the From the salt part of the sea, narrow THE CASPIAN SEA. 59 canals run into the land, which, being in naphtha are most abundant; about four- time evaporated by the heat of the desert,, teen miles from Baku are the hot springs, become real m~agazines of salt. Some of which were called the eternal fires, and the more ancient bays present a number were for centuries worshipped in the tem- of basins with every degree of saline con- pie of the Persian sect of Guebres ; but the centration. One is still receiving water city is now deserted. A stray spark xviii from the sea, and has only deposited on at most places set fire to the gas which its banks a very thin layer of salt; in a issues from the ground, and during stormy second, the ground is concealed by a nights a in antle of light hangs its phos- thick crust of rose crystals, like a marble phorescent folds on the sides of the moun- pavement; a third is one compact mass tains. The labourer dare not dig too of salt, where a little pool of water shines i large a hole, or the naphtha would flow in here and there; and another has lost all such quantities that it cannot be stopped. the water by evaporation, and the strata Even in the midst of the sea, it boils on of salt is already partially covered by the surface of the waves, and spreads a sand. rainbow-like film; a burningtorch thrown In all this, it will be perceived there is on the water creates an immense confia- a resemblance between the Caspian and gration. What riches are buried beneath the Dead Sea. The ~vaters of both es- these shores Every year, more than cape only by evaporation, and each is dis- fifteen hundred tons of liquid naphtha are tin guished by its intense saline proper- pumped up, but the torrents of gas freely ties, as xvell as by salt on its margin, escape into the air, some charcoal-burners Of the thousand bays and lagoons stor- alone making use of it. ing the salt of the Caspian, none is more In some parts of the coast, the indenta- remarkable than that of Karaboghaz, an tions have a most remarkable form, re- inland sea which probably once united sembling in a striking manner the fords the Sea of Hyrcania with the Sea of Aral. of Norway; the islands and peninsulas It covers an immense space of ground, extend a long way into the sea, forming xvhilst the canal connecting it with the chains interrupted by the water, which Caspian is never deeper than seven yards, has worked its way through the rock. and the current runs at a speed of three The thousands of canals which separate knots an hour. All the navigators of the them are an unexplored labyrinth even to Sea, and the wandering Turkomans, are the fishermen, and the most exact map struck xvith the steady unrestrained flow can give little idea of this mingled scene of this salt water rolling through black of islands, channels, and bays. They do reefs, and fancy an abyss must swallow not possess the wild grandeur of Nor- up the water, and lead it by subterranean way; the height is not great, and there paths to the Persian Gulf. But science are ugly banks of sand; neither are the can explain it very satisfactorily. In this shores bordered by precipitous rocks, basin, exposed to high winds and intense down which flow mighty cascades; and heat, evaporation goes on very rapidly; the horizon is closed by the level plain the immense marsh over which it flows of the steppes instead of the glaciers of keeps the salt, and concentrates it, only the Scandinavian Alps still they are restoring to the atmosphere the water not inferior in geological interest. The brought by the Caspian current. Already Russians have steamers on the Caspian no animal can live in it ; the seals which sailing regularly between Astrakhan and used to visit its shores come no longer; Petr~lal~, on which a great variety of the shores are deprived of vegetation, character may be seen, half Asiatic, half Layers of salt cover the bottom, and the European. sounding line comes up coated with salt Had Russia known how to profit by the crystals. It is believed that the Kara- i immense commercial advantages of the boghaz daily receives three hundred and Caspian Sea, the regions around it would fifty thousand tons of salt more than is not be in their present depopulated con- consumed in the Russian empire in six dition. In the whole world there is months. After violent tempests, its ex- probably not a sea more admirably placed tent is soon diminished, its banks are for the commer o~ of the world than the transformed into immense fields of salt, Russian Mediterm~ nean. Situated in the and its appearance is that of a marsh only. centre of a continent, it bathes the shores Not more singular are the volcanic of Europe and Asia, extends its bays on forces at work under the soil at Baku, the plains of the north, whilst in the and even recently, an i4land has suddenly south it reflects the vegetation of the risen near the shore. The springs of tropics, and unites two worlds, which the 6o THE CASPIAN SEA. Caucasus tries in vain to separate by its giant walls of rock and ice. It seems destined to become the great commercial road of Europe when a railway is made through Southern Russia to Rostow, Stravapol, Derbent, Baku, and by the southern shore into Afghanistan, Cabool, Lahore, to Calcutta; but many years must elapse before there can be so great a change in the wild hordes who dwell around it as to make this practicable. Astrakhan is usually spoken of as a towa on the northern shore of the Caspi- an, at the mouth of the Volga. It is in reality situated on an island formed by a branch of that river. It cannot be said to be in a thriving condition. We learn that the cost of living in Astrakhan is so little that twenty pounds a year affords sufficient for the maintenance of a poor family. The people are contented with black bread and fruits ; a large water- melon can be bought for a penny; and cucumbers, either fresh or pickled in salt, are eaten with bread. Salt fish dried in the sun forms the food for the winter season ; it is first steeped in water, and then boiled, or if caviare is eaten, it is spread like butter on the bread. But it has great disadvantages as a residence~ it is dusty in summer, windy in autumn, frozen up in winter, and knee-deep in mud in spring. No trees enliven the prospect, no pleasant fountains, and no pavements on the roads; forming a great contrast to Tiflis. The islands are the abode of great numbers of wild-fowl; pelicans fish on the margin of the streams, and the wild osprey hovers over the water, ready to seize on its prey. The most interesting sight in the neighbourhood is perhaps that of a Tartar settlement of Kalmucks. General Kos- tenkoff, who is placed in charge of them, has taken great pains to improve them having studied their language, written a grammar, and translated the Bible into their tongue. At present they are Bud- dhists, and probably possess the only idol temple left in Russia in Europe. This Sir Arthur Cunynghame was permitted to visit, as is mentioned in his work, Travels in the Eastern caucasus. The priest lives in a tent similar to those in- habited by the tribe, but better furnished with mats and Persian carpets. At the back of the tent, folding-doors open, and disclose a small cupboard, which contains a small ugly wooden doll in a long silk cloak. This is worshipped many times a day, and offerings of 4rick-tea and beans are made to it; whilst a silver lotus-flower hangs in front. Beyond is the temple, built in pagoda-form, and gaily painted. Five boys, forming the choir, squatted in the ante-room, dressed in gaudy yellow calico ; the lama or priest wore a painted brass crown on his head, holding in his hand a pair of brass cymbals, and several men were playing on trumpets, flageolets, sea-shells, and drums, making a most discordant noise. On a table in the centre, seven -gods were placed, each having a small um- brella, a silver pot of silver lotus-flowers, a little cup of beans, and one of tea; cu- rious silk flags were arranged round the table, and an embroidered canopy covered the whole. At one end of the temple, six more gilt gods each occupied his niche, dressed in yellow coats, and with the same offerings; whilst a lamp was kept constantly burning, and perfume was freely burnt. The curious invention of the prayer-wheel stood on each side of the door; they are wooden drums, about a foot in diameter, and are made to re- volve by a leathern strap and crank. The prayers are carved round them, and each turn says four prayers: thus a vast amount of devotion is gone through with- out much labour. None but the lamas understand their books, and the people have entirely lost the clue to their reli- gion, not knowing what they do. But they pay their contribution, and worship, bowing their heads to the ground.~ About a hundred have become Christians, but this race is fast dying out. There are considerable fishings in the Caspian; the principal fish caught being the sturgeon, from the roe of which is made the famous caviare of the Russians. There is a trade carried on among the Tartars and Circassians around the Cas- - pian Sea of working beautiful ornaments in gold and silver. At Koorbaki, the in- habitants used to call themselves Franks, antar~ supposed to be the descendants of some workmen whom the Genoese re- public sent out to utilize the metals found in the mines. They taught their art to the natives, and were shut up in the mountains during the advance of the Turks and Tartars, but still retain the beauty of their designs and perfection of workmanship. Shamyl turned their skill to good accoun~n the making of guns; for whilst Europe was still fighting with the smooth-bore, his army were using ex- cellent rifled firearms. They also coined money for him, imitating any foreign coins that came to hand and seemed con- venient in size. The best workmanship THE SPEAKERSHIP. 6i in daggers and arms of all kinds sold at privilege is for such speech as shall be Tiflis, is sent there from these mountains used with judgment and sobriety. to the Armenian shopkeepers. Wherefore, Mr. Speaker, her Majestys The Kalmucks have at various times pleasure is that if you perceive any idle offered to colonize these regions, and in heads which will not stick to hazard their the last century about five hundred thou- own estates, which will meddle with re- sand settled near the Volga, but their forming the Church and transforming the freedom was taken away; so in 1771 Commonwealth, and exhibit any bills to their Khan set out on his return to Tar- such purpose, that y~u receive them not, tary with all his people, bafiled the al~my till they be showed and considered by sent in pursuit, and reached the borders those whom it is fitter should consider of China in about eight months. They of such things and can better judge of have been replaced by a few wandering them. The Lord Keeper conveyed to and degraded tribes; and the Tcherkess- Mr. Speaker an equally ungracious grant es are also abandoning their mountains of security for the persons of members by thousands, rather than suffer the Rus- with the caveat . that, under colour of sian standard to float over them. What this privilege, no mans ill-doings or not has happened on the western side of the performin~ of duties be covered and pro- Caspian Sea is also going forward on the tected; and of free access to her Majes- eastern ; as the Muscovites advance to- ty so that it be upon urgent and weighty wards Khiva, they conquer a desert ; causes, and at times convenient, and without waiting for the barrier of steel when her Majesty may be at leisure from drawn around them, the nomad Turko- other ifl~portant causes of the realm mans have prudently taken flight. Der- a privilege, in short, of approaching the bend and Baku no longer offer their for- maiden Queen when she had nothing bet- mer splendour; and where the Argonauts ter to do. The warning not to be too went in search of the Golden Fleece, and free of speech was soon followed by a ~vhere theologians have placed the earthly blow. A week after Coke, ~as Speaker, Paradise, nothing is to be found but arid received this Royal admonition, a bill and frightful wastes. having meanwhile been offered in the Commons against recus ants, her Majesty sent for him, reminded him of her com- mand delivered throucrh the Lord Keeper, and said the House must not meddle with From The Pall Mall Gazette. matters of State or causes ecclesiastical. THE SPEAKERSHIP. Returning to his place, he informed the THE Royal authority for the appoint- House that the Queen was highly offend- ment of a Speaker was received by the ed, and had charged him on his allegiance Commons at the first meeting of the new not to read any such bill, so the bill Parliament on Thursday, and no oppo- dropped. The freedom of speech claimed sition was offered to Mr. Brands re-elec- by the Speaker did not always count for tion. On Friday the Speaker elect pre- much, even after the Hanoverian succes- sented himself before the Lords Coin- sion, for in 1719 Mr. Shippen, repre- missioners at the bar of the House of senting the Cornish borough of Saltash, Lords to submit himself with all humil- was sent to the Tower for saying, that a ity for the Royal approbation, receiving paragraph in the Kings Speech seemed from the Lord Chancellor in reply her calefflat~d for the meridian of Germany Majestys assurance of his sufficiency rather than for Great Britain, and that it and her full approval and confirmation of was a misfortune that the King was a his appointment. Then the Speaker stranger to our language and Constitu- humbly claimed on behalf of the Coin- tion. mons all their ancient and undoubted Close on 500 years have passed since rights and privileges. A formal assent the name of Sir Thomas Hungerford was was not always mere matter of course. recorded in 1377 the first Speaker to When Coke made this claim before Eliz- whom the title was expressly given. The abeth of imperious memory, the Lord first who was for i~ally presented for Royal Keeper (Sir John Puckering) took her approval was Si~~ John Busby, in 1394. Majestys instructions and replied, Priv- Sir John Tiptoft, when chosen in 1406, ilege of speech is granted, but you must made excuse by reason of his faith, but know what privilege you have, not to his plea was not accepted; and he Justi- speak every one ~vhat.he listeth, or what fled his choice, for we read ( Gurdons comes into his brain to utter; but your History of Parliament ) that while he 62 THE SPEAKERSHIP. was Speaker he took more upon him, and spoke more boldly and freely to King and to Lords, than any before him; whose example being followed, the King and Lords put a check to it as a novelty in the 13th Henry IV., when Thomas Chaucer, as Speaker, desired freedom as usual. It was Sir John Tiptoft who si~ned and sealed the deed of entailing the Crown, no;nine tofius comrnunitatis. During the Civil War and the Conven- tion Parliaments, before the return of Charles II., and after the flight of James II., Speakers were, of course, elected by the Commons alone. Again, during the first illness of George III., in 1789, a new Speaker, Mr. Grenville, was appointed to fill up a death vacancy, and the Royal leave and approval were necessarily dis- pensed with. These seem to be the only exceptions, however, since 1394, to the rule of seeking licence from the Crown to elect a speaker, and afterwards present- ing him for approval. Charles II. refused to confirm, in 1678, the election of Sir Edward Seymour, who had previously served in the same office, and had made himself obnoxious to the King. The re- sult was a serious difference between King and Commons, and a short proroga- tion, but afterwards the Commons gave way, and chose Mr. Serjeant Gregory. This is the only instance in which the Royal confirmation of the Commons choice has been refused. Between the reigns of Henry VII I. and Charles II. the Speaker was usually a lawyer. More than thirty lawyers served during this period. Of these some, like More and Rich, afterwards became Lord Chancel- lors; some, like Popham and Coke, were appointed Lord Chief Justices of Eng- land. Three were Recorders of London Sir Robert Sheffield, ancestor of the Dukes of Buckingham of an extinct crea- tion, who was chosen Speaker in 1510; Mr. Serjeant Crook, in i6oi ; and Sir Heneage Finch, in 1626. Cordele, in 1558, was Master of the Rolls when chosen Speaker, and Mr. Serjeant Philips, elected Speaker in 1603, was made Mas- ter of the Rolls, but still sat as Speaker. In Elizabeths reign, Richard Onslow, Popham, and Coke held the office of So- licitor-General when elected Speaker. Sir Harbottle Grimstone, the first Speaker after the Restoration, afterwards became Master of the Rolls, as did Sir John Tre- vor, who was twice Speaker, and was expelled from the House in 1695 for taking a bribe of a tl~usand guineas from the City of London for promoting the passing of a local bill. He himself, while in the chair, was forced to put the ques- tion that he had been guilty of a high crime and misdemeanour in accepting this bribe, and declared that the ayes ~ had it. The unutterable ignominy of the moment, says Macaulay, left its mark even on the callous heart and brazen forehead of Trevor. Had he returned to the House on the following day, he would have h~d to put the question on a motion for his own expulsion. He therefore pleaded illness, and shut himself up in his bed-room. Wharton soon brought down a Royal message authorizing the Commons to elect another Speaker. A physical as well as a moral defect prevented Sir John Trevor from officially exercising one important duty devolving on a Speaker. He squinted, and thus members in different parts of the House sometimes claimed with equal confidence that they had caught his eye. A more difficult duty pertaining to the Speaker- ship has always been that of preserving order. Sir Spencer Compton, who was Speaker from i 715, to 1727 was once asked to keep the House quiet by a member who said, Surely I have a right to be heard -! Sir Spencers unfeeling answer was, No, sir! You have a right to speak, but the House have a right to judge whether they will hear you. Hatsell, however, in his Precedents, gravely dis- sents from this opinion, and believes it to be the Speakers undoubted duty to keep the House quiet, that members may be heard. In an earlier instance, record- ed by Sir Simonds DEwes, the Speaker did his duty properly. One Serjeant Heales, in a speech made in i6oi, said, The Queen bath as much right to all our lands and goods as to the revenues of her Crown. At this amazing instance of legal subserviency all the House hemmed and laughed and talked. It is oiTh oP the earliest recorded attempts to put down the parliamentary bore or ut- terer of extreme opinions. Well, quoth the undaunted Serjeant Heale, all your hemming shall not put me out of countenance I But then Mr. Speaker, for the greater civility of debate, stood up and said, It is a great disorder that this should be used, for it is the ancient use of every ni~ n to be silent when any one speaketh;~nd he that is speaking should be suffered to deliver his mind without interruption. So the Serjeant proceeded, as Sir Simonds tells us, and when he had spoken a. little while, the House hemmed again, and so he sat THE SPEAKERSHIP. 63 down. Humming was another unpar- liamentary sound which the Speaker was once called on to reprove. I move, said Sir William Wheeler, for candles, and also that humming be forborne, which is not parliamentary, nor ever used but at ovations and in schools. Tl~s species of interruption has given place to the louder Oh ! prolonged at times into something like a groan, and requiring a dexterous management of voice not to be achieved by all members. Another and still more disagreeable sound has happily been put down by the authority of successive Speakers. Hiss- ing used to be not uncommon, for in 1604 we find a grave member justly de- nouncing it as not only interrupting and hindering speech, but a thing derogat- ing from the dignity, not becoming the gravity, and crossing and abating the honour and privileges of the House. In our own day a solitary hiss lake at night and at a time of great excitement is the sole and rare relic of this undigni- fied old custom. Sleep as a refuge from parliamentary boredom has been recog- nized as beyond the Speakers jurisdic- tion ever since Alderman Atkins moved that such scandalous members as slept, and minded not the business of the House, should be put out; and Harry Martin, the Regicide, who was the scandalous member thus pointed at, stood up and said, Mr. Speaker has been moved to turn out the nodders. I desire the noddees may also be turned out. Speakers of old must have bad to deal with unruly members indeed. The Com- mons journals record in 1640 an order that whoever does not take his place, or moves out of it to the disturbance of a member speaking, Mr. Speaker shall pre- sent his name, and the House shall pro- ceed against him. Another order in the following year was directed against whispering during business of impor- tance, and in i66i all members who climb over seats were to pay twelve pence to the serjeant. After the Resto- ration the House of Commons was spe- cially remarkable for its indecorum, and Pepys in his Diary tells how in i66r Sir Allan Brodrick and Sir Allen Apsley did come drunk the other day into the House, and did both speak for half an hour together, and could not either be pulled or bid to sit down and hold their peace, to the great contempt of the Kings servants and cause, which I am grieved at with all my heart. Elsewhere in his Diary there is much to convict the Parliament of his day of hard drinking and roystering manners, in keeping with the times, but such as must have severe- ly tasked a Speakers authority. Marvel dryly describes the pretty ridiculous figure the House cut when they were taken by Sir Thomas Clifford,. after pre- senting an address Speaker, mace and all into the royal cellars, to drink his Majestys health. The Hull patriots stern reprobation was perhaps uncalled for here, as in the Royal precincts mem- bers were surely out of school. We have seen how the Speaker was expected to interpose in cases of verbal disorder. But more serious quarrels were not wanting within the House. Blows were sometimes exchanged there, and we read in Auchitell Grey that two members, Trelawney and Ash, having called each other rebel and Papist, the Speaker, at the wish of the House, invited both mem- bers to dinner, engaging them meanwhile to proceed no further with their quarrel. The cry of Agree, agree, is an an- cient cry which still survives, though Sir Jonathan Trelawney declared (when Sir J. Trevor was in the chair) that such a cry savoured to him like club law. But the Speakers temper was more sore- ly tried than by this comparatively harm- less exclamation. If any man have a privilege to be disorderly, let me know it, said the Speaker in 1675, with marked sarcasm. There must have been din- ner bells even in the time of Speaker Lenthall, who was elected in 1640 and again in 1654, for we find him kelling members ~vho rushed out of the House with one accord for their dinner that they were unworthy to sit in so great and wise an assembly if they so ran forth. When certain members rose to follow the Speaker into the Lords before the Royal message had been properly delivered, Sir ~d~rd Seymour said The bur- gesses of Newcastle and Leicester are in great haste to be gone, as if they ~vent to get places at a show or play. This Speaker was free in his reproofs, and once charged a member with staying up so late at night, that he was unable to be in his place in a morning. It is not true, retorted the angry member, that I sat up late last~ight; I hope you will speak truth while ~you are in the chair. Even so lately as the end of the last cen- tury the Speaker was often in conflict with members, and unseemly scenes oc- curred. Happily the Speakers authority is unquestioned now, and his dignity is 64 THE SPEAKERSHIP. amply maintained, even without the ad- ened countenance as God has given you ventitious aid referred to by the friend should be shrouded in a bush of horse- who, upon Addingtons appointment as hair. Speaker, regretted that such an enlight SELF-KNOWLEDGE. In one of his poems, Burns ventilates a wholesome wish: 0 wad some Power the giftie gie us, To see oursei a as ithers see us. The difficulty is, how the thing is to be done~ Seeing ourselves as others see us is no easy matter. In the first place, owing to the com- plaisance and timidity of mankind, there is usually a great difficulty in knowing what others really thipk of us. The rules of good breeding are completely antagonistic to it. The world wears a mask not from bad mo- tives, but to make things pleasant. How to see behind the mask, is the point for con- sideration. Great acuteness and vigilance, also great candour towards ones self, are in- dispensable in acquiring self-knowledge by such means. Then, we are beset by no end of notions of our own sufficiency. How, except by some tremendously severe self-searching and consciousness of human infirmity, can we get at the truth regarding ourselves? There is a possibility of our going on in great errors almost to the end of life, where not roused to a sense of them by some inlet of criticism from others. Obviously, there are large numbers who go on recklessly in the commission of criminal actions, who never seriously think what they are about, and are only for the first time brought to their senses in humiliating penal solitude. It is there they see them- selves as others see them, though it may be rather late in the day. In ordinary affairs, one might be the better of even knowing whether any of his personal manners are dis- agreeable, whether he speaks too much or too loudly, whether he is thought to be too silent or too communicative; or, if a lady, whether she is not dressing too gaily for her years, and so forth. DRAWING INFERENCES. At one time the seventeenth century a common standard of religious belief was a belief in witches. If you denied witchcraft, you denied everything, and ran a fair chance of being burnt at the stake. A writer in the British Quarterly Re- view, iii. 139, gives some instances of this vicious, and we might now say exploded,. standard of belief. The learned Joseph Glanvill wrote a book of philosophical con- giderations touching the being of witches, with a view to the confutation of infidelity! That great man, Sir Thomas I3rowne, said: For my own part, I have ever believed, and now do believe that there are witches. They that doubt of these do not only deny them, but spirits, and are obliquely and upon con- science not only infidel but atheistic. Cud- worth held that those who disbelieved witch- craft can hardly escape the suspicion of some hankering towards atheism. Talking of Sir Thomas Browne, that great man, as the reviewer calls him, made as notable a mistake regarding the end of the worldas he did about witches. He says: We whose generations are ordained in this setting part of time. The setting part of time ! Why, the world, on th~ contrary, is still merely in its infancy. A large part of. it is not yet discovered, and a still larger portion has not got out of a state of primeval barbarism. SouRcEs OF TROUBLE. It may be doubted if anything which requires constant keeping and care be worth the trouble. Fine house- furniture, fine pictures, and finery of various kinds, are all apt to be sources of vexation. Much plate in a house is a still greater tor- ment, for it leads to a constant apl)rehension of thieves. In this way, a man gets tyrannized over by a great many things which, in his sim- plicity, he imagined would give him nothing but pleasure. 1)ouglas Jerrold, I think, points this out in some of his writings. IN A General Sketch of the History of Persia is the following : Fat-h Aly Sl~.h ~vas himself a poet; and his Laureate was an old chief named Fat-h Aly Kh& n, whose ancestors had been for several genera- tions the Governors of Kashan. It is related that one day the ShTh gave him some of his verses to read, and asked for his opinion of them. May my soul be your sacrifice, said the Laureate, they are bosh. The insulted sovereign exclaimed, He is an ass take him to the stables. And the order was literally obeyed. After a short time his Majesty sent foNhim again, and read some more of his verses. The poet walked off without a word. Where are you going? cried the Shfih. Just back again to the stables, cried the undaunted Laureate.

LITTELLS LIVING AGE. Fifth Series, No. 1557. April 11, 1874. Volume VI. CONTENTS. I. Two CHAPTERS ON THE REIGN OF LOUIS XIV. By James Cotter Morison, II. THE STORY OF VALENTINE; AND HIS BROTHER. Part IV. III. DR. JOHNSONS WRITINGS IV. DISORDER IN DREAMLAND. Part III.,. V. THE SHIELD OF ACHILLES. By W. E. Gladstone VI. LETTERS FROM ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWN. ING TO THE AUTHOR OF ORION ON LITERARY AND GENERAL TOPICS. Part III., VII. CHINAMEN OUT OF CHINA VIII. CHILDHOOD IN JAPAN POETRY. A TOURNAMENT, . . . . 66 MARS, LOYE.FLOWERS. ByF. W. Bourdillon, . 661 Fortnightly Review, Blackwoods Magazine, Corn/zill Magazine, Blackzooods Magazine,. Conteml5orary Review, Contemporary Review,. Pall Mall Gazette, All The Year Round, MISCELLANY PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY LITTELL & GAY, BOSTON. -4 TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION. For EIGHT DOLLARS, remitted directly to tke Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded for a year,free of j~ostage. But we do not prepay postage on less than a year, nor when we have to pay commission or forwarding the money; nor when we club the LIVING Age with another periodical. An extra copy of THE LIVING AGE iS sent gratis to any one gettlflg up a club of Five New Subscribers. Remittances should be s~kde by bank draft or check, or by post-office money-order, if possible. If neither of tbese can be procured, the money should be sent in a registered letter. All postmasters are obliged to register letters when requested to do so. Drafts, checks and money-orders should be made payable to the order of LSTTELL & GAY. 78 91 102 110 116 124 126 66 iz8 66 A TOURNAMENT. RAMBAUD OF VAQUIERAS. ILL tell you of our tournament, without cir- cumlocution, What warriors bravest shone therein, and did most execution, Of who stood up, and who fell down, Ill say the simple truth; To magnify in love or war, trust me, Im~ not the youth. The Lord of Baux began the frayI err, it was his horse A giant beast that overthrew whatever crossed his course: He backed against a noble count, and hurled him to the ground, And then, disabled with his kicks, fell twenty horses round l Among the crowd your Dragonel conspicuous appeared, As under him his fiery barb most furious plunged and reared, Twixt steed and rider to the last uncertain was the fray, For while the rider bit the dust, the former ran away. Count Beausire was released the next from his unruly steed, And thus enabled one to mount more meet for martial deed. Then Barral of Marseilles, good knight, a fine career did make, Till, by a knight still better, he was flung into a brake. Across the lists Mondragons lord I saw most boldly prance, And overthrow a knight, himself, without breaking his lance; A squire, whose steed was skin and bone, it was that dealt the blow; Mondragon calmly raised himself, and sought a safer foe. Mevallions lord dashed bravely on, completely clad in mail The barb that bore him was a trifle larger than a quail; His spear struck Nicholas on the helm; good Nicholas laughed amain; To him the shock was such as might have dealt a drop of rain. The Prince of Orange boldly charged three warriors in a row, Because his horse would plunge that way, whether he would or no; They fled, but if from man or horse to him it mattered nought, Since, chasing like a victor, he himself a victor thought. Translated by John Rutherford. A TOURNAMENT, ETC. LOVE-FLOWERS. OH! who was watching when Love came by, When Love came here in the glad spring hours? The scarf was torn from his laughing eye, And he wore instead a wreath of flowers. The wreath of flowers his head went round And about his eyes, as the scarf had been; But in vain the flowery band was bound, For he peeped the flowers and leaves be- tween. He wore no quiver, he wore no bow, And innocent looked as a blinded boy; With flowers about him, above, below, The spirit he seemed of spring and joy. But here and there he let fall a flower, The cruel, the bright little blinded god; And watching, I saw that hour by hour These blooms took root in the green spring sod. And-whoso plucks the flowers that grow From the blooms Love flung from his wreaths above, Though sweetest-seeming of blossoms they blow, His heart shall he hot with the madness of love. - F. W. BOURDILLON. MARS. THE wild wind wails across the wintry waste, The mallard whirls, shrill-crooning, from the sedge, The willows bending, shiver in the blast, That heraldeth the birth of boisterous March. Hardy, yet tremulous, the violets blue Peep from their sheltering green; the bur- nished blooms Of crocuses slow venture from the mould, And quavering bells of snow-drops, pure and white, Ring1nu~c on their stems, breeze-melodies, Of rustling petals, subtle elfin-tunes, Felt but not heard. Brave robinet gives way, Sweet winter-minstrel, to springs darling thrush. Pinkblush the almond-trees, with tender bloom, As glows the cheek of bashful white-veiled bride, Touched by her bridegrooms kiss. The helmed furz~ On yonder common, is a-yellowing With countless golden crests; grey rabbits run In blithesome troop, from out the covert-side, And sport them in the sunshine. Once again The magic touch of Nature wakens Earth! All The Year Round. THE REIGN OF LOUIS XIV. From The Fortnightly Review. TWO CHAPTERS ON THE REIGN OF LOUIS XIV. CHAPTER L 16611679. THE reign of Louis XIV. was the cul- minating epoch in the history of ~he French Monarchy. What the age of Pericles was in the history of the Athe- nian Democracy, what the age of the Scipios was in the history of the Roman Republic, that was the reign of Louis XIV. in the history of the old Monarchy of France. The type of polity which that Monarchy embodied, the principles of government on which it reposed, or brought into play, in this reign attain their supreme expression and develop- ment. Before Louis XIV., the French Monarchy has evidently not attained its full stature ; it is thwarted and limited by other forces in the State. After him, though unresisted from without, it mani- fests symptoms of decay from within. It rapidly declines; and totally disappears seventy-seven years after his death. But it is not only the most conspicuous reign in the history of France it is the most conspicuous reign in the history of Monarchy in general. Of the very many kings whom histcry mentions, who have striven to exalt the monarchical princi- ple, none of them achieved a success re- motely comparable to his. His two great predecessors in kingly ambition, Charles V. and Philip II., remained far behind him in this respect. They may have ruled over wider dominions, b.ut they never attained the exceptional position of power and prestige which he enjoyed for more than half a century. They never were obeyed so submissively at home, nor so dreaded, and even respected, abroad. For Louis XIV. carried off that last re- ward o[ complete success, that he for a time silenced even envy, and turned it into admiration. We who can examine with cold scrutiny the make and compo- sition of this Colossus of a French Mon- archy ; who can perceive how much the brass and clay in it exceeded the gold; whG know how it afterwards fell with a resouncting ruin, the last echoes of which have scarcely died away, have difficulty in realizing the fascination it exercised upon contemporaries who wit- nessed its first setting up. Louis XIV.s reign was the very triumph of common- place greatness, of external magnificence and success, such as the vulgar among mankind can best and most sincerely ap- preciate. Had he been a great and pro- found ruler, had he considered with un- selfish meditation the real interests, of France, had he with wise insight dis- cerned. and followed the remote lines of progress along which the future of Eu- rope was destined to move, it is lament- ably probable that he would have been misunderstood in his lifetime and calum- niated after his death. Louis XIV. was exposed to no such misconception. His qualities were on the surface, visible and comprehensible to all; and although none of them were brilliant, he had sev- eral which have a peculiarly impressive effect when displayed in an exalted sta- tion. He ~vas indefatigably industrious; worked on an average eight hours a day for fifty-four years ; had great tenacity of will ; that kind of solid judgment which comes of slowness of brain, and withal a most majestic port and great dignity of manners. He had also as much kindli- ness of nature as the very great can be expected to have; his temper was under severe control; and, in his earlier years at least, he had a moral apprehensiveness greater than the limitations of his intel- lect would have led one to expect. His conduct towards Moli~re was throughout truly noble, and the more so that he never intellectually appreciated Moli~res real greatne~s. But he must have had great original fineness of tact, though it was in the end nearly extinguished by adulation and incense. His court was an extraor- dinary creation, and the greatest thing he achieved. He made it the microcosm of all that was most brilliant and prominent in France. Every order of merit was in- vited there, and i~ceived courteous wel- come. To no circumstance did he so much owe his enduring popularity. By its means he impressed into his service that galaxy of great writers, the first and the last classic authors of France, whose 68 THE REIGN OF LOUIS XIV. calm and serene lustre will forever illu- mine the epoch of his existence. It may even be admitted that his share inthat lustre was not so accidental and unde- served as certain king-haters have sup- posed. That subtle critic, M. Ste. Beuve, thinks he can trace a marked rise even in Bossuets style from the moment he be- come a courtier of Louis XIV. The king brought men together, placed them in a position where they were induced and urged to bring their talents to a focus. His Court was alternately a high-bred gala and a stately university. If we con- trast his life with those of his predeces- sor and successor, with the dreary exist- ence of Louis XIII. and the crapulous life-long debauch of Louis XV., we be- come sensible that the Fourteenth Louis was distinguished in no common degree and when we further reflect that much of his home and all of his foreign policy was precisely ad4ted to flatter, in its deepest self-love, the national spirit of France, it will not be quite impossible to under- stand the long-continued reverberation of his fame. But Louis XIVs reign has better titles than the adulations of courtiers and the eulogies of wits and poets to the attention of posterity. It marks one of the most memorable epochs in the annals of man- kind. It stretches across history like a great mountain-range, separating ancient France from the France of modern times. On the farther slope are Catholicism and feudalism in their various stages of splen- dour and decay the France of crusade and chivalry, of St. Louis and Bayard. On the hither side are free-thought, in- dustry, and centralization the France of Voltaire, Turgot, and Condorcet. When Louis came to the throne, the Thirty Years War still wanted six years of its end, and the heat of theological strife was at its intensest glow. When he died, the religious temperature had cooled nearly to freezing-point, and a new vegetation of science and positive inquiry was overspreading the world. This amounts to saying that his reign covers the greatest epoch of mental transition through which the uman mind h4s hitherto passed, excepting the transition we are witnessing in the day which now is. We need but recall the names of the writers and thinkers who arose during Louis XIV.s reign, and shed their semi- nal ideas broadcast upon the air, to real- ize how full a period it was, both of birth and decay; of the passing away of the old and the uprising of the new forms of thought. To mention only the greatest; the following are among the chiefs who helped to transform the mental fab- ric of Europe in the age of Louis XIV.: Descartes, Newton, Leibnitz, Locke, Boyle. Under these leaders, the first firm irreversible advance was made out of the dim twilight of theology into the clear dawn of positive and demonstrative science. Inferior to these founders of modern knowledge, but holding a high rank as contributors to the mental activ- ity of the age, were Pascal, Malebranche, Spinoza, and Bayle. The result of their efforts was such a stride foiward as has no parallel in the history of the human mind. One of the most curious and sig- nificant proofs of it was the spontaneous extinction of the belief in witchcraft among the cultivated classes of Europe, as our English historian of Rationalism has so judiciously pointed out. The superstition was not much attacked, and it was vigorously defended, yet it died a natural and quiet death from the changed moral climate of the world. But the chief interest which the reign of Louis XIV. offers to the student of history has yet to be mentioned. It was the great turning-point in the history of the French people. The triumph of the Mo~ar~ical principle was so complete under him, independence and self-reliance were so effectually crushed, both in local- ities and individuals, that a permanent bent was given to the national mind a habit of looking to the Government for all action and initiative permanently es- tablished. Before the reign of Louis it was a question which might fairly be considered unde~ded, whether the coun- try would be able or not, willing or not, to co-operate with its rulers in the work of the Government and the reform of abuses. On more than one occasion such co-operation did not seem entirely im THE REIGN OF LOUIS XIV. 69 possible or improbable. The admirable empire of Spain had entered that phase wisdom and moderation shown by the of rapid and virulent decay which has Tiers-Etat in the States-General of 1614, scarcely a parallel in the history of civ- the divers efforts of the Parliament of ilized nations; and which even the trials Paris to check extravagant expenditure, and horrors of the Thirty Years War do the vigorous struggles of the provincial not suffice to explain. Spain was suc- assemblies to preserve some relic of their cumbing to the clerical cancer of Jesuit- local liberties, seemed to promise ,that ism and the Inquisition, from which she France would continue to advance under j has never recovered. Her power and the leadership indeed of the Monarchy, prestige were at an end, and her voice yet still retaining in large measure the had lost nearly all weight in the councils bright, free, in dependent spirit of old of Europe. Gaul, the Gaul of Rabelais, Montaigne, Germany was in a still worse condition, and Joinville. After the reign of Louis although from a less ignoble cause. She XIV. such co-operation of the ruler and had been exposed to the whole fury of the ruled became impossible. The Gov- that most savage of all wars, and desola- eminent of France had become a machine tion unequalled since the days of Attila depending upon the action of a single had visited her thriving to~vns, farm s,and spring. Spontaneity in the population at villages. It is a moderate computation large was extinct, and whatever there was which estimates her loss of human be- to do must be done by the central author- ings at three-quarters of the previous ity. As long as the Government could population. The destruction of property correct abuses it was well; if it ceased to of all kinds was greater, especially under be equal to this task, they must go un- the head of horses and farm-stock. It corrected. When at last the reform of has been reckoned that cows had disap- secular and gigantic abuses presented peared to the extent of eighty-two per itself with imperious urgency, the alter- cent., goats at eighty-three per cent., and native before the Monarchy was either to horses eighty-five per cent., while the carry the reform with a high hand or per- race of sheep had entirely vanished. ish in the failure to do so. We know Two hundred years after the war Ger- how signal the failure was, and could not many had not recovered from the losses help being, under the circumstances; she then sustained.* and through having placed the Monarchy Italy was the geographical expression between these alternatives, it is no para- she was destined to be down to the pres- dox to say that Louis XIV. was one of ent generation. the most direct ancestors of the Great England, since the death of the great Revolution. Elizabeth, had been withdrawn from Eu- Nothing but special conditions in the ropean politics. First, through the inca- politics both of Europe and of France, pacity and perverseness of her Stuart can explain this singular importance and kings. Secondly, through the dark cloud prominence of Louis XIV.s reign. And of ~he4Civil War, behind which she lay we find that both France and Europe hidden from the gaze and even compre- were indeed in an exceptional position hension of Continental statesmen. Just when he ascended the throne. The Con- recently, indeed, that cloud had been tinent of Europe, from one end to the rent asunder, and revealed the astonish- other, was still bleeding and prostrate ing spectacle of the great Cromwell from the effects of the Thirty Years War seated on the throne of the Plantagenets when the young Louis, in the sixteenth and Tudors, and wielding their sceptre year of his age, was anointed king at with a power ~nd dignity to which the Rheims. Although France had suffered mightiest o em had never attained. terribly in that awful struggle, she had probably suffered less than any of the * Bilder ans der Deutschen Vergangenheit, von Gustav Freytag, vol. iii. ch. vi. Herr Freytag gives combatants, unless it~.be Sweden. abundant evidence of the moderation of these astonish The great and so recently all-powerful ing estimates. 70 THE REIGN OF LOUIS XIV. But the great Protector died in 1659, two years before Louis took the reins of gov- ernment into his own hands. Sweden, under the capricious Christina, and her successor Charles X., seemed fully occupied with her immediate neigh- bours, Poland and Denmark. She also had suffered some changes in her domes- tic policy, which considerably reduced her capacity for foreign intervention and influence. The small but heroic republic of Hol- land was doubtless stronger and more illustrious than at any former period. But her strength was confined to one ele- ment; peace, commerce, and coloniza- tion were the objects of her policy; and she seemed to be threatened by no possi- ble enemy but her jealous rival for mari- time supremacy, Great Britain. Such were the apparent guarantees of future peace, in the exhaustion or do- mestic preoccupation of the various Eu- ropean countries. The gates of the Temple of Janus could be shut, it would seem, with the profit and consent of all. No; there was one power in a position to open them. That was France. The part played by France in the latter period of the war had been truly grand and noble. Taking up the interrupted work of the great Gustavus, she gave the finishing blow to the three great ene- mies of humanity and progress Austria, Spain, and the Church; and her diplo- macy in the Cabinet had admirably se- cured her triumphs in the field. The treaties of Munster and of the Pyrenees placed her in the highest position of mor- al prestige. She gained largely in terri- tory; but her sacrifices had been great, and her gains were obtained at the ex- pense of the hated Spaniard and Aus- trian. The leadership of the Continent devolved upon her. The peace of West- ern and Central Europe was in her keep- ing. Painful as was the condition of her overtaxed rural population, she was in relative opulence, as compared with her exhausted neighbours. The place vaca- ted by the Empire and Spain, of general tyrant and browbeater of Europe, was open to her to fill if her young King were so minded. The world had not long to wait before it was made fully aware of his intentions. But this is not all. It happened by a remarkable coinci- dence that precisely at this moment, when the condition of Europe was such that an aggressive polity on the part of France could be only with difficulty re sisted by her neighbours, that the power and prerogatives of the French Crown attained an expansion and pre-eminence which they had never enjoyed in the previous history of the country. The schemes and hopes of Philip the Fair, of Louis XI., of Henry IV., and of Riche- lieu had been realized at last ; and their efforts to throw off the insolent coercion of the great feudal lords had been crowned with complete success. The Monarchy could hardly have conjectured how strong it had become, but for the abortive resistance and hostility it met with in the Fronde. The minority of a king in France had been from time im- memorial a signal for the nobles to take the field in avowed enmity to the princi- ple of national unity and centralization represented by the Monarchy. The king is a minor, let us be major, was a current saying of the nobles. Never before had they had so fair a prospect of success ; for never before had they had the alliance of the magistrates and civil- ians, of the Parliament, and other sover- eign courts, who were indeed the chief civil servants of the Administration. These long-docile instruments of the Crown, which had indeed created them expressly as a counterpoise to feudal vio- lence, were on this occasion the leaders in the resistance to the scandalous inca- pacity (to say the least) of the Regent and her minister, Mazarin, a great di- plomatist but an incompetent adminis- trator. The mob of Paris, rendered fu- rious by capricious taxation, and the unwonted dearness of food and necessa- ries, rose in insurrection, and was led by one of the ablest demagogues on record, the Cardinal de Retz. Princes of the blood and the most powerful nobles joined the movement ; the two greatest generals in France or in the world, Cond6 an~l iurenne, offered it their swords. The Government, represented by Ann of Austria, was perhaps the feeblest ever called upon to meet such a crisis. Yet so strong was the Monarchical principle, that nobles, bourgeoisie, and populace, all combined, were unable to make per- manent head against it. Indeed, the event clearly proved that nothing hut the MoTnarchy was able to govern France, imperfect as i~ government might be. The nobles, in this their last effort to re- store feudal anarchy, had shown them- selves once more fierce, greedy, and blind, without a single political quality in them. And the men of the Robe were but little better; they were contending for their THE REIGN OF LOUIS XIV. 7 own narrow interests. The populace was as ignorant as it was miserable, and quite incapable of producing leaders of its own. All the passions of a revolution were there, but the light of intellectual princi- ples to direct them was wanting. Not yet could the crushed millions see how their galling fetters could be smitten off. The anguish of another century .was needed for the elaboration of ideas which could give vision to the passions of re- volt. And so the Fronde perished for lack of knowledge. The flames of insur- rection which had shot up, forked and menacing, fell back underground, where they smouldered for four generations yet to come. The kingly power soared, sin- gle and supreme, over its prostrate foes. Long before Louis XIV. had shown any aptitude or disposition for authority, he was the object of adulation as cringing as was ever offered to a Roman emperor. When he returned from his consecration at Rheims, the Rector of the University of Paris, at the head of his professorial staff, addressed th~ young King in these words: We are so dazzled by the new splendour which surrounds your Majesty, that we are not ashamed to ap- pear dumbfounded at the aspect of a light so brilliant and so extraordinary; and at the foot of an engraving of the same date, he is in so many words called a demi-god. It is evident that ample materials had been prepared for what the vulgar con- sider a gre4t reign. Abundant opportu- nity for an insolent and aggressive for- eign policy, owing to the condition of Europe. Security from remonstrance or check at home, owing to the condition of France. The temple is prepared for the deity; the priests stand by, ready to offer victims ow the smoking altar; the in- cense is burning in anticipation of his advent. On the death of Mazarin, in i66i, he entered into his own. Louis XIV. never forgot the trials and humiliations to which he and his mother had been subjected during the troubles of the Fronde. It has often been re- marked, that rulers born in the purple have seldom shown much efficiency, un- less they have been exposed to excep- tional, and as it were artificial probations, during their youth. During the first eleven years of Louiss reign, incompara- bly the most creditable to him, we can trace unmistakably the influence of the wisdom and experie~ce acquired in that period of anxiety and defeat. He then learned the value of money, and the su preme benefits of a full exchequer. He also acquired a thorough dread of subjec- tion to ministers and favourites - a dread so deep, that it implied a con- sciousness of probable weakness on that side. As he went on in life, he to a great extent forgot both these valuable lessons, but their influence ~vas never entirely ef- faced. To the astonIshment of the cour- tiers, and even of his mother, he an- nounced his intention of governing inde- pendently, and of looking after every- thing him self. They openly doubted his perseverance. You do not know him, said Mazarin. He will begin rather late, .but he will go farther than most. There is enough stuff in him to make four kings and an honest man besides. His first measures were dictated less by great energy of initiative than by abso- lute necessity. The finances had fallen into such a chaos of jobbery and confu- sion, that the very existence of the Gov- ernment depended upon a prompt and trenchant reform. It was Louiss rare good fortune to find beside him one of the most able and vigorous administra- tors who have ever lived Colbert. He had the merit not a small one in that ageof letting this great Minister in- vent and carry out the most daring and beneficial measures of reform, of which he assumed all the credit to himself. The first step was a vigorous attack on the gang of financial plunderers who, with Fouquet at their head, simply em- bezzled the bulk of the State revenues. The money-lenders not only obtained the most usurious interest for their loans, but actually held in mdrtgage the most productive sources of the national taxa- tion and, not content with that, they bought up, at ten per cent. of their nom- inal value, an enormous amount of dis- credited bills, issued by the Government in~thetiine of the Fronde, which they forced the Treasury to pay off at par; and this was done with the very money they had just before advanced to the Government. Such barefaced plunder could not be endured, and ColLert was the last man to endure it. He not only repressed peculation, but introduced a number of practical improvements in the distribution, and especially in the mode of levying the ~xes. So imperfect were the arrangements connected with the lat- ter, that it was estimated that of eighty- four millions paid by the people, only thirty-two millions entered into the cof- fers of the State. The almost instan- taneous effects of Colberts measures 72 THE RETAIN OF LOUIS XIV. the yawning deficit was changed into a surplus of forty-five millions in less than two years showed how gross and fla- grant had been the malversation preced- ing. Far more difficult, and far nobler in the order of constructive statesman- ship, were his vast schemes to endow France with manufactures, with a com- mercial and belligerent navy, with col- onies, besides his manifold reforrris in the internal administration tariffs and customs between neighbouring provinces of France ; the great work of the Langue- doc Canal; in fact in every part and province of government. His success was various,* but in some cases really stupendous. His creation of a navy al- most surpasses belief. In i66i, when he first became free to act, France possessed only thirty vessels of war of all sizes. At the peace of Nimeguen, in 1678, she had acquired a fleet of one hundred and twenty ships; and in 1683 she had got a fleet of one hundred and seventy-six ves- sels ; and the increase was quite as great in the size and armament of the individ- ual ships as in their number. A perfect giant of administration, Colbert found no labour too great for his energies, and worked with unflagging energy sixteen hours a day for twenty-two years. It is melancholy to be forced to add that all this toil was as good as thrown away, and that the strong man went broken-hearted to the grave, through seeing too clearly that he had laboured in vain for an un- grateful egotist. His great visions of a prosperous France, increasing in wealth and contentment, were blighted; and he closed his eyes upon scenes of improvi- dence and waste more injurious to the country than the financial robbery which he had combated in his early days. The Government was not plundered as it had been, but itself was exhausting the very springs of wealth by its impoverishment of the people. Boisguillebert, writing in 1698, only fifteen years after Colberts death, estimated the productive powers of France to have diminished by one- half in the previous thirty years. It seems, indeed, probable that the almost magical rapidity and effect of Colberts early reforms turned Louis XIV.s head, * The unity and centralization of France, in the seventeenth century have often heen supposed greater than they really were. The successful resistance made to Colberts tariff of 1664 is one proof among many others. For a good account of the essential weakness of the French Monarchy see Une Province sous Louis XIV., par A. Thomas; and for all that concerns Colhert, the excellent work m 14. Clement, Histoire de Colbert. and that he was convinced that it only depended on his good pleasure to renew them to obtain the same result. He never found, as he never deserved to find, another Colbert ; and he stumbled onwards in ever deeper ruin to his disas- trous end. But these evil days are as. yet far off. A handsome young kings after a credit- able and quite unexl)ected attention to the toils of empire, may well allow him- self a little relaxation, and Louiss relax- ations were ample and magnificent. Balls, masks, and scenic splendours which last seven days at a time, assure enraptured courtiers that the winter of their discon- tent is at last over, and that a king indeed has come to bless them. More impor- tant still were the hunting parties at Coin- pi~gne, and the moonlit wanderings in the leafy dimness of Fontainebleau for- est. The young king is married and re- ligious , at least hears mass with unfail- ing regularity every day of his life, yet he can truthfully say, Mais, Madame, apr~s tout je ne suis pas un ange; and he is besieged by dames and demoiselles who are pining to hear him make the tender avowal. He makes it to one Ga- latea after another, with no awkward modesty hut with the frank directness which becomes a king whose device is the sun. The austere Clio passes, or should pass, by such scenes with averted eyes; one she cannot overlook, for it oc- curs directly in her path. The Marquise de Montespan belongs to history. Athenais de Mortemart came of one of the noblest families of Poitou. She was the wife of the Marquis de Montespan, twenty-six years of age, and in the full splendour of an ample and rather gor- geous beauty. She had the famous wit of her kindred, brilliant and hard as steel. When her chariot heavy and spacious as a waggon runs over and cru~ht#~ a poor cripple on the Pont Neuf, she rallies with lively jocosity her com- panions who manifest distress and feeling at the accident. She came to Court with the avowed design of storming the not very stron~ly fortified fortress of Louiss heart. Her success was commensurate with her courage. He surrendered at discretion. But there was a third person who showed an,~ ccentric dissatisfaction at these gallant achievements M. de Montespan, her husband. When he dis- covered how matters really lay, he forgot himself so far as to slap his wifes face, put on mourning, and went about Paris in his coach with four horns stuck at the THE REIGN OF LOUIS XIV. 73 corners. Such unseemly conduct was ternately to bear the assaults of a sharp- promptly punished, and he was banished tongued woman, and to strengthen the to his lands in the Pyrenees. Then the unstable resolution of her not wholly Montespan expanded into a Sultana, to penitent lover. Not that he was insensi- whom every knee was bowed. The mm- ble to the grandeur of the part he was isters were summoned to council in her called upon to play. He confirmed him- boudoir, and even the imperious Louvois self by reflecting on the great example of was reduced to servitude. Once when St. Ambrose and Theodosius: begged seven marshals were created, she coolly his friends to pray for ~xim that his faith took the list out of the Kings pock~t, might not falter, and rebuked the royal and, after inspecting it, said, Then my sinner (in letters he was commanded to brother, Vivonne, is not amongst them ? write) with subtle flatteries and compli- The King and Louvois stammered, looked mentary reproaches. at each other, and finished by saying it It may be imagined what interest the was an oversight, and her brother Vi- idle throng of courtiers, who had little to vonne was nominated eighth marshal. do but dress themselves and observ.e the So it went on for some years, till on a King, took in this business. The softer particular occasion Madame de Montes- souls with a turn for devotion believed, pan was refused absolution by a priest of or pretended to believe, that a striking Versailles. We are not told why this miracle of divine grace was about to be mishap had not occurred before. But so wrought. The more experienced shook it was ; owing to the scruples of a subal- their heads with smiling scepticism. Al- tern priest the haughty favourite could though Madame de Montespan seemed not exhibit an edifying spectacle of devo- resigned to her fate, it certainly was a tion by communicating at Easter amid suspicious circumstance that in her near the splendid dames and cavaliers of Ver- retreat at Clagny she was able to display sailles. She complained to the King, a state and dispose of funds such as she who sent for the cur6 of the parish. The had never done in the days of her high- cur6 declared that the priest had only est favour. She had the Kings taste for done his duty. The King was quite building, and laying out gardens, and she struck with such harmony of opinion, and indulged it to an extent which exceeded announced with magnanimity he would even Louiss prodigality. Twelve hun- condemn neither the cur6 nor the priest dred workmen were employed on her until he had consulted the Duc de Mon- new chateau, and Le N6tre, the land- tausier and M. de Condoms that is to scape gardener, surpassed himself in in- say, the great Bossuet. They both agreed genious novelties. Madame de S6vign6, with the curd that the priest had only writing to~er daughter, could only com- done his duty, and the bishop spoke with pare the M ontespan to Dido watching such force and reasoned with such elo- the rising walls of Carthage. Of course quence of glory and religion, that the these things cost money, and nioney at King rose, seized M. de Montausiers the moment was being borrowed at ruin- hand, and, squeezing it, With a sob of ous interest, for the war with Holland emotion said, I will see her no more. was at its height. But what was Colbert There was some rashness in this asser- there for, working sixteen hours a day, tion, and besides Madame de Montespan except for that very purpose of finding had not been consulted. Bossuet was money? He received the repeated com- deputed to the ungrateful task of persuad- manes ~ the King to supply whatever ing the deposed mistress to accept her the lady might ask for also that Ma- disgrace in a Christian spirit. Every dame Colbert should do her best to night he travelled post from Versailles amuse her. Colbert was used to these to Paris to have long interviews with her. little services connected with the Kings She overwhelmed him with reproaches, mistresses. He had been sent after the told him it was through his pride that fugitive Lavalli~re when she fled to she was driven forth, and that he wished Chaillot, and he will be shortly requested to make himself master of the Kings to bring M. de Montespan to reason, mind for his own purposes. Finding when that crotchety and obstreperous anger unavailing she turned to caresses, husband comes t~Paris and misbehaves tried to dazzle him with the glory of a himself as usual. Monsieur Colbert, cardinals hat, and the prospect of the writes the King, I am told that Mon- highest preferment in the Church. Poor tespan permits himself to use indiscreet Bossuet.s nerves were~orely tried by the language. He is a madman whom you hard labour of his position. He had al- will do me the pleasure to follow up 74 THE REIGN OF LOUIS XIV. closely. . . I know that Montespan has threatened to see his wife, and as he is quite capable of doing such a thing, and the results would, be objectionable, I again trust to you that he does not speak. Dont forget this; and above all see that he leaves Paris as soon as possible. So he obeyed his master, and supplied Ma- dame with money at her discretiop. But Louis had now returned from one of his military promenades, which he seriously thought were campaigns. Was this cruel and absolute separation necessary as St. Ambrose had exacted? Far more hu- mane was Pare La Chaise (Chaise de Commodit~, as Madame de Montespan ungratefully called him afterwards), who opined that they might surely meet and see each other, provided it were done in a Christian manner. Divine grace is so strong when it is present, as was indeed seen when, to avoid the faintest whisper of scandal, it was arranged that the King and the Montespan should meet in Ma- dames de Richelieus salon, surrounded by the stateliest dames, perfect dragons of virtue. The King and the Marquise had naturally much to say after so long a separation, and a retired window was most convenient for intimate conversa- tion. The talk was very intimate, and some persons noticed tears. When the dialogue was over, Louis and Madame de Montespan made a profound rever- ence to the venerable ladies, and passed into an adjoining apartment. The haugh- ty mistress returned to power more in- solent than ever for her temporary defeat; and Lullys music and Quinaults verse celebrated in the opera of Theseus the gratifying event. Venus and Mars de- clared Louis was equally precious to them both, and that Tout doit 1aimer, Tout doit le craindre. Whatever doubt there might be as re- garded his claims to universal love, he soon showed he could inspire something like universal fear. Just as he had seized the first opportunity at home to convince his people that he meant to be supreme, so in his dealings with foreign powers he at once adopted a tone of haughtiness which produced a marked effect; and it must be added, that impartial history will not condemn him as having in these early years exceeded the limits of an honoura- ble jealousy for the dignity of his crown. He first came across Spain, whose ambas- sador had, in a disgraceful riot in the streets of London, shamefully maltreated his envoy. Louis exacted and obtained the amplest apologies from the King of Spain, who was his own father-in-law. He next refused, with great warmth and dignity, the insulting pretension of Eng- land to have her flag saluted (by the ships of other nations lowering their t opsails to it), not only in British waters but on the ocean. Again, he compelled the Pope to offer the most submissive excuses for an indignity to which the French Ambassa- dor had been subjected at Rome. If the peremptoriness with which he stood upon his rights in each of these cases might lead men to suspect that he nourished a pride but slightly removed from insolence, still he was not the aggressor. The con- tingent of six thousand men which he sent to assist the Emperor against the Turks, was again a step of some vigour, but in nowise overbearing. And his sup- port of the Dutch against En gland in 1665 was an act of undoubtedly good policy, and consonant with the best tradi- tions of Richelieu and Mazarin. But here his moderation comes to an end; for the rest of his reign he was as insolent as he could be, and as his neighbours would let him. His first breach of public faith was his attack on the Spanish Netherlands, un- der colour of certain pretended rights of the Queen, his wife the Infanta Marie Th~r~se ;~ although he had renounced all claims in her name at his marriage. This aggression was followed by his fa- mous campaign in the Low Countries, when Franche Comt~ was overrun and conquered in fifteen days. He was stopped by the celebrated Triple Alliance in mid career. He had not yet been in- toxicated by success and vanity; Col- berts influence, always exerted on the side of peace, was at its height ; the men- acing attitude of Holland, England, and Sweden awed him, and he drew back. TIi~pride was deeply wounded, and he revolved deep and savage schemes of re- venge. Not on England, who se abject sovereign he knew could be had when- ever he chose to buy him, but on the he- roic little Republic which had dared to cross his victorious path. His mingled contempt and rage against Holland were ibdeed instinctive, spontaneous, and in the nature ~thin gs. Holland was the living, ant incarnation of the two things he hated mostthe principle of liberty in politics, and the principle of free inquiry in religion. With a passion too deep for hurry or carelessness, he made his preparations. The army was THE REIGN OF LOUIS XIV. 75 submitted to a complete reorganization. of the Dutch, he advised a rapid dash A change in the weapons of the infantry with six thousand horse on Amsterdam. was effected, which was as momentous in It is nearly certain, if this advice had its day as the introduction of the breech- been followed, that the little common- loading rifle in ours. The old inefficient wealth, so precious to Europe, would firelock was replaced by the flint musket, have been extinguished; and that that and the rapidity and certainty of fire scheme, horn of heroic despair, of trans- vastly increased. The undisciplined in- ferring to Batavia, under new stars and dependence of the officers commandii~g amid a strange vegetation, the treasure regiments and companies was suppressed of freedom and valour ruined in its old by the rigorous and methodical Colonel home by the Sardanapalus of Versailles. Martinet, whose name has remained in might have been put in execution. But other armies besides that of France as a it was not to be. Vigilant as Louis had synonym of punctilious exactitude.* been in preparation, he now seemed to The means of offence being thus secured, be as careless or incompetent in execu- the next step was to remove tbe, political tion. Not only he neglected the advice difficulties which stood in the way of of his best general, and wasted time; but Louiss schemes ; that is to dissolve Sir he did his best to drive his adversaries W. Temples diplomatic masterpiece, the to despair, and the resistance which Triple Alliance. The effeminate Charles comes of despair. They were told by II. was bought over by a large sum of proclamation that the towns which money, and the present of a pretty should try to resist the forces of his Ma- French mistress. Sweden also received jesty by opening the dykes, or by any a subsidy, and her schemes of aggran-. other means, would be punished with the dizement on the German continent were utmost rigour; and when the frost should encouraged. Meanwhile, the illustrious have opened roads in all directions, his man who ruled Holland showed that kind Majesty would give no sort of quarter to of weakness which good men often do in the inhabitants of the said towns, but the presence of the unscrupulous and would give orders that their goods should wicked. John de Witt could not be con- be plundered and their houses burnt. vinced of the reality of Louiss nefarious The Dutch envoys, headed by De Groot, designs. France had ever been Hollands son of the illustrious Grotius, came to the best friend, and he could not believe that Kings camp to know on what terms he the policy of Henry IV., of Richelieu, and would make peace. They were refused Mazarin would be suddenly reversed by j audience by the theatrical warrior, and the young King of France. He tried ne-I told not to return except armed with full gotiations in which he was amused by powers to make any concessions he Louis so long as it suited the latters pur- might dictate. Then the hucksters of pose. At last, when the Kings prepara- Amsterdam resolved on a deed of daring tions were complete, he threw off the which is one of the most exalted among mask, and insultingly told the Dutch that the high traditions of the world. They it v~as not for hucksters like them, and opened the sluices and submerged the usurpers of authority not theirs, to med- whole country under water. Still their dle with such high matters. Then com- position was almost desperate, as the menced one of the brightest pages in the winter frosts were nearly certain to re- history of national heroism. At first the store a firm foothold to the invader. Dutch were overwhelmed; town after They~an~e again suing for peace, offering town capitulated without a blow. It Ma~stricht, the Rhine fortresses, the seemed as if the United Provinces were whole of Brabant, the whole of Dutch going to be subdued, as Franche Comt~ Flanders, and an indemnity of ten mil- had been five years before. But Louis lions. This was proffering more than XIV. had been too much intoxicated by I Henry IV., Richelieu, or Mazarin, had that pride which goes before a fall, to re- ever hoped for. These terms were re- tain any clearness of head, if indeed he fused, and the refusal carried with it ever had any in military matters. The practidally the rejection of Belgium, great Condd, with his keen eye for attack which could not f~ to be soon absorbed at once suggested one of those tiger when thus surrounded by French posses- springs for which he was unequalled sions.* But Louis met these offers with among commanders. Seeing the dismay I * Louis XIV. became aware of the blunder he com- mitted in not closing with the offers of the Dutch. The Histoire de Louvois, pa~~Carnille Rousset, vol. reasons he gives for his refusal are so confused that it is i p. 163. difficult to guess their meaning. They were probably 76 THE REIGN OF LOUIS XIV. the spirit of an Attila. He insisted on the concession of Southern Gueldres and the island of Bommel, twenty-four mil- lions of indemnity, the endowment of the Catholic religion, and an extraordinary annual embassy charged to present his Majesty with a gold medal which should set forth how the Dutch owed to him the conservation of their liberties. Such vin- dictive cruelty makes the mind run for- ward and dwell with a glow of satisfied justice on the bitter days of retaliation and revenge which in a future, still thirty years off, will humble the proud and piti- less oppressor in the dust ; when he shall be a suppliant, and a suppliant in vain, at the feet of the haughty victors of Blen- heim, Ramillies, and Oudenarde. But Louiss mad career of triumph was gradually being brought to a close. He had before him not only the waste of waters, but the iron will and unconquer- able tenacity of the young Prince of Or- ange, who needed neither hope to make him dare, nor success to make him perse- vere. * Gradually the threatened neigh- bours of France gathered together and against her King. Charles II. was forced to recede from the French alliance by his Parliament in 1674. The military massa- cre xvent on, indeed, for some years longer in Germany and the Netherlands but the Dutch Republic was saved, and peace ratified by the treaty of Nimeguen. It may be doubted whethe~r Europe has fully realized the greatness of the peril she so narrrowly escaped on this oc- casion. The extinction of political and mental freedom, which would have fol- lowed the extinction of the Dutch Re- public, would have been one of the most disastrous defeats of the cause of liberty and enlightenment possible in the then condition of the world. To borrow an image from the savage criminal legislation of the time, it would have been the tear- ing out by the roots of the tongue of Eu- rope and civilization. The free presses of Holland gave voice to the stifled thought and agony of mankind. And they were the only free presses in the world. But Holland was not only the greatest book mart of Europe, it was not meant to be intelligible, as they were certainly not sincere. He afterwards gave the real reason in this bauglsty fashion: Posterity will believe me in these remarks or not as it likes, or ascribe my refusal to my ambition, and to my desire to revenge myself for the insults I had received from the Dutch. I will not justify myself before her. Ambition and glory are always excusable in a Prince, and especially in a young Prince, and one so well t~eated as I had been by For- tune. Rousset, vol. i. p. 379. * These words are M. Mignets. emphatically the home of thinkers and the birthplace of ideas. How precious it was to human welfare was shown by the hasty exultation of the Court of Rome over what seemed its approaching ruin. And, indeed, it suffices but to recall a few dates to realize what an eclipse would have darkened European thought had Louiss invasion of Holland left him master of the country. The two men then living to whose genius and courage the modern spirit of mental emancipation and toleration owes its first and most arduous victories were Pierre Bayle and John Locke. And it is beyond dispute, that if the French King had worked his will on Holland, neither of them would have been able to accomplish the task they did achieve under the protection of Dutch freedom. They both were forced to seek refuge in Holland from the big- otry which hunted them down in their re- spective countries. All the works of Bayle were published in 1-lolland, and some of the earliest of Lockes writinos appeared there also ; and if the re- mainder saw the light afterwards in Eno~- land, it is only because the Dutch, by saving their own freedom, were the means of saving that of England as well. Not one of the works of either Bayle or Locke, neither the Pens~es sur la Com~te, nor the Commentaire Philoso- phique, nor the immortal Critical Dic- tionary, nor the letters on Toleration, nor on Civil Government, nor that creative impulse of speculative thought for a hundred years to come, the Essay on the Human Understanding~ would have appeared if Louis had established his proconsuls in the Dutch provinces, and garrisoned their towns with his mus- keteers and dragoons. There is a futile, almost an immortal saying, Il ny a pas dhomme n~cessaire, meaning, in some confused way, to say, that if one man is ~ut*off and prevented from doing the work, another will forthwith appear capa- ble and willing to do it. People who hold this view would most likely say in the present case that if Locke and Bayle been hindered from writing, even if the Dutch free press had been extinguished, still the spirit of the age, the march of intellect, or some other equally defin- ite and scie n~Jfic entity, would have made it all right, nd the world would have been none the worse off. Such reflec- tions imply but feeble gratitude to the noble organs of human progress. What is meant when it is said that humanity can spare, without missing them, its best THE REIGN OF LOUIS XIV. 77 leaders? Is it meant that it is com~e- tent to any one to take their place at a moments warning, and that if Bayle had not written his Critical Dictionary, and if Locke had not written his Essay, somebody else would? Perhaps the believers in the march of intellect for even a mob cannot march along a turnpike road .~vithout some leadership are not prepared to go so far as that. Time, they will say, would have brought forth other minds of equal or similar quality, which, findin~ the same unre- solved problems before them, would have attacked and resolved them ; so that the same advance would have been made, only the names prominently connected with the advance would have been dif- ferent, and progress would be equally certain in either case. The answer to this is, that it is simply untrue. For, granting for sake of argument though in truth it is a most unwarrantable assump- tion that Bayles and Lockes, or their equals, are fruits that come like pears and apples in due season, still the very fact that we have to wait for their succes- sors to do the ~vork they were prevented from doing, causes the loss of a stage, a delay, and who can tell how long a delay? And again the delay, has it had no in- fluence; has it left the problem in the same position, or not rather greatly in- creased its difficulty? So that not equal but greater men are required to solve it; not men as courageous, but more cour- ageou s are required to face it. Those who say that Truth is great and will pre- vail, overlook the fact that Truth can only prevail if there are men forthcom- ing capable of finding it, and brave enough to assert it. Have they never heard of societies where, in consequence of steady unflinching repression of such men, the race has at last died out? Have they not heard of the history of Spain? The country which produced Ximenes, Cervantes, and Servetus cannot be denied intellectual ardour and initia- tive. Then how came it that Spanish intellect has not a single name to show on the muster-roll of human emancipa- tors? It seems likely, to sa~ the least, that a careful extirpation of seminal minds, a careful suppression, as soon as they appear, of seminal ideas, will have the effect of causing them to cease to exist: and that the march of intellect and progress of the species are not quite matters of course, whether interfered with or not. It is, perhaps, replied that France and Europe were in no dange of falling under the yoke of anything re- sembling the Spanish Inquisition. Who can say there was no danger of such a horror ? A French Inquisition would have differed from the Spanish in detail might have been at the service of the Crown rather than of th~ Church; might have condemned opinions tolerated at Rome, and vice verscf. But it would not, therefore, have been a less stifling op- pressor of the human mind. Indeed, the severity of Louiss censorship did be- come an Inquisition. And why was it not permanently successful? Mainly, one can fearlessly answer, because Holland remained free, to assail the citadel of su- perstition and tyranny with a ceaseless storm of intellectual fire. Because Bayle, Basnage, Jurieu, Jaquelot, Leclerc, LEn- fant, and a host more, did publish their books, which penetrated into France and undermined the despots power, do what he would. Because. Locke found a refuge there from the fury of Tory and Jesuitical malignity. Again it must be repeated, that on the safety of Dutch liberty the future of English liberty was dependent. At least, no one can maintain that if Holland had been anni- hilated in 1672, the English revolution could have occurred in the form and at the time it did. It is far more probable it would never have occurred at all, and that Louis, who had invited Spain, in the early years of his reign, to a joint crusade against England, would, after the destruc- tion of Dutch independence, have been able, in alliance with the malignant Stuart, to overcome the liberties of this country also. Then, we may ask, what would have become of the Principia of Isaac Newton? For although that book was published in 1687, just one year before Jamess expulsion, we may be quite ~ertain that those two deadly enemies of reason, Louis and James, would have been much farther advanced ,in their campaio~n ao~ainst the freedom of mankind had Holland disappeared fifteen years before. It can hardly be doubted that James II., who, even in that great crisis of his fortune, found time to quar- rel with Cambridge, and to attempt to force a Benedictine monk on the Univer- sity against the stathtes, would have con- sulted many monks about the publication of such a book, and that the learned members of his Church would probably have had scruples with regard to an hy- pothesis which, three-quarters of a cen 78 THE STORY OF VALENTINE; AND HIS BROTHER. tury afterwards, they carefully abstained haps it was an inopportune moment; but from declaring to be true .* The memora- it was a subject for which she felt a few ble expansion of thought which, in the minutes were enough, as it could not but reigns of Queen Anne and the first be painful to both. George, made England the wonder and Well, mother, he said, with a tone model of the free spirits of other nations, of resignation. He was going next day, and the high school in which Montes- which gave him strength to bear this or- quieu, Voltaire, and Lessing learned to deal, whatever its motif might be. see the wide horizons of the future and I have said nothing to you indeed, the distant peaks of knowledge, radiant indeed, I have wished to say nothing with inspiration to those who could think about Richard, my dear boy, listen and dare all this must have been lost to me with patience 1 will not keep you to humanity but for the noble stand made long about Vals mother your by little Holland in 1672. The conditions wife. of the time had made her a Thermopyke What about her? said Richard, with of thought, and her fate was happier, but harsh Jrevity. He made a movement in no degree less glorious, than that of almost as if to throw off his mothers arm. Leonidas and his band of Spartans. My dear, you must not think this With the Peace of Nimeguen the earli- subject is less disagreeable to me than to er and nobler portion of Louis XIV.s you. Nothing has been said about her reign came to a close. The remaining for a long time period of disaster and reaction will be And why should anything be said treated of in the following number. about her? said Richard. In such a JAMES COTTER MoRISoN. hopeless business, what is the advantage of discussion? She has chosen her path * The editors, Le Sueur and Jacquier, of the Order in life, which is not the same as mine.~, of Minims, declared, in their reprint of the Prirscipia, His soft and oentle face set into a published in 1760, that they were playing a part which b did not belong to them in admitting the motion of the harsh rigidity : it grew stern, almost se- earth. Hinc alienam coacti sumus gerere personam. vere Come indoors, mother the They add, C~terum, latis a summis Pontificibus contra telluris motum decretis nos obsequiprofitemur ~ evening gets cold, he added, after a pause. ______________ Just a word, Richard just one word! Do you not see a trace of some- From Blackwoods Magazine. thing different rising in her ? She has THE STORY OF VALENTINE; AND HIS brought back your boy: I suppose she BROTHER. thinks, poor thing, that it is just she should have one of them CHAPTER VII. Mother, said Richard, I am aston RICHARD, there is one disagreeable ished at your charity. You say, poor subject which, as you said nothing about thing. Do you remember that she has it, I have avoided as long as possible; but ruined your sons life? I must speak now, before you go. Lady Eskside made no answer. She Lady Eskside had led her son out upon looked at him wistfully, with an evident the terrace the evening before he was to repression of something that rose to her leave. She was dressed for dinner in her lips. black satin gown, with a lace cap and ~ ~$he has been my curse, said Rich- stomacher, which even his fastidious eye ard, vehemently. For Gods sake, if approved. She had come to the age when she will leave us alone, let us leave her little change of costume is possible. alone. She has made my life a desert. Sometimes she wore velvet instead of Is it choice, do you think, that makes me satin, but that was about all the variety an outcast from my own country? that she made, and her lace was her only shuts me out of everything your son and vanity. She hRd a crimson Indian scarf my fathers son ought to have been? thrown over her head and shoulders. Why cannot I take my proper place in Her erect old figure was still as trim, and societymy natural place? You know her step as springy, as any girls. She well enough~hat the answer is her, was the picture of an old lady, everybody only her. She has been my ruin: she is allowed; and it was true she was old the curse of my life. yet full of an unquenchable youth. He spoke almost with passion, growing She had taken her.~son by the arm in the not red but white in the intensity of his interval before dinner, and led him out feelings. Lady Eskside looked at him, into the open air to speak to him. Per- kept looking at him, with a face in which THE STORY OF VALENTINE; AND HIS BROTHER. 79 sympathy shone along with some other What are you two doing there, phi- expression not so easy to be defined. landering like a lad and a lass ? said the Richard, she said, in a low voice, old lord. Richard, bring your mother all you say is true who can know it in; shell catch cold. Theres a heavy better than I do? but oh, my dear, mind dew falling, though its a fine night. she could have had no power on your It is my mother who insists on stay- life, if you had not given it to her of ing out in the night air, which I disap- your free will. prove of, said Richard. The Italians So, then, it is I alone who am to have a prejudice on the ~subject of sun- blame ? said Richard, with a laugh, bet. They think it the most dangerous which was half rage and half scorn. I hour of the day. I am so much of an might have known that was what you Italiafi now and likely to be more so were sure to say. that I have taken up their ideas at Yes, you might have known it, said least so far as sunset is concerned. Lady Eskside for nothing, I hope, So much an Italian and likely to be will ever shut my mind to justice; but more so I I hope not, I hope not, not because I am in the habit of reproach- Richard, said his father. After this ing you, Richardfor that I never did, good beginning you have made, it will be even when you had made my heart sore; hard upon your poor mother and me if but we need not quarrel about it, you and we cannot tempt you home. me. What I want to-know is, if you do Or drive me away forever, said not see now the still greater importance Richard, so low that his mother only of getting some hold upon her; for Val- heard him. She grasped his arm with a entinesfor all our sakes ? sudden vehemence of mingled love and You will never get a hold upon her; anger, which for the moment startled it is folly to dream of it. She is beyond him, and then dropped it, and stepl)ed in your reach, or that of any reasonable through the window, letting the subject creature. Mother, come in the bell drop altogether. She was unusually must have rung for dinner. bright at dinner, excited, as it seemed, by I have written to the man we em- the sharp little encounter she had just ployed before, said Lady Eskside, hur- had, which had stirred up all her powers. riedly. This was what I wanted to say. Lord Eskside, who was not of a fanciful Do not stare at me, Richard! I will not nature, and whose moods did not change put up with it. I must do my duty as I so quickly, regarded her with some sus- see it, and whatever comes of it. I have picion. He was himself depressed by given him all the particulars I could, and his sons approaching departure, and told him to try every means, and lose no somewhat disposed to be angry, as he time. Her heart must be soft after giv- generally was when depressed. ing up her child. You must have been saying some- So, said Richard, with a quivering thing to your mother to raise her spirits, pale smile, you consult me what should he said, after one or two ineffectual at- be done after all the steps have been tempts to subdue herwhen Richard taken. This is kind! You haye taken and he were left to their claret. care to provide for my domestic comfort, Not I, sir, said Richard, on the mother____ contrary; my mother has ideas with If we should find her which God which I4lis~a~gree entirely. grant I I will take charge of her, said Ay, boy, to be sure, said the old Lady Eskside, with a flush of resentment. lord, she was saying something to me. Neither your comfort nor your pride Then it was opposition, and not satis- shall be interfered with never fear. faction as I thought? You see, Richard, You are most considerate, mother, women have their own ways of tl~inking. said Richard. Your house, then, is to We cannot always follow their reasoning; be finally closed to me, after the effort I but in the main your mothers perhaps have made to revisit it ? Well, after all, right. I suppose the Palazzo Graziani suits And having said this, in mild backing best. up of his wifes bold~ suggestions, Lord You are cruel to say so, Richard, Eskside changed the subject and spoke said his mother. Tears came quickly to of the property, and of new leases he was her bright old eyes; but at that moment granting, and the improvement of the es- Lord Eskside looked out from one of the tate. drawing-room windows, ~d stayed the There is a great deal of land about further progress of the quarrel. Lasswade that might be feued very ad- So THE STORY OF VALENTINE AND HIS BROTHER. 4 i vantageously but I would not do it with- but let me stay among strangers, out ascertaining your feeling on the sub- where the circumstances of my existence ject~ Richard. It cant make much dif- need not be inquired into. ference in my time; but in the course of I dont know that you have anything nature that time cant be very long. to be ashamed of, said Lord Eskside, I wish it might be a hundred years, with a husky voice. said Richard, with no false sentiment; Anyhow, I cannot, offer myself as a for indeed, apart from natural affection, subject to be discussed by all the ~vorld, to be Lord Eskside and live up here in said Richard. Courage, he said to him- the paternal chateau among the woods self to-morrow and all this will be over! did not charm his imagination much. He made a strenuous effort to be patient, That is all very pleasant for you to strengthened by this thought. say, said his father, receiving and dis- Well, Richard, if you have made up missing the compliment with a wave of your mind but you know our wishes, his hand ; but, as I say, in the course said the old lord with a si~h. Little Val of nature my time must be but short. had been exercising his grandfathers There is just the question about the temper by his excursions round the table amenities upon which every man has his a little while before. He had been obsti- own opinion nate and childishly disobedient till he The what did you say? asked was carried off by the ladies; and Lord Richard, puzzled. Eskside, somewhat out of temper, as I The amenities of the place. It is have said, by reason of being depressed I true the village is not visible from the in spirits, had been ready to augur evil house, but if in the future you were to of the childs future career. But the find the new houses that might be built contradiction of Vals father was more an eyesore grave. When he resisted his parents That is entirely a British notion, wishes it was of little use to be angry. Richard answered, with a smile ; I The old lord sighed with a dreary sense think great part of the beauty in Italy is that nothing was to be made by strug- from the universal life you see every- gling. Of all hopeless endeavours that where villages climbing up every hill- of attempting to make your child carry side. No; I have no English prejudices out the plans you have formed, is (he on that point. thought to himself) the most hopeless. I dont know about it being an English Everything might favour the project prejudice, said Lord Eskside, who never which would make a mans friends happy, forgot the distinction between English and satisfy all their aspirations for him and Scotch, as his son invariably did. when, lo! a causeless caprice, a foolish Then you dont object to feuing? dislike, would balk everything. It is true Willie Maitland will be a proud man. that he had for years resigned the hope He has told me often I might add a thou- of seeing Richard take his true place in sand a-year to the income of the property the county, and show at once to the new by judicious feus. They will be taken men what the good old blood was worth, up by all kind of shopkeeper bodies, re- and to the old gentry that the Rosses tired tradesmen, and the like a consid- were still their leaders, as they had been eration which gives me little trouble, for generations; but this visit had Richard, but may perhaps act upon you. r~Aight a renewal of all the old visions. No? Well, youre aphilosopher: theyre He had seen with a secret pride of which, bad at an election ; theyre totally even to his wife, he had not breathed a beyond your control unless, indeed, word, his son assume with ease a social your mother and I were to put ourselves position above his brightest hopes. The out of our way to visit and make of county had not only received him, but them ; but we would want a strong in- followed him, admired him, listened to ducement for that. his opinions as those of an oracle. To Here Lord Eskside looked at his son bring him in for the county after this, with a look of mild entreaty, not saying and to carry his election by acclamation, anything; and Richard knew his father would be ch~ds-play, his father thought. well enough to comprehend. But Richard did not see it. He was, or You must not think of that, sir, in- assumed to be, indifferent to the ap- deed you must not. Am I in a position plause of the county. He cared noth- to be set up before the county, and have ing for his own country, or for that bles- every fact of my life brought up against sedness of dwelling among his own peo- me? No, father, anything else you like ple which Scripture itself has celebrated. THE STORY OF VALENTINE; AND HIS BROTHER. 8i No wonder that Lord Eskside should sigh. I believe you think more of these fiddling play-acting foreigners, he said, after an interval of silence, during which his eyebrows and his under lip had been in full activity, than for all our traditions, and all the duties of your condition in life. Every man has his taste, sir, Rich- ard answered, with a shrug of his shobl- ders, which irritated his father still more deeply. Well, you are old enough to judge for yourself, he said, getting up abrupt- ly from the table. A great many things to say to his son had been in the old lords mind. He had meant to expound to him his own view of the politics of the day, at home, to which naturally Rich- ard had not paid much attention. He had meant to impress upon him the line the Rosses had always taken in questions exclusively Scotch. But all this was cut short by Richards refusal even to con- sider the question. Being sad before- hand by reason of his sons departure, I leave you to imagine how melancholy- cross and disappointed Lord Eskside was now. What ! is that imp still up? he said, as going into the drawing-room he stumbled over his own best-beloved stick, upon which Val had been riding races round the room. How dared you take my stick, sir? If you do that again you shall be whipped. You darent whip me, cried saucy Valentine. Grandma says I am never to be frightened no more I aint; and Im to have what I want. Grandma! he is taking my stick away! Your stick, ye little whipper-snapper! No; one generation succeeds another soon enough, but not so soon as that. Send the boy to his bed, my lady. He ought to have been there an hour ago. Just for this night, said Lady Esk- side, as she caught the little rebel, and, holding him close in her arms, smoothed the ruffled curls on his forehead, and whispered in his ear that he was to be good, and not to make grandpa angry. Just for this nightas his father is going away.~~ Oh, his father! said her husband, with a slight snort of irritation which showed Lady Eskside that the last even- ing had been little more satisfactory to him than to herself. Her own voice had faltered a little as she spoke of Richards departure, and she looke4 at him wistful- ly, with an incipient tear in the corner of LIVING AGE. VOL. VI. 266 her eye, hoping (though she might have known better) for some response; but Richard, as bland and gentle as ever, had seated himself by Mary, to whom he was talking, and altogether ignored his moth- ers furtive appeal. Valentine gave her enough to do just at that moment to hold him, which, perhaps, ~vas well for her; and Lord Eskside walked away to the other end of the room, pretendin~ to look at the books which were scattered about the tables, and whistling softly under his breath, which was one of his ways of showing irritation. Even Mary was agi- tated, she scarcely knew why; not on Richards account, she said to herself, but as feeling the suppressed excitement in the house, the secret sense of disap- pointment and deep heart-dissatisfaction which was in those two old people, who had but little time before them to be hap- py in, and so wanted the sunshine of life all the more. Richards visit had been a success in one sense. It had answered to their highest hopes, and more than answered; but yet in more intimate con- cerns, in a still closer point of view, it had been a failure; and of this the fa- ther and mother were all the more tremu- lously sensible that he showed so little consciousness of itnay, no conscious- ness at all. He sat for a long time by Mary, talking to her of the most ordinary subjects, while his mother sat silent in her chair, and Lord Eskside, at the other end of the room, made-believe to look for something in the drawers of one of the great cabinets, opening and shutting them impatiently. Richard sat and talked quite calmly during these demon- strations, unaffected by them. He kissed his child coolly on the forehead, and bid him good-bye, with something like a sen- timent of internal gratitude to be rid of the little plague, who rather repelled than attracted him. Mary went to her room shortly ~tter Valentines removal, which was effected with some difficulty, pleading headache, and in reality unable to bear longer the painful atmosphere of family constraint Lady Esksides half-appeal- ing, half-affronted looks, and anxious consciousness of every movement her son made, and the old lords irritation, which was more demonstrative. Then the three who were left gathered together round the fire, an~ some commonplace conversation conversation studiously kept on the level of commonplace ensued. Richard ~vas to start early next morning, and proposed to take leave of his mother that night -~ not to disturb 82 THE STORY OF VALENTINE; AND HIS BROTHER. her at such an unearthly hour, he said. Did you ever leave the house at any hour when I did not make you your breakfast and see you away? Lady Eskside asked, with a thrill of pain in her voide. And as she left the room, she grasped his hand, and looked wistfully in his face, while he stooped to kiss her. Richard, she said in a half whisper, as the two faces approached close td each other, for myself I do not ask anythinc but, oh, mind, your father is an old man ! Please him if you can. Lord Eskside was leaning upon the mantelpiece, gazing into the fire. He continued the same commonplace strain of talk when his son came back to him. How badly the trains corresponded; how hard it would be, without waiting at cross stations and losing much time, to accom- plish the journey. And as you have to make so early a start you should go to your bed soon, my boy, he said, and held out his hand; then grasping his sons, as his wife had done, added hastily, his eyebrows working up and down What I have been saying to you, Rich- ard, may look less important to you than it does to me; but if you would make an effort to please your mother! Shes been a good mother to you; and neither I nor anything in the world can give her the pleasure that you could. Good night. I shall see you in the morning; and Lord Eskside took up his candle and hurried away. The effect of this double appeal, so pa- thetically repeated, was not, I fear, all that it should have been. When he reached his own room, Richard yawned, and stretching his arms above his head Thank heaven! I shall be out of this to-morrow, he said. CHAPTER VIII. I HAVE now to change the scene and bring before the notice of the reader an- other group, representing another side of the picture, with interests still more oppo- site to those of Lord Eskside and his heir-apparent than were, even, the inter- ests of that heir-apparents mother. But to exhibit this other side, I have fortu- nately no need to descend to the lower levels of society, to Jean Macfarlanes disreputable tavern, or any haunt of doubful people. On the contrary, I know no region of more unblemished respecta- bility or higher character than Moray Place in Edinburgh, which is the spot I wish to indicate. strangers and tourists do not know much of Moray Place. To themand great is their good-fortune Edinburgh means the noble crowned ridge of the Old. Town, fading off misty and mysterious into the wooded valley be- neath ; the great crags of the castle rising into mid-sky, and the beautiful background of hills. Upon this they gaze from the plateau of Princes Street; and far might they wander without seeing anything half so fine as that storied height, lying grey in sunshine, or twin- kling with multitudinous lights, as the blue poetic twilight steals over the Old Town. But on the other side of that middle ground of Princes Street lies a New Town, over which our grandfathers re- joiced greatly as men rejoice over the works of their own hands, despite the fullest acknowledgment of the work of their ancestors. There lie crescents, squares, and places, following the down- ward sweep of the hill, with, it is true, no despicable landscape to survey (chiefly from the back windows), yet shutting themselves out with surprising compla- cency from all that distinguishes Edin- burgh amid the other cities of the world. Nobody can say that we of the Scots na- tion are not proud of our metropolis; but this is how our fathers and grandfathers acute humorous souls as most of them were, with a large spice of romance in them, and of much r1~ore distinctly marked individual character than we possess in our dayasserted the funda- mental indifference of human nature, in the long-run, to natural beauty. How comfortable, how commodious are those huge solid houses! houses built for men to be warm in, to feast in, and gather their friends about them, but not with any ~sthetical meaning. Of all these streets, and squares, and crescents, Moray Place perhaps is the most pala- tial, or was, at least, at the period of which I speak. Personally, I confess l~hat~t makes a very peculiar impression on me. Years ago, so many that I dare not count them, there appeared in the pages of this Magazine a weird and terri- ble story called the Iron Shroud, in which the feelings of an unhappy crim- inal shut up in an iron cell (I think, to make the horror greater, of his own in- vention) which by some infernal contri- vance diminished every day, window after window disap~earing before the wretchs eyes, until at last the horrible prison fell upon him and became at once his grave and his shroud were depicted with vivid power. This thrilling tale always returns to my mind when I stand within THE STORY OF VALENTINE; AND HIS BROTHER. 83 the grand and gloomy enclosure of Moray Place. It seems to me that the walls quiver and draw closer even while I look at them; and if the circle were gradually to lessen, one window disappearing after another, and the whole approaching slow- ly, fatally towards the centre, I should not be surprised. But in Edinburgh, Moray Place is, or was, considered, a noble circus of houses, and nobody feels afraid to live in it. I suppose as it has now stood so long, it will never crash to- geth er, and descend on the head of some breathless wretch in the garden which forms its centre ; but a superstitious dread of this catastrophe, I own, would haunt me if I were rich enough to be able to live in Moray Place. Mr. Alexander Pringle, however, never once thought of this when he established his tabernacle there. This gentleman was an advocate, to use the Scotch term the cosmopolitan and universal term, instead of the utterly conventional and unmeaning apl)ellation of barrister com- mon to the English alone at the Scotch bar. His father before him had been a W. S.. or Writer to the Signet a title of which I confess myself unable to ex- plain the exact formal meaning. How these comparatively unimportant people came to be the heirs-at-law, failing the Rosses, of the barony of Eskside, I need not tell. Pringle is a name which bears no distinction in its mere sound like Howard or Seymour; but notwithstand- ing, it is what is called in Scotland a good name; and this branch of the Pringles were direct descendants from one of the Eskside barons. When Dick Rosss misfortunes happened, and his wife forsook him, Mr. Alexander Prin- gle, then himself recently married, pro- ducing heirs at a rate which would have frightened any political economist, and possessing a wife far too virtuous ever to think of running away from him, became all at once a person of consequence. He felt it himself more than any one, yet all society (in Moray Place) had felt it. By this time he had a very pretty little fam- ily, seven boys and one girl, all healthy, vigorous, and showing every appearance of long and prosperous life. Fear not, dear reader! I do not mean to follow in this history the fortunes of Sandy, Willie, Jamie, Val, Bob, Tom, and Ben. They were excellent fellows, and eventually received an admirable educa- tion at the Edinburgh Academy; but I dare not enter upon th~chronicle of such a race of giants. Val was born about the time that Richard Rosss children disap- peared, and the Pringles christened the baby Valentine Ross, feelino that this might be a comfort to the old lord, whose name-son had thus mysteriously dis- appeared. Mr. Pringi e spoke of this event as an inscrutable dispensation,~~ and lamented his cousins strange mis- fortunes to everybocVy he encountered. But dreadful as the misfortune ~vas, it made him several inches higher, and threw a wavering and uncertain glimmer of possible fortune to come over the un- conscious heads of Sandy, Willie, Val, and the rest. They cared very little, but their father cared much, and was very wide awake, and constantly on the watch for every new event that might happen on Eskside. The seven years of quiet, dur- ing which nothing was heard of Richards children, ripened his hopes to such an extent that he almost felt himself the next in succession; for a mild dilettante like Dick Ross, who always lived abroad, did not seem an obstacle worth counting. Perhaps he was in consequence a little less careful of his practice at the bar ; for this tantalizing shadow of a coronet had an effect upon his being which was scarcely justified by the circumstances anyhow, though they managed to keep up their establishment in Moray Place, and to give the boys a good education, the Pringles did not advance in prosperity and comfort as they ought to have done, considering how well-connected they were, and the good abilities of the head of the house. Though he would sometimes foolishly show a disregard for the punctilios of the law in his own per- son, and was now and then outwitted in an argument, yet Mr. Pringle was under- stood to be an excellent lawyer; and he had a certain gift of lucidity in stating an argument which found him favour alike in tl~ ~es of clients and of judges. Had he l~een a little more energetic, prob- ably he would have already begun to run the course of legal preferment in Scot- land. He was sheriff of the county in which his little property lay; and at one time no man had a better chance of ris- ing to the rank of Solicitor-General or even Lord Advocate, and of finally set- tling ~s Lord Pringle or Lord Dairuluzian (the name of his ~joperty) upon the judi- cial bench. But his progress was ar- rested by this shadow of a possible pro- motion with which his profession would have nothing to do. Lord Dairuluzian might be a sufficiently great title if no more substantial dignity was to be had, 84 THE STORY OF VALENTINE; AND HIS BROTHER. but Lord Eskside was higher; and the~ mans imagination went off wildly after the hereditary barony, leaving the re-i ward of legal eminence far in the back- ground. Gradually he had built himself up with the thought of this advancement; and though they were by no means rich enough to afford it, nothing but his wifes persistent holding back would have kept him from sending Sandy, his eldest boy, to Eton, by way of preparing him for his possible dignity. For the days when boys were sent from far and near to the High School of Edinburgh are over; and it is now the Scottish parents pride to make English schoolboys of his sons, and to eliminate from the speech of his daughters all trace of their native accent. Mrs. Pringle, however, was prudent enough to withstand her husbands desire. What would he do at Eton? she said. Learn English? If hes not content with the English you and I speak, its a pity; and as for manners, he behaves himself very ~vell in company as it is, and youll never convince me that ill-man- nered louts will be made into gentlemen by a year or two at a public school. You may send him if you like, Alexander youre the master but you will get no countenance from me. When a well- conditioned husband is told that he is the master, there is an end of him. Mr. Pringle was not made of hard enough material to resist so strong an opposition; and then it would have cost a great deal of money. Well, my dear, well talk it over another time, he said, and put off the final decision indefinitely; which was a virtual giving in without the necessity of acknowledging defeat. After all this gradually growing satis- faction and confidence in his own pros- pects, it is almost impossible to describe the tremendous effect which the news of Richards return, and of the strange events which had taken place at Ross- craig, had upon the presumptive heir. He spoke not a word to any one for the first two days, but xvent about his busi- ness moodily, like a man under the shadow of some deadly cloud. The first shock was terrible, and scarcely less ter- rible was the excitement with which he listened to any rumour that reached him piecing the bits of news together. For a week he neglected his business ; for- sook, except when his attendance was compulsory, the Parliament House; and, if he could have had his will, would have done nothing all day but discuss the as- tounding tale, which at first he declared to be entire fiction, a made-up story, and pretended to laugh at. He hung about his dressing-room door in the morning, while his wife finished her toilet, talking of it through the door-way; he hovered round the breakfast-table, after he had finished his meal, neglecting his Scots- man ; he was continu~illy appearing in the drawing-room when Mrs. Pringle did not want him, and deaved her, as she said, with this eternal subject. To no one else could he speak with freedom; but this sweet privilege of wifehood, in- stead of being an unmingled good, often becomes, in the imperfection of all created things, a bore to the happy being who is thus elevated into the ideal position of her spouses alter ego. Mrs. Pringle was not sentimental, and she soon got heartily sick of the subject. She would have cheerfully sold, at any time, for a new dinner dressa thing she was pretty generally in want ofall her chances, which she had no faith in, of ever becom- ing Lady Eskside. Dont you think, Alexander, she said, having been driven beyond endur- ance by his rejection of a proposed match at golf on Musselburgh Links, a thing which proved the profound gravity of the crisis, dont you think th?~t the best thing you could do would be to take the coach and go out to Lasswade, and inquire for yourself? Take Violet with you a little fresh air would do her good; and if you were to talk this over with somebody who knows about it, in- stead of with me, that knows nothing more than yourself Goto Lasswade 1 said Mr. Prin- gle that is a step that never occurred to me. No; I have not been invited to Rosscraig to meet Dick, and it would look very strange if I were to go where nobody is wanting me. If you think, in- d,ged, that Vi would be better for a little chano~e But no Lord Esk- side would not like it there would be an undignified look about it an under- hand look; still, if you think an expedi- tion would be good for Vi It was thus that under pressure of a personal anxiety a man maundered and h~sitated who could give very sound advice to his clients, and could speak very much t~ the purpose before the Lords of Session. Mrs. Pringle knew all this, and did not despise her husband. She felt that she herself was wiser in their own practical concerns than he was, but gave him full credit for all his other advantages, and for that ability in his THE STORY OF VALENTINE; AND HIS BROTHER. profession which did not always make brother, could hold her up in his hand, to itself apparent at home. And she had a the admiration of all beholders. One great many things to do on this par- daughter in such a family holds an ideal ticular afternoon, and was driven nearly position, such as few girls achieve other- out of her senses, she allowed afterwards, ~vise at so early an age. Their little by this eternal discussion about Dick sister was the very princess of all these Rosss children and the succession to boys. The big ones petted and spoiled Eskside. her, the little ones believed~ in and rever Do you remember, she said, exer- enced her. To the dne she was some- cising her ingenuity, with as little waste thing more dainty than any playthinga of words as possible for the mother of living doll, the prettiest ornament in the seven sons, not to speak of one little house, and the only one which could be daughter besides, who is not rich enough; handled without breaking wantonly, on to keep a great many servants, has not purpose to have them punished, in their much time to waste in talk that hands; and to the others she was a small little cottage at the Hewan, which I was mother, quaintly unlike the big one, yet always so fond of? The children are; imposing upon them by her assumption fond of it too. As you are off your of the maternal ways and authority. match, and have the afternoon to spare, When she addressed the nursery audi- go away down and see if the Hewan is ence with, Now you ittle boys, mind let, and whether we can have it for the what I say to you, the babies acknowl summer. edged the shadow of authority, and felt But, my dear, it is not half big that Vi wielded a visionary sceptre. She enough for us, Mr. Pringle began. was very serious in her views of life, and His wife turned upon him a momentary held what might appear to some people look of impatience. What does it exaggerated ideas as to the guilt of spill- matter whether its big or little, when you ing your tea upon your frock, or tearing want to see what is going on ? she said. your pinafore; and was apt to wonder Take the child with you, and ask about where naughty little children who did it. It would be fine to have such a place, such things expected to go to, with an to send Vi when the heat, gets too much unswerving and perfectly satisfied faith for her. These last words were spoken in everlasting retribution, such as would in perfect good faith, for people in Edin- have edified the severest believer. Violet burgh keep up a fiction of believing awarded these immense penalties to very that the heat is too much for themas trifling offences, not being as yet wise if they were in London ~or Paris, or any- enough to discriminate or get her land- where else, where people love a yearly scape into perspective. Her dolls were change. taught their duty in the most forcible So it would, said Mr. Pringle; and way, and she herself carried out her you could go out yourself sometimes and tenets by punishing them severely when spend a long day. It would do you they displeased her. She got up from good, my dear. I think I will go. the midst of them now, and though she Run and tell nursie to put on your had been lecturing them solemnly a few best hat, Violet, said her mother; and minutes before, huddled them up, with you may have your kid gloves, if you legs and arms in every kind of contor- will be sure not to lose them. You are tion,,jnt~ a corner which was appropri- going out to the country with papa. ated to her. She walked up-stairs very Little Violet rose from where she had gravely to be dressed, but made such a been sitting, with a family of dolls round fuss about her kid gloves, that nurse, her, on the carpet. She had been giving with two baby boys on her hands, was her family their daily lessons, and felt it nearly driven to her wits end. On ordi, a very important duty. She was but six nary occasions, Vi wore little cotton years old one of those fair-haired little gloves, with the tops of the fingers sewed maidens who abound in Scotland, with inside in a little lump, which made her hair of two shades of colour, much smallhands (as they used to make mine) brighter in the half-curled locks which extremely uncomf~table. When she was lay about her shoulders than on her head, fully equipped, she was a very trim little With these light locks she had dark eyes, woman not fine, but as imposing and an unusual combination, and pretty in- dignified in her appearance as a lady of fant features, scarcely formed yet into six can manage to be; and when the anything which gave p~mise of beauty. anxious heir-at-law to the Eskside barony She was so light that Sandy, her big came down-stairs with her to start on this 86 THE STORY OF VALENTINE; AND HIS BROTHER. mission of inquiry, she was very particu- lar that he should have his umbrella nicely rolled, and that his hat should be brushed to perfection. She liked her papa to be neat, as she was, and took, in short, a general charge of him, as of all the house. This, dear reader, is the villain of this history, who is bent on spoiling,~ if he can, the heros prospects, and working confusion in all the arrangements of the Eskside family, for the advantage of him- self and his Sandy, the next heir failing Richard Rosss problematical children. But on this particular day when he lifted his little girl into the coach, and made her comfortable and smiled at her as she chatted to him, notwithstanding all his preoccupations, he was not a very bad villain. He would have liked to turn out to the streets the little beggars brat of whom he had heard such incredible stories, and who was supposed to be likely to supplant in his lawful inherit- ance himself and his handsome boys but then he had never realized the individ- uality of this beggars brat, while his heart was very much set upon his own children and their advantage a state of mind not very uncommon. He was as good to little Violet as if he had been an example of all the virtues, and instead of feeling at all ashamed of so very small a com- panion, was as proud of her as if she had been a duchess. To see her brighten up as the coach rolled on through the green country roads distracted him for the first time from his all-absorbing anxiety; and as they came in sight of the village of Lasswade, and he pointed out the river and the woods and the village houses to little Vi, he almost forgot all about the barony of Eskside. You would say that evil intentions could scarcely take very deep root in a heart so occu- pied; but human nature is very subtle in its combinations, and it is curious how easily virtue can sometimes accommodate itself by the side of very ill neighbours. Mr. Pringle had no idea or intention of working mischief, though mischief might no doubt arise by chance in his path. All that he wanted was justice, and to make sure that there was no cuckoos egg foisted into the nest at Eskside. CHAPTER IX. OH, sir, no, sir, said the smiling landlord at the Black Bull, where Mr. Pringle went to have some luncheon and to order a mach?ne, to take Vi and himself to the Hewan thedittle cottage, which was the ostensible end of his mis- sion theres different stories going about the country, but we must not be- lieve all we hear. The real truth is, Im assured by them that ought to know, that the little boy came over from foreign parts with his father, the Honourable Richard Ross, to be brought up as is be- fitting, in a decent-like house, and among folk that have some fear of God before their eyes, which its no easy to find, so far as I can hear, abroad. Came over with his father! cried Mr. Pringle, through whose soul this in- formation smote like a sword. if this was the case, farewell to the beggars brat theory, and to all hope both for Sandy and himself. Well, thats the most reasonable story, said the landlord ; theres plenty of other nonsense flying about the country. What we a heard at first was, that some gangrel body knockit loud and lang at the ha door the night of that awfu storm, and threw in a bundle, nigh knocking over auld Harding the butler; and when lights were gotfor the lamp was blown out by the wind it was found to be this boy. Its an awfu age for sensation this, and thats the sensational story folk ca it. But Mr. Richard, there can be nae doubt, has been home direct from Florence and Eitaly, and, what so, likely as that he should bring the bairn himsel? So far as I can learn, abody that is anybody, so to speak, the gentry and them that ought to ken, believes he came with his father. The servants and folk about the town up- hold the other story; but you ken, sir, the kind of story that pleases common folk best? Aye something wonderful; fancy afore reason. But surely it is very easy to get to the bottom of it, said Mr. Pringle, with a,~be~ting heart. Was the child with Mr. Ross, for instance, when he arrived? Na, I never heard that, said the landlord, swaying over to the other side. The carriage passed by our windows. So far as I could see, there was but him- self inside, and his man on the box. We maunna inquire too close into details, sir especially you that are a relation of the family. That is e~ctly why it is so important I should know? Well-a-well, sir! they do say, I al- low, said the man, sinking his voice, that the little laddie was here before his father; thats rather my own opinion no that I ever saw him. They sent THE STORY OF VALENTINE; AND HIS BROTHER. down here to inquire about a woman and a wean ; nae woman or wean had been here. There was one, I heard, at Jean Macfarlanes on the other side of the bridge, which is a place no decent per- son can be expected to ken about. And who ~vas the worn in ? said Mr. Pringle, with breathless interest. Na, thats mair than I can tell. Some say a randy wife thats been seen of late about the country-side ; some says one thing and some another. Auld Simon the postman and Merran Miller were twa Im told that saw her; but this is a hearsay a hearsay; I ken nae- thing of my own knowledge. I must say, however, added the landlord, seri- ously, that I blame themselves up at the big house for most of the stir. They sent down inquiring and inquiring, put- ting things into folks heads about this woman and the wean. My lord had a them that saw her up to the house, and put them through an examination. It was notaprudent thing to doit was that, more than anything else, that made folk begin to talk. And was that before Richard Ross came home? Oh ay,sirohay; agood week be- fore. At the time, in short, that the child came? said Mr. Pringle, with legal clearness. Well, Mr. Pringle about the time the bairn wa.s said to have come, Ill no deny; but abody thats best able to judge has warned me no to build my faith on a coincidence like that. Maist likely it was nothing more than a co-inn- ci-dence. Theyre queer things, as you that are a lawyer must know. Yes, they are queer things, said Mr. Pringle, with a flicker of hope; and then he changed the conversation, and began to inquire about the Hewan, and whether it was let for the season, or if any one had been in treaty for it. My wife has a fancy for the place. She was there when she was young, he said, half apolo- getically. But its a wee bit box of a place no fit for your fine family. It would bring the roses, though, into little Misss cheeks, for the airs grand up on that braehead. It is just for her we want it, Mr. Pringle said, with an unusual openness of confidence. She is rather pale. Come, Vi, there is the gig at the door. Vi walked down-stai?s very demurely and got into the gig, trying to look as if she mounted with some dignified diffi- culty, and not to clamber up with the speed and sureness which her breeding among so many boys had taught her. She had been listening, though she took no part in the talk. Who is the little boy, papa? she said, curiously, as they drove briskly along through the keen but sunshiny air. A little boy at Rosscraig up yonder among the trees. Do you see the tur- rets, Vi? Yes, I see them: are they made of gold? and is he a bad little boy, papa? No, Vi; I dont suppose he means it, and you dont understand, my pet; but it would be very bad for Sandy and the rest if he were to stay there. Then, papa, if it will be bad for Sandy, and the little boy is naughty, why not drive up the avenue and take him and carry him somewhere where he can do no harm? This was Violets incisive way of deal- ing with difficulties. She had all the in- stincts of a grand inquisitor: and would have acted with the same benevolent ab- sorption in the grand object of doing good to her patient whether he liked it or no. The pair drove at a spanking pace up the pretty road among tlie budding trees, through which at intervals there were glimpses of Esk brawling over his boul- ders, his brown impetuous stream all flecked with foam, like a horse in full career. A sensation of positive happi- ness was in Mr. Pringles mind as he drove along the familiar road through the country which he hoped might yet ac- knowledge his influence and authority. He could not have kidnapped the little offender as Violet suggested; but he was glad to think that there was every chance he was an impostor, and the field clear for himself and his heir. A lawsuit rose up befor~ h~m in fullest dramatic detail, a kind of thing very attractive to his pro- fessional imagination. He saw how much more difficult it would be on the other side to prove the right of this sup- posititious heir, than it would be on his to throw doubt upon him. I do not think the thought ever crossed his mind that the child might not be supposititious at all, but the real grandson of Lord Esk- side. It is so mi~h easier when you are deeply interested in a subject to see your own side of the question, and to believe that yours is the side of right. In his sense of the possibilities of the case his spirits rose, and he enjoyed. his drive to the Hewan with his innocent little girl 88 THE STORY OF VALENTINE; AND HIS BROTHER. beside him. Up they went, mounting passion, seizing the child in his arms, and the long slope, now letting the horse lifting her up to share his view. Look, walk at the steep parts, now urging him Vi! perhaps some day all that may be to a momentary spurt, now rolling rapidly yours and mine. along on a shady level, with the branches Violet looked gravely as a duty; but almost meeting overhead. The day was there was something in his strenuous warm for April, yet the wind was fresh grasp that frightened her, and she strug- and chilly, and blew in their faces with a gled to be put down. . I do not think, keen and sweet freshness which brpught she said, with precocious philosophy, the colour to little Violets cheek. Lit- that it would be any bonnier if it was tie Vi would change into little Rose up yours, papa or even mine. here on Eskside, said Violets father Mr. Pringle was tremulous after this he had not felt so light of heart for many burst of unusual emotion, for what has a a day. respectable middle-aged lawyer to do The Hewan is the tiniest of little cot- with passion either of one kind or an- tages, perched high up on a bank of the other? The fit went off, and he felt Esk, and surveying for a mile or two the slightly ashamed of himself; but the course of the picturesque little stream thrill and flutter of feeling did not go off between its high wooded banks, with for some time. He sent the gig and here and there a pretty house shining far horse to meet him at the Eskside gates, off among the trees, on some little pla- and taking Vis hand in his, went down teau of oTeensward, and the sound of the by a pathway through the woods to a side river filling the air with a soft rustlino entrance. Perhaps we shall see this and tinkling. Alas ! there are paper-mills little boy we were talking of, he said; now along the course of that romantic but he was far from having made up his stream. I was but six years old, like mind to confront the two old people, my Violet, when I first saw that wild little lord and my lady, who would see through place, and ever since (how long a time !) his pretences, as people are clever to see it has remained in my mind, charming me through the guiles of their heirs. He was with vague longings. Vi trotted to the reluctant to face them boldly; but yet he grassy ridge and gazed down the course was how curious ! eager to look the of the stream and said nothing; for what present crisis in the zace, and see for can a child say, who has no phrases himself what he had to fear. After they about the beautiful at her tongues end, had gone a little way al~& ng the woodland and can only stare and wonder, and rec- path, which was still high above the ollect, all her life after, that brawling, course of the stream, though accompa- surging river, those high trees, inclining nied all the way by the sound of its xva- from either bank towards each other, and ters as by a song, Violet escaped from that ineffable roof of sky? The old wo- her fathers hand, and ran on in advance, man who kept the cottage consented th~t making excursions of her own, hither it was still unlet, and threw no. difficul- and thither, darting about in her brown ties in the way; and Mr. Pringle secured coat and scarlet ribbons like a robin-red- it there and then for the summer. I breast under the budding branches. Mr. should like to buy it, he said to himself, Pringle, lost in his own thoughts, let her if it were not The idea of the stray before him, expecting no encounter. great possibilities before him suddenly Presently, however, there came from Vi a surged upwards, flooding his soul; and little~cry of surprise and excitement, then a hunger seized him for the river, which quickened his step. He hurried and the woods, and the fair country on after her, and came to an opening in which they threaded through. He wanted the trees where the path widened out. to have them, to possess them not the It was a small circular platform open to rent of them, or the wealth of them, but the slope of the river-bank, and with a themselves a passion of acquisition rustic seat placed in an excavation on the which is something like love, s~velling higher side of the way. Into this open suddenly in his heart. He forgot him- space another little figure had rushed self oazino at them, till Vi roused him, from the othe~side, panting and flushed, plucl~ing a~t his coat, Papa, it is bonnie; grasping a tall stick, and stood, suddenly but why do you look and look, with your arrested, in front of Violet, facing her, eyes so big and strange, like the wolf with an answering cry, with big blue eyes that ate little Red Riding Hood ? expanded to twice their natural size, and Am I like a Wolf? he said, half a face suddenly filled with curiosity and laughing, yet tremulous in his momentary wonder. Mr. Pringle it may be supposed THE STORY OF VALENTINE; AND HIS BROTHER. 89 was b/ast! in the matter of boys, and I do not think that the affectionate father of an honest plain family is ever a great amateur of childish beauty. This little figure, however, in his fantastic velvet dress, with his hat perched on the hack of his head, and all his dark curls ruffled back from his bold brown forehead, struck him ~vith a certain keen percep- tion of beauty which was almost pain. Ab! and with a perception of something else which was still sharper pain. He fell back a step to recollect himself, stag- gered by the sudden impression. What made the child so like Richard Ross What malignant freak of fortune had so amalgamated with the dark complexion and look which was not Richards those family features ? Mr. Pringle stood as if spell-bound, contemplating the child about whom he had been so curious, about whom his curiosity was so fatally satisfied now. You are the boy that lives at Ross- craig, said Violet, feeling the responsi- bility of a first address to lie with her, but somewhat frightened, with tremblings in her voice. Yes; and who are you ? cried the little fellow. Mr. Pringle behind no- ticed with a pang that he spoke with an English accent, that advantage which the ambitious Scotch parent so highly estimates. This gave him a still deeper pang than the resemblance, for it seemed to give the final blow to the beggars brat theory. Beggars brats in Mr. Pringles experience spoke Scotch. Who are you ? said Val. I never saw you before. Will you come and play? Its dull here, with no one to play with. Do you hear any one coming? Ive run away from grandpapa. But you oughtnt to run away from your grandpapa, said Violet. It is very naughty to run away, especially when the other people cant run so fast as you. Thats the fun, cried the other, with a laugh. If youll come and play, Ill show you squirrels and heaps of things. But help me first to hide this big stick. I think I hear him coming quick, quick! Would he beat you with it? said Vi, growing pale with terror. Quick, quick! cried the boy, seiz- ing her by the wrist ; but just then there was a rush of steps in the sloping path which wound down the brae to this centre, and Lord Es~side himself ap- peared, half angry, half laughing, pulling aside the branches to look through. Give me back my stick, you rogue 1 he cried, then paused, arrested, as Mr. Pringle had been, by that pretty woodland picture. It was something be- tween a Watteau group, and the ruder common rendering of the Babes in the Wood : the girl in her scarlet ribbons, with liquid dark eyes~ uplifted, her face somewhat pale ~vith mingled terror and self-control ; the boy all flushed and beautiful in his cavalier dress, grasping her by the wrist ; with the faintly green branches meeting over their heads, and the brown harmonious woods, all musical with evening notes of birds and echoes of the running water, for a background. The men on either side were so im- pressed by the picture that they paused mutually, in involuntary admiration. But they had both perceived each other, and though their sentiments were not very friendly, politeness commanded that they should speak. I hope you are well, Lord Eskside, said Mr. Pringle, stepping with an effort into the charmed circle. I had just brought my little girl through the woods to see how beautiful they are. This is my Violet ; and this fine little fellow is a visitor, I suppose. ? Is it you, Alexander Pringle ? said Lord Eskside. I could not believe my eyes. It is a sight for sore een to see you here. Indeed it is chance, mere chance, said Pringle, with a fulness of apology which he was himself uneasily conscious was quite uncalled for. I have been up at the Hewan, which I have taken for the summer. The Hewan for the summer! why, man, its a mere cottage; and what has become of your own place? Oh, I retain my old place; but it is a long~wa~ off, and best for the autumn, when we can flit altogether. My wife is fond of the Hewan, though it is so small, and we thought it would be handy to run out for a day now and then. In short, it suits us. Does this little fellow, Lord Eskside, belong, to the place? or is he a visitor? He seems to have struck up a sudden friendship with my girl. A visitor! said Lord Eskside. Do you mean to say4ou have not heard do you see no likeness in him? This is my grandson, Pringle my successor one day, I hopeRichards eldest son. Richards son! you are joking,~, said Mr. Pringle, growing pale, but with a smile that hurt him, you are joking, 90 THE STORY OF VALENTINE; AND HIS BROTHER. Lord Eskside; a child of that complex- ion Richards son I Lord Eskside felt that his adversary had hit the blot and, to tell the truth, he himself had never perceived Vals re- semblance to Richard. Colouring is not everything, he said; I suppose he has his complexion from his mother: then with a return blow, but I carrt ex- pect you to be very much delighted with the sight of him, Pringle; he takes the wind out of your sailsyours and your boys. I hope my boys will be able to man- aoe for themselves, said Pringle, with a forced laugh. If I say that I dont see the resemblance, it is for no such reason. I have never hungered for other folks rights: but that is one thing and justice is another. Vi, my dear, we must go. What! wont you come and see my lady? She will be affronted if you pass so near without calling; and you see, said the old lord, with an effort at cor- diality, the children have made friends already. Come and have some dinner, man, before you go home. You know me of old. My bark is waur than my bite I meant no harm. Oh, there is no offence, said the heir-at-law; but its getting late for a delicate child, and our gig is waiting at the wood-gate. Violet, you must bid the little man good-bye. He is not a naughty boy, papa, as you said he is a nice boy, said Vi, looking up with an appeal in her eyes please, I should like to stay. And what made you think he was naughty, my bonnie girl ? said Lord Eskside, in insinuating tones. Come, come, Violet, you must be obedient, said her father, hastily, shak- ing hands with his kinsman, whose old face, half grim, half humorous, was light- ed up with sudden and keen enjoyment of the situation. Mr. Pringle hurried his daughter on almost hastily in the confu- sion of his feelings. He had never been harsh to her before; and Violet, in her disappointment, took to crying quietly under her breath. I should like to stay I should like to stay, she murmured, till out of pure exasperation the kindest of fathers could have whipped her, and thought of that operation as an actual re- lief to his feelings. Lord Eskside, on his part, stood still in the clearing, holding back Val, who was more vehement. I want her to play wi~ me, and you said I was to have whatever I wanted, the boy cried, struggling with all his might to break away. You must know, my man, that there are many things which we all want and cannot get, cried the old lord, holding him fast; and then he burst into a low laugh. Heres a bonnie state of affairs already, he said to himself: Richards son breaking bounds to be after Sandy Pringles dauo~hter? Its the best joke Ive heard for many a day. Come, Val, come, like a good boy. Well go and tell grandma. She may have a little girl in her pocket for anything you and I know. But I dont want any little girl; I want that little girl, cried Val, with pre~ cocious discrimination. The old lord chuckled more and more as he half led, half dragged him up the steep path to~ wards the house. Why, man, if youre after them like this already, well have our hands full by the time youre of age. But when he had said this, Lord Eskside paused and contemplated his grandson, and shook his head. Can he be Richards son after all ? the old man asked himself. Lord Eskside, however, looked grim enough before he went into the house, where he betook himself at once to the drawing-room, in which his wife sat alone, at a window overlooking the river. He went in to her moody, with the air of a man who has something to say. What is the matter? said Lady Esk- side. Oh, nothings the matter. Were entering into the botherations I foresaw, thats all thats the matter. Who do you think I met in the woods but that lawyer~ rascal Sandy Pringle, come to spy out the nakedness of the land! And what nakedness is there to spy into? and what can Sandy Pringle do to you or me? said the old lady, with a sUgh~elevation of her head. Not much, perhaps, to you or me. Hes taken the Hewan, Catherine, where he can lie in wait like an auld spider till he gets us into his net. I dont understand you, said the old lady, with the light of battle waking in her eyes. What does it matter to us where Sandy Pringle lives? He has been out of the question, poor man, as everybody kn~ws, since Providence sent to my son Richard his two bonnie boys. Its fine romancing, said Lord Esk- side. Wheres the tother of your bon- nie boys, my lady? And where is your proof of this one that will satisfy a court DR. JOHNSON S WRITINGS. 9 of law? Likeness is all very well, and natural instincts all very well, but they make little impression on the Court of Session. And though hes a haverel in private life, Sandy Pringh was always a clever lawyer. If you do not find the wo- man there will be a lawsuit, that will leave Eskside but an empty title, and melt all the lands away. Well find the woman, said the old lady, clasping her fine nervous hands. Ill move earth and heaven before Ill let anything come in my boys way.~~ At this moment Val burst in, rosy and excited, with his grandfathers stick, which in the vehemence of their new ideas both the child and the old man had forgotten. Grandma, I want that little girl to play with. Send over directly, cried Val, in hot impatience, to get me the little girl! You have enough on your hands, my lady, said Lord Eskside. From The Corohill Magazine. DR. JOHNSONS WRITINGS. A BOOK has recently appeared of which it is the professed object to give to the modern generation of lazy readers the pith of Boswells immortal biography. I shall, for sufficient reasons, refrain from discussing the merits of the performance. One remark, indeed, may be made in pass- ing. The circle of readers to whom such a book is welcome must, of necessity, be limited. To the true lovers of Boswell it is, to say the least, superfluous; the gentlest omissions will always mangle some peoples favourite passages, and ad- ditions, whatever skill they may display, necessarily injure that dramatic vivacity which is one of the great charms of the original. The most discreet of cicerones is an intruder when we open our old fa- vourite and, without further magic, retire into that delicious nook of eighteenth century society. Upon those, again, who cannot appreciate the infinite humour of the original, the mere excision of the less lively pages will be thrown away. There remains only that narrow margin of readers whose appetites, languid but not extinct, can be titillated by the promise that they shall not have the trouble of making their own selection. Let us wish them good digestions, and, in spite of modern changes of fashion, more robust taste for the future. T would still hope that to many readers Boswell has been what he has certainly been to some, the first writer who gave them a love of English literature, and the most charming of all companions long after the bloom of nov- elty has departed. I subscribe most cheerfully to Mr. Lewess statement that he estimates his acquaintances according to their estimate of Boswell. A man, in- deed, may be a good~ Christian, and an excellent father of a family, without loving Johnson or Boswell, for a sense of humour is not one of the primary virtues. But Boswells is one of the. very few books which, after many years of famil- iarity, will still provoke a hearty laugh even in the solitude of a study; and the laughter is of that kind which does one good. I do not wish, however, to pronounce one more eulogy upon an old friend, but to say a few words on a question which he sometimes suggests. Macaulays well-known but provoking essay is more than usually lavish in overstrained para- doxes. He has explicitly declared that Boswell wrote one of the most charming of books because he was one of the greatest of fools. And his remarks sug- gest, if they do not implicitly assert, that Johnson wrote some of the most unread- able of books, although, if not because, he possessed one of the most vigorous intellects of the time. Mr. Carlyle has given a sufficient explanation of the first paradox; but the second may justify a little further inquiry. As a general rule, the talk of a great man is the reflection of his books. Nothing is so false as the com- mon saying that the presence of a distin- guished writer is generally disappointing. It exemplifies a very common delusion. People are so impressed by the disparity which sometimes occurs, that they take the exception for the rule. It is, of course, true that a mans verbal utter- anc~ n~y differ materially from his writ- ten utterances. He may, like Addison, be shy in company; he may, like many retired students, be slow in collecting his thoughts ; or he may, like Goldsmith, be over anxious to shine at all hazards. But a patient observer will even then de- tect the essential identity under superfi- cial differences; and in the majority of cases, as in that of Macaulay himself, the talking and ~e writing are palpably and almost absurdly similar. The whole art of criticism consists in learning to know the human being ~vho is partially revealed to us in his spoken or his writ- ten words. Whatever the means of com- munication, the problem is the same. 92 DR. JOHNSONS WRITINGS. The two methods of inquiry may supple- lowing out such indications as we pos- meat each other; but their substantial sess. agreement is the test of their accuracy. The talking Johnson is sufficiently fa- If Johnson, as a writer, appears to us to miliar to us. So far as Boswell needs an be a mere windbag and manufacturer of interpreter, Mr. Carlyle has done all that sesquipedalian verbiage, whilst, as a can be done. He has concentrated and talker, he appears to be one of the most explained what is diffused, and often un- genuine and deeply feeling of men, we consciously indicated, in Boswells pages. may be sure that our analysis has been When reading Boswell, we are half somewhete defective. The discrepancy ashamed of his power over our sympa- is, of course, partly explained by the thies. It is like turning over a portfolio faults of Johnsons style; but the expla- of sketches, caricatured, inadequate, and nation only removes the difficulty a degree each giving only some imperfect aspect further. The style is the man is a of the original. Mac aulays smart para- very excellent aphorism, though some doxes only increase our perplexity by eminent writers have lately pointed out throwing the superficial contrasts into that Buffons original remark was Ze style stronger relief. Mr. Carlyle, with true cest de ihomme. That only proves that, imaginative insight, gives us at once the like many other good sayings, it has been essence of Johnson ; he brings before our polished and brought to perfection by eyes the luminous body of which we had the process of attrition in numerous previously been coTiscious only by a minds, instead of being struck out at a series of imperfect images refracted blow by a solitary thinker. From a pure- through a number of distorted media. ly logical point of view, Buffon may be To render such a service effectually is correct; but the very essence of an the highest triumph of criticism ; and it aphorism is that slight exaggeration which would be impertinent to say again in makes it more biting whilst less rigidly feebler language what Mr. Carlyle has accurate. According to Buffon, the style expressed so forcibly. We may, how- might belong to a man as his coat or his ever, recall certain general conclusions hat belongs to him. There are parasiti- by way of preface to the problem which cal writers who, in the cid phrase, have he has not expressly considered, how far formed their style, by the imitation of Johnson succeeded in expressing himself accepted models, and who have, there- through his writing. fore, possessed it only by right of appro- The world, as Mr. Carlyle sees it, is priation. Boswell has a discussion as to composed, we all know, of two classes: the writers who may have served John- there are the dull millions, who, as a son in this capacity. But, in fact, John- dull flock, roll hither and thither, whither- son, like all other men of strong idio- soever they are led, and there are a few syncrasy, formed his style as he formed superior natures who can see and can his legs. The peculiarities of his limbs will. There are, in other words, the were in some degree the result of con- heroes, and those whose highest wisdom scious efforts in walking, swimming, and is to be hero-worshippers. Johnsons buffetincr with his books. This deyel- glory is that he belonged to the sacred opment was doubtless more determined band, though he could not claim within it by the constitution which he brought the highest, or even a high, rank. In the into the world, and the circumstances current dialect, therefore, he was nowise under which he was brought up. And a~lot~es-horse or patent digester, but a even that queer Johnsonese, which genuine man. Whatever the accuracy Macaulay supposes him to have adopted of the general conception, or of certain in accordance with a more definite lite- corollaries which are drawn from it, the rary theory, will probably appear to be application to Johnson explains one main the natural expression of certain innate condition of his power. Persons of col- tendencies, and of the mental atmos- ourless imagination may hold nor will phere which he breathed from youth. we dispute their verdictthat Mr. To appreciate fairly the strangely cum- Carlyle overcharges his lights and shades, brous form of his written speech, we must and brings his4eroe s into too startling a penetrate more deeply than may at first contrast with the vulgar herd. Yet it is sight seem necessary beneath the outer undeniable that the great bulk of man- rind of this literary Behemoth. The kind are transmitters rather than origi- difficulty of such spiritual dissection is, nators of spiritual force. Most of us are indeed, very great ;~ut some little light necessarily condemned to express our may be thrown upon the subject by fol- thoughts in formulas which we have DR. JOHNSONS WRITINGS. 93 learnt from others and can but slightly rarity of such qualities. Many people, tinge with our feeble personality. Nor, we think, love their fathers. Fortunately, as a rule, are we even consistent disciples that is true; but in how many people of any one school of thought. What we is filial affection strong enough to over- call our opinions are mere bundles of in- power the dread of eccentricity? How coherent formuke, arbitrarily stitched many men would have been capable of together because our reasoning faculties doing penance in Uttoxeter market years are too dull to make inconsistency pain- after their fathers death for a long- ful. Of the vast piles of books which passed act of disobedi6nce? Most of us, load our libraries, ninety-nine hundredths again, would have a temporary emotion and more are but printed echoes: and I of pity for an outcast lying helplessly in it is the rarest of pleasures to say, here the street. We should call the police, is a distinct record of impressions at first or send her in a cab to the workhouse, or, hand. We commonplace beings are hur- at least, write to The Times to denounce ned along in the crowd, living from hand the defective arrangements of public to mouth on such slices of material and charity. But it is perhaps better not to spiritual food as happen to drift in our ask how many good Samaritans would direction, with little more power of tak- take her on their shoulders to their own ing an independent course, or of forming homes, care for her wants, and put her any general theory, than the polyps which into a better way of life. are carried along by an oceanic current. In the lives of most eminent men we Ask any man what he thinks of theworld find much good feeling and honourable in which he is placed : whether, for ex- conduct; but it is an exception, even in ample, it is on the whole a scene of happi- the case of good men, when we find that ness or misery, and he will either answer a life has been shaped by other than the by some cut-and-dried fragments of ~vhat ordinary conventions, or that emotions was once wisdom, or he will confine him- have dared to overflow the well-worn self to a few incoherent details. He had channels of respectability. The love a good dinner to-day and a bad tooth- which we feel for Johnson is due to the ache yesterday, and a family affliction or fact that the pivots upon which his life blessing the day before. But he is as turned are invariai.y noble motives, and incapable of summing up his impressions not mere obedience to custom. More as an infant of performing an operation than one modern writer has expressed a in the differential calculus. It is as rare fraternal affection for Addison, and it is as it is refreshing to find a man who can justified by the kindly humour which stand on his own legs and be conscious breathes through his Essays. But what of his own feelings, who is sturdy enough anecdote of that most decorous and sue- to react as well as to transmit action, cessful person touches our hearts or has and lofty enough to raise himself above the heroic ring of Johnsons wrestlings the hurrying crowd and have some dis- with adverse fortune? Addison showed tinct belief as to whence it is coming how a Christian could die when his and whither it is going. Now Johnson, life has run smoothly through pleasant as one of the sturdiest of mankind, had places, secretaryships of state, and mar- the power due to a very distinct senti- riages with countesses, and when nothing ment, if not to a very clear theory, about except a few overdoses of port wine the world in which he lived. It had buf- has,~sh~ken his nerves or ruffled his feted him severely enough, and he had temper. A far deeper emotion rises at formed a decisive estimate of its value, the deathbed of the rugged old pilgrim, He was no man to be put off with mere who has fought his way to peace in spite phrases in place of opinions, or to accept of troubles within and without, who has doctrines which were not capable of ex- been jeered in Vanity Fair and descended pressing genuine emotion. To this it into the Valley Qf the Shadow of Death, must be added, that his emotions were as and escaped with pain and difficulty from deep and tender as they were genuine, the clutches of Giant Despair. When How sacred was his love for his old and the last feelin~s~of such a man are tender, ugly wife ; how warm his sympathy solemn, and simNe, we feel ourselves in wherever it could be effective ; how a higher presence than that of an amiable manly the self-respect with which he gentleman who simply died, as he lived, guarded his dignity through all the temp- with consummate decorum. tations of Grub Stree~ need not be once On turning, however, from Johnsons more pointed out. Perhaps, however, it life to his writings, from Boswell to the is worth while to notice the extreme Rambler, it must be admitted that the 94 DR. JOHNSON S WRITINGS. shock is trying to our nerves. The Ram- friends oddities. Every man, he says, bier has, indeed, high merits. The im- has some habitual contortion of body, pression which it made upon his own or established mode of expression, which generation proves the fact ; for the repu- never fails to excite mirth if it be pointed tation, however temporary, was not won out to notice. By premonition of these by a concession to the fashions of the particularities, I secured our pleasantry. day, but to the influence of a strong judg- The feminine characters, Flirtillas, and ment uttering itself through uncouth Cleoras, and Euphelias, and Penthesileas, forms. The melancholy which colours are, if possible, still more grotesque. its pages is the melancholy of a noble Macaulay remarks that he wears the pet- nature. The tone of thought reminds us ticoat with as ill a grace as Falstaff him. of Bishop Butler, whose xvritings, de- self. The reader, he thinks, will cry out faced by a style even more tiresome, with Sir Hugh, I like not when a oman though less pompous than Johnsons, has a great peard! I spy a great peard have owed their enduring reputation to a under her muffler. Oddly enough John- philosophical acuteness in which John- son gives the very same quotation; and son was certainly very deficient. Both goes on to warn his supposed correspond. of these great men, however, impress us ents that Phyllis must send no more let- by their deep sense of the evils under ters from the Horse Guards ; and that which humanity suffers, and their rejec- Belinda must resign her pretensions to tion of the superficial optimism of the female elegance till she has lived three day. Butlers sadness, undoubtedly, is weeks without hearing the politics of that of a recluse, and Johnsons that of Buttons Coffee House. The Doctor was a man of the world; but the sentiment is probably sensible enough of his own de- fundamentally the same. It may be fects. And yet there is still a more wea- added, too, that here, as elsewhere, John- risome set of articles. In accordance son speaks with the sincerity of a man with the precedent set by Addison, John- drawing upon his own experience. He son indulges in the dreariest of allebories. announces himself as a scholar thrust Criticism, we are told, was the eldest out upon the world rather by necessity daughter of Labour and Truth, but at than by choice; and a large proportion of last resigned in favour of Time, and the papers dwell upon the various suffer- left Prejudice and False Taste to ings of the literary class. Nobody could reign in company with Fraud and Mis- speak more feelingly of those sufferings, chief. Then we have the genealogy of as no one had a closer personal acquaint- Wit and Learning, and of Satire, the son ance with them. But allowing to John- of Wit and Malice, and an account of son whatever credit is due to the man their various quarrels, and the decision who performs one more variation on the of Jupiter. Neither are the histories of old theme, Vanifas vanitaturn, we must such semi-allegorical personages as Alma- in candour admit that the Rambler has moulin, the son of Nouradin, or of the one unpardonable fault: it is un- Anningait and Ayut, the Greenland lovers, readable. much more refreshing to modern readers. What an amazing turn he has for com- That Johnson possessed humour of no monplace! That life is short, that mar- mean ?~der, we know from Boswell; but riages from mercenary motives produce no critic could have divined his power unhappiness, that different men are vir- frorii the clumsy gambols in which he oc- tuous in different degrees, that advice is ca~ori~lly recreates himself. Perhaps generally ineffectual, that adversity has his happiest effort is a dissertation upon its uses, that fame is liable to suffer from the advantage of living in garrets ; but detraction ; these and a host of other the humour struggles and gasps dread- such maxims are of the kind upon which fully under the weight of words. There no genius and no depth of feeling can are, he says, some who would continue confer a momentary interest. Here and blockheads, even on the summit of the there indeed the pompous utterance in- Andes or the Peak of Teneriffe. But let vests them with an unlucky air of absurd- norany man be considered as unimprova- ity. Let no man from this time, is the ble till this pot~t remedy has been tried comment in one of his stories, suffer for perhaps he was found to be gre at only his felicity to depend on the death of his 1in a garret, as the joiner of Ant~eus was aunt. Every actor, of course, uses rational in no other place but his own same dialect. A gay young gentleman shop. tells us that he used..to amuse his com- How could a man of real power write panions by giving them notice of his such unendurable stuff? Or how, indeed, DR. JOHNSONS WRITINGS. could any man come to embody his thoughts in the style of which one other sentence will be a sufficient example? As it is afterwards nearly repeated, it may be supposed to have struck his fancy. The remarks of the philosophers who denounce temerity are, he says, too just to be disputed and too salutary to be rejected; but there is likewise some dan- ger lest timorous prudence should beTh- culcated till courage and enterprise are wholly repressed and the mind congested in perpetual inactivity by the fatal influ- ence of frigorifick wisdom. Is there not some danger, we ask, that the mind will be benumbed into perpetual torpidity by the influence of this soporific sapience ? It is still true, however, that this Johnson- ese, so often burlesqued and ridiculed, was, as far as we can judge, a genuine product. Macaulay says that it is more offensive than the mannerism of Milton or Burke, because it is a mannerism adopted on principle and sustained by constant effort. Facts do not confirm the theory. Miltons prose style seems to be the result of a conscious effort to run English into classical moulds. Burkes mannerism does not appear in his early writings, and we can trace its development from the imitation of Bo- lingbroke to the last declamation against the Revolution. But Johnson seems to have written Johnsonese from his cradle. In his first original composition, the pref- ace to Father Lobos Abyssinia, the style is as distinctive as in the Rambler. The Parliamentary reports in the Gentle- mans Magazine make Pitt and Fox * ex- press sentiments which are probably their own in language which is as unmis- takably Johnsons. It is clear that his style, good or bad, was the same from his earliest efforts. It is only in. his last book, the Lives of the Poets, that the mannerism, though equally marked, is so far subdued as to be tolerable. What he himself called his habit of using too big words and too many of them~ was no af- fectation, but as much the result of his special idiosyncrasy as his queer grunt- ings and twitchings. Sir Joshua Reynolds indeed maintained, and we may believe so attentive an observer, that his strange physical contortions were the result of bad habit, not of actual disease. John- son, he said, could sit as still as other people when his attention was called to it. And possibly, if he had tried, he * See, for example, the greet debate on February 13th, 1741. 95 might have avoided the fault of making little fishes talk like whales. But how did the bad habits arise? According to Boswell, Johnson professed to have formed his style partly upon Sir W. Temple and on Chamberss Proposal for his Dictionary.. The statement was obviously misinterpreted: but. there is a glimmering of truth in~the theory that the style was formed ~ so far as those words have any meaning on the giants of the seventeenth century, and espe- cially upon Sir Thomas Browne. John- sons taste, in fact, had led him to the study of writers in many ways congenial to him. His favourite book, as we know, was Burtons Anatomy of Melancholy. The pedantry did not repel him ; the weighty thought rightly attracted him and the more complex structure of sen- tence was perhaps a pleasant contrast to an ear saturated with the Gallicized neat- ness of Addison and Pope. Unluckily, the secret of the old majestic cadence was hopelessly lost. Johnson, though spiritually akin to the giants, was the firmest ally and subject of the diver-fish dynasty which supplanted them. The very faculty of hearing seems to change in obedience to some mysterious law at different stages of intellectual develop- ment; and that which to one generation is delicious music is to another a mere droning of bagpipes or the grinding of monotonous barrel-organs. Assuming that a man can find perfect satisfaction in the versification of the Essay on Man, we can understand his saying of Lycidas, that the diction is harsh, the rhymes uncertain, and the numbers unpleasing. In one of the Ramblers we are informed that the ac- cent in blank verse ought properly to rest upon every second syllable through- out the whole line. A little variety must, he admits, be allowed to avoid satiety; but ~l ~nes which do not go in the steady jogtrot of alternate beats, as regu- larly as the piston of a steam-engine, are more or less defective. This simple- minded system naturally makes wild work with the poetry of the mighty- mouthed inventor of harmonies. Mil- tons harsh cadences are indeed excused on the odd ground, that he who was vindicatino the ~yays of God to many might have been c ~n demned for lavish- ing much of his attention upon syllables and sounds. Moreover, the poor man did his best by introducing sounding proper names, even when they added little music to his. poem. An example 96 DR. JOHNSON S WRITINGS. the Tuscan artist views, At evening, from the top of Fiesole Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, & c. of this feeble, though well-meant expe- comparison by really imitating Addison. dient, being the passage about the moon, He has to make allegories, and to give which lively sketches of feminine peculiarities, and to ridicule social foibles of which he was, at most, a distant observer. The inevitable consequence is, that though here and there we catch a glimpse of the This profanity passed at the time for or- genuine man, we are, generally, too much thodoxy. But the misfortune was, that provoked by the awkwatdness of his cos- Johnson, unhesitatingly subscrihitig to tume to be capable of enjoying or even the rules of Queen Annes critics, is al- reading him. ways instinctively feeling after the In some of his writings, however, John- grander effects of the old school. Na- son manages, to a certain extent, to throw ture prompts him to the stateliness of off these impediments. In his deep ca- Milton, whilst Art orders him to deal out pacity for sympathy and reverence, we long and short syllables alternately, and recognize some of the elements that go to make them up in parcels of ten, and to the making of a poet. He is always a then tie these parcels together in pairs man of intuitions rather than of discur- by the help of a rhyme. The natu- sive intellect; often keen of vision, ral utterance of a man of strong percep- though wanting in analytical power. For tions, but of unwieldy intellect, of a mel- poetry, indeed, as it is often understood ancholy temperament, and capable of now, or even as it was understood by very deep, but not vivacious emotions, Pope, he had little enough qualification. would be in stately and elaborate phrases. He had not the intellectual vivacity im- This style was not more distinctly a plied in the marvellously neat workman- work of art than the style of Browne or ship of Pope, and still less the delight in Milton, but unluckily, it was a work of all natural and artistic beauty which we bad art. He had the misfortune, not so generally take to be essential to poetic rare as it may sound, to be born in the ~xcellence. His contempt for Lycidas is wrong century; and is, therefore, a giant sufficiently significant upon that head. in fetters ; the amplitude of stride is Still more characteristic is the incapacity still there, but it is checked into mechan- to understand Spenser, which comes out ical regularity. A similar phenomenon incidentally in his remarks upon some of is observable in other xvriters of the time. those imitations, which even in the mid- The blank verse of Young, for example, dle of the eighteenth century showed that is generally set to Popes tune with the the sensibility to the purest form of omission of the rhymes; whilst Tho m- poetry was not quite extinct amongst us. son, revolting more or less consciously But there is a poetry, though we some- against the canons of his time, too often times seem to foro~et it, which is the nat- falls into more pompous mouthing. ura lexp ression of deep moral sentiment, Shaftesbury, in the previous generation, and of this Johnson has written enough trying to write poetical prose, becomes to reveal very genuine power. The as pedantic as Johnson, though in a dif- touching verses upon the death of Levett ferent style; and Gibbon~ s mannerism are almost as pathetic as Cowper; and is a familiar example of a similar es- fragments of the two imitations of Juve- cape from a monotonous simplicity into nal have struck deep enough to be not awk~vard complexity. Such writers are q~ite~orgotten. We still quote the lines like men who have been chilled by what about pointing a moral and adorning a Johnson would call the frigorifick in- tale, which conclude a really noble pas- fluence of the classicism of their fathers, saoe We are too often reminded of his and whose numbed limbs move stiffly m~lancholy musings over the and awkwardly in a first attempt to re- gain the old liberty. The form, too, of Fears of the brave and follies of the ~vise, the Rambler is unfortunate. Johnson and a few of the concluding lines of the has always Addison before his eyes; to Vanity of Human Wishes, in which he whom it was formerly the fashion to com- answers the q~stion whether man must pare him for the same excellent reason of necessity which has recently suggested compari- sons between Dickens and Thackeray, namely, that their works were published in helplessness and ignorance, may have in the same extern~1 shape. Unluckily, something of a familiar ring. We are to Johnson gave too much excuse for the give thanks, he says, Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate, DR. JOHNSON S WRITINGS. For love, which scarce collective man can fill; For patience, sovereign oer transmuted ill; For faith, that, panting for a happier seat, Counts death kind natures signal for retreat; These goods for man, the laws of heaven or- dain, These goods He grants, who grants the power to gain, With these celestial wisdom calms the mind, And makes the happiness she does not find., Some of these lines, if I am not mis- taken, are noble in expression, as well as lofty and tender in feeling. Johnson, like Wordsworth, or even more deeply than Wordsworth, had felt all the heavy and the weary weight of all this unintelligible world; and, though he stumbles a little in the narrow limits of his versification, he bears himself nobly, and manages to put his heart into his poetry. Coleridges paraphrase of the well-known lines, Let observation with extensive observation, observe mankind from China to Peru, would prevent us from saying that he had shaken off his verbiage. He has not the felicity of Goldsmiths Traveller; but his ponderous lines show genuine vigour, and can be excluded from poetry only by the help of an arbitrary classification. The fullest expression, however, of Johnsons feeling is undoubtedly to be found in Rasselas. The inevitable com- parison with Voltaires (andide, which, by an odd coincidence, appeared almost sim- ultaneously, suggests some curious reflec- tions. The resemblance between the moral of the two books is so strong that, as John- son remarked, it would have been difficult not to suppose that one had given a hint to the other but for the chronological dif- ficulty. The contrast, indeed, is as marked as the likeness. (andlde is not adapted for family reading, whereas Ras- selas might be a textbook for young ladies studying English in a convent. Candlde, whatever the disgust which it may cause, not only to the orthodox but to the rever- ent mind, is a marvel of clearness and vivacity; xvhereas to read Rasselas is about as exhilarating as to wade knee- deep through a sandy desert. Voltaire and Johnson, however, the great sceptic and the last of the true old Tories, coin- cide pretty well in their view of the world, and in the remedy which they suggest. The world is, they agree, full of misery, and the optimism which would deny the reality of the misery is childish. Li faul c itiver no/re jardiu is the last word of Gazidide, and Johnsons teaching, both here and elsewhere, maybe summed up in the words Work, and dont whine. LiVING AGE. VOL. VI. 267 97 It need not be considered here, nor, per- haps, is it quite plain, what speculative conclusions Voltaire meant to draw from his teaching. The peculiarity of Johnson is that he is apparently indifferent to any such conclusion. A dogmatic assertion that the world is on the whole a scene of misery, may be pressed into the service of different philosophies. Johnson as- serted the opinion resolutely, both in writing and in conversation, but appar- ently never troubled himself with any in- ferences but such as have a directly prac- tical tendency. He was no speculatist a word which now strikes us as having an American twang, but which was famil- iar to the lexicographer. His only excur- sion to the borders of such regions was in the very forcible review of Soane Jenyns, who had made a jaunty attempt to explain the origin of evil by the help of a few of Popes epigrams. Johnsons sledge-ham- mer smashes his flimsy platitudes to pieces with an energy too good for such a foe. For speculation, properly so called, there was no need. The review, like Rasselas, is simply a vigorous protest against the popular attempt to make things pleasant by a feeble dilution of the most watery kind of popular preaching. He has no trouble in remarking that the evils of poverty are not alleviated by call- ing it want of riches, and that there is a poverty which involves want of neces- saries. Such consolation, indeed, came rather awkwardly from the elegant coun- try gentleman to the poor scholar who had just known by experience what it was to live upon fourpence-halfpenny a day. Johnson resolutely looks facts in the face, and calls ugly thinbs by their right names. Men, he tells us over and over again, are wretched, and there is no use iii denying it. This doctrine appears in his familiar talk, and even in the papers which he meant to be light reading. He begins the proflog~e to a comedy with the words: Pressed with the load of life, the weary mind Surveys the general toil of human kind. In the L~fe of Savage he makes the com- mon remark that the lives of many of the greatest teachers of mankind have been miserable. The explanation to which he inclines is that they have not been more miserable than tbei~neighbours, but that their misery has been more conspicuous. His melancholy view of life may have been caused simply by his unfortunate constitution ; for everybody sees in the I disease of his own liver a disorder of the universe; but it wa~ also intensified 98 DR. JOHNSONS WRITINGS. by the natural reaction of a powerful nature against the fluent optimism of the time, which expressed itself in Popes aphorism, Whatever is, is right. The strongest men of the time revolted against that attempt to cure a deep-seated disease by a few fine speeches. The form taken by Johnsons revolt is characteristic. His nature was too tender and too manly to incline to Swifts misanthropy. Men might be wretched, but he would not therefore revile them as filthy Yahoos. He was too reverent and cared too little for abstract thought to share the scepti- cism of Voltaire. In this miserable world the one worthy object of ambition is to do ones duty, and the one consolation deserving the name is to be found in religion. That Johnsons religious opin- ions sometimes took the form of rather grotesque superstition may be true; and it is easy enough to ridicule some of its manifestations. He took the creed of his day without much examination of the evi- dence upon which its dogmas rested; but a writer must be thoughtless indeed who was more inclined to laugh at his superficial oddities, than to admire the reverent spirit and the brave self-respect with which he struggled through a pain- ful life. The protest of Rasselas against optimism is therefore radically different from the protest of Voltaire. The Frenchman is aiming, with an irritating flippancy, though not without quick feel- ing, at popular theology; the Englishman desires to impress upon us the futility of all human enjoyments, with a view to deepen the solemnity of our habitual tone of thought. It is true, indeed, that the evil is dwelt upon more forcibly than the remedy. The book is all the more im- pressive. We are almost appalled by the gloomy strength which sees so forcibly the misery of the world and rejects so unequivocally all the palliatives of senti- ment and philosophy. The melancholy is intensified by the ponderous style, which suggests a man weary of a heavy burden. The air seems to be filled with what Johnson once called inspissated gloom. Rasselas, one may say, has a narrow escape of being a great book, though it is ill calculated for the hasty readers of to-day. Indeed, the defects are serious enough. The class of writing to which it belongs demands a certain dramatic picturesqueness to point the moral effectively. Not only the long. winded sentences, but the slow evolution of thought and~the deliberation with which he ~vorks out his pictures of misery, make the general effect dull be- side such books as (~andide or Gullivers Travels. A touch of epigrammatic exag- geration is very much needed; and yet anybody who has the courage to read it through will admit that Johnson is not an unworthy guide into those gloomy re~,ions of imagination, which we all visit some- times, and which it is as well to visit in good company. After his fashion, Johnson is a fair rep- resentative of Greatheart. His melan- choly is distinguished from that of feebler men by the strength of the conviction that it will do no good to whine. We know his view of the great prophet of the Rev- olutionary School. Rousseau, he said, to l3oswells astonishment, is a very bad man. I would sooner sign a sen- tence for his transportation than that of any felon who has gone from the Old Bailey these many years. Yes, I should like to have him work in the plantati6ns. That is a fine specimen of the good John- sonese prejudices of which we hear so much; and, of course, it is easy to infer that Johnson was an ignorant bigot, who had not in any degree taken the measure of the great moving forces of his time. Nothing, indeed, can be surer than that Johnson cared very little for the new gos- pel of the rights of man. His truly British contempt for all such fancies ( for anything I see, he once said, for- eigners are fools ) is one of his strongest characteristics. Now, Rousseau and his like took a view of the world as it was quite as melancholy as Johnsons. They inferred that it ought to be turned upside down, assured that the millennium would begin as soon as a few revolutionary dog- mas were accepted. All their remedies appeared to the excellent Doctor as so much of that cant of which it was a man s first duty to clear his mind. The evils of life were far too deeply seated to be ~a~sed or cured by kings or demagogues. One of the most popular commonplaces of the day was the mischief of luxury. That we were all on the high road t,o ruin on account of our wealth, our cor- ruption, and the growth of the national debt, was the text of any number of politi- cal agitators. The whole of this talk was, to his mind, so much whining and cant. Luxury did ~o harm, and the mass of the people, as indeed was in one sense oo- vious enough, had only too little of it. The pet state of nature of theorists was a silly figment. The genuine savage was little better than an animal; and a savage woman, who3e contempt for civil- DR. JOHNSON S WRITINGS. ized life had prompted her to escape to the forest, was simpi a speaking cat. The natural equality of mankind was mere moonshine. So far is it from being true, he says, that no two people can be together for half an hour without one ac- quiring an evident superiority over the other. Subordination is an essential ele- ment of human happiness. A Whig stinks in his nostrils because to his eye modern Whiggism is a nei~ation of all principles. As he said of Priestleys writings, it unsett les everything and set- tles nothing. He is a cursed Whig, a bottomless Whig as they all are now, was his description apparently of Burke. Order, in fact, is a vital necessity; what particular form it may take matters com- paratively little ; and therefore all revolu- tionary dogmas were chimerical as an attack upon the inevitable conditions of life and mischievous so far as produc- tive of useless discontent. We need not ask what mixture of truth and falsehood there may be in these principles. Of couse, a Radical, or even a respectable V,Thig, like Macaulay, who believed in the magical efficacy of the British Consti- tution, might shriek or laugh at such doc- trine. Johnsons political pamphlets, be- sides the defects natural to a writer who was only a politician by accident, advo- cate the most retrograde doctrines. No- body at the present day thinks that the Stamp Act ~vas an admirable or justifi- able measure; or would approve of tell- ing the Americans that they ought to have been grateful for their long exemp- tion instead of indignant at the imposi- tion. We do not put a calf into the plough; we wait till he is an ox was riot a judicious taunt. He was utterly wrong; and, if everybody who is utterly wrong in a political controversy deserves unmixed contempt, there is no more to he said for him. We might indeed ar- gue that Johnson was in some ways en- titled to the sympathy of enlightened people. His hatred of the Americans was complicated by his hatred of slave- owners. He anticipated Lincoln in pro- posing the emancipation of the negroes as a military measure. His uniform hatred for the slave trade scandalized poor Boswell, who held that its abolition xvould be equivalent to shutting the gates of mercy on mankind. His lan- guage about the blundering tyranny of the English rule in Ireland would satisfy Mr. Froude, though he wQuld hardly have loved a Home Ruler. He denounces the frequency of capital punishment and the harshness of imprisonment for debt, and he invokes a compassionate treatment of the outcasts of our streets as warmly as the more sentimental Goldsmith. His conservatism may be at times obtuse, but it is never of the cynical variety. He hates cruelty and injustice as righteously as he hates anarchy. Indeed, Johnsons contempt for mouthing agitators of tbe Wilkes and Junius variety is one which may be shared by most thinkers who would not accept his principles. There is a vigorous passa~e in the False Alarm which is scarcely unjust to the patriots of the day. He describes the mode in which petitions are generally got up. They are sent from town to town, and the people flock to see what is to be sent to the king. One man signs because he hates the Papists ; another because he has vowed destruction to the turnpikes one because it will vex the parson ; an- other because he owes his landlord noth- ing; one because he is rich; another be- cause he is poor; one to show that he is not afraid, and another to show that he can write. The people, he thinks, are as well off as they are likely to be under any form of government; and grievances about general warrants or the rights of juries in libel cases are not really felt so long as they have enough to eat and drink and wear. The error, we may prob- bably say, was less in the contempt for a very shallow agitation than in the want of perception that deeper causes of dis- content were accumulating in the back- ground. Wilkes in himself was a worth- less demagogue; but Wilkes was the straw carried by the rising tide of revo- lutionary sentiment, to which Johnson was entirely blind. Yet whatever we may think of his political philosophy, the value of these solid sturdy prejudices is unde- niable. To the fact that Johnson was the ty~ica~representative of a large class of Englishmen we owe it that the Society of Rights did not develope into a Jacobin Club. The fine phrases on which French- men became intoxicated never turned the heads of men impervious to abstract theories and incapable of dropping sub- stances for shadows. There are evils in each temperament ; but it is as well that some men should c~rry into p6litics that rooted contempt for~vhining which lay so deep in Johnsons nature. He scorned the sickliness of the Rousseau school as, in spite of his constitutional melancholy, he scorned valetudinarianism whether of the bodily or the spiritual order. He saw evil enough in the world to be heartily, 99 100 DR. JOHNSONS WRITINGS. at times too roughly, impatient of all fine ladies who made a luxury of grief or of demagogues who shrieked about theoret- ical grievances which did not sensibly affect the happiness of one man in a thousand. The lady would not have time to nurse her sorrows if she had been a washerwoman ; the grievances with which the demagogues yelled them- selves hoarse could hardly be distin- guished amidst the sorrows of the vast majority condemned to keep starvation at bay by unceasing labour. His incapa- city for speculation makes his pamphlets worthless beside Burkes philosophical discourses; but the treatment, if wrong and defective on the theoretical side, is never contemptible. Here, as elsewhere, he judges by his intuitive aversions. He rejects too hastily whatever seems insipid or ill-flavoured to his spiritual appetite. Like all the shrewd and sensible part of mankind, he condemns as mere moon- shine what may be really the first faint dawn of a new daylight. But then his intuitions are noble, and his fundamental belief is the vital importance of order, of religion, and of morality, coupled with a profound conviction, surely not errone- ous, that the chief sources of human suf- fering lie far deeper than any of the rem- edies proposed by constitution-mongers and fluent theorists. The literary ver- sion of these prejudices, or principles, is given most explicitly in the Lives of the Poets the book which is now the most readable of Johnsons performances, and which most frequently recalls his con- versational style. Indeed, it is an admir- able book in its way, and but for one or two defects might enjoy a much more de- cided vitality. It is full of shrewd sense and righteous as well as keen estimates of men and things. The Lzfe of Savage, written in earlier times, is the best exist- ing portrait of that large class of authors who, in Johnsons phrase, hung loose upon society in the days of the Georges. The lives of Pope, Dryden, and others have scarcely been superseded, though much fuller information has since come to light; and they are all well worth reading. But the criticism, like the politics, is wofully out of date. Johnsons division between the shams and the real- ities deserves all respect in both cases, but in both cases he puts many things on the wrong side of the dividing line His hearty contempt for sham pastorals and sham love-poetry sill be probably shared by modern readers. Who will hear of sheep and goats and myrtle bowers and purl~ng rivulets through five acts? Such scenes please barbarians in the dawn of literature, and children in the dawn of life ; but will be for the most part thrown away as men grow wise and nations grow learned. But elsewhere he blunders into terrible misapprehensions. Where he errs by simply repeating the accepted rules of the Pope school, he for once talks mere second-hand nonsense. But his independent judgments are interesting even when erroneous. His unlucky as- sault upon Lycidas, already noticed, is generally dismissed with a pitying shrug of the shoulders. Among the flocks and copses and flowers appear the hea- then deities; Jove and Phcebus, Neptune and ~olus, with along train of mythologi- cal imagery, such as a college easily sup- plies. Nothing can less display knowl- edge, or less exercise invention, than to tell how a shepherd has lost his compan- ion, and must now feed his flocks alone; how one god asks another god what has become of Lycidas, and how neither god can tell. He who thus grieves can excite no sympathy, he who thus praises will confer no honour. Of course every tyro in criticism has his answer ready ; he can discourse about the ~sthetic tendencies of the Renais- sance period, and explain the necessity of placing oneself at a writers point of view, and entering into the spirit of the time. He will add, perhaps, that Lycidas is a test of poetical feeling, and that he who does not appreciate its exquisite melody has no music in his soul. The same writer who will tell us all this, and doubtless with perfect truth, would probably have adopted Pope or Johnsons theory with equal confidence if he had lived in the last century. Lycidas repelled Johnson by incongruities, which from his point of view were certainly offensive. Most wio~rn readers, I will venture to suggest, feel the same annoyances, though they have not the courage to avow them freely. If poetry is to be judged exclusively by the simplicity and force with which it expresses sincere emotion, Lycidas would hardly convince us of Miltons profound sorrow for the death of King, and must be condemned accordingly. To the purely pictorial or musical effects of a poem Johns& 4was nearly blind; but that need not suggest a doubt as to the sin- cerity of his love for the poetry which came within the range of his own sympa- thies. Every critic is in effect criticising himself as well as his author; and I con- fess that to my mind an obviously sincere I0I DR. JOHNSON S WRITINGS. record of impressions, however onesided and sometimes burst; out en-tphatically they may be, is infinitely refreshing, as and unexpectedly. The prospect of death revealing at least the honesty of the often clouds his mind, and he bursts into writer. The ordinary run of criticism tears when he thinks of his past suffer- generally implies nothing but the extreme ings. His sacred love of truth and un- desire of the author to show that he is compromising hatred of cant in all its open to the verylast new literary fashion. innumerable transmutations, prompts half I should welcome a good assault upon his mogt characteristic sayings. His Shakespeare which was not prompted by queer prejudices take ~a humorous form a love of singularity; and there are half- and give a delightful zest to his conver- a-dozen popular idols I have not the sation. His contempt for abstract specu- courage to name themupon whom I lation comes out when he vanquishes could witness a genuine attack with en- Berkeley, not with a grin, but by strik- tire equanimity, not to say some compla- ing his foot with mighty force against a cency. If Johnsons blunder in this case large stone. His arbuments, indeed, implied sheer stupidity, one can only say never seem to have owed much to what that honest stupidity is a much better is generally meant by logic. He scarcely thing than clever insincerity or fluent waits till his pistol misses fire to knock repetition of second-hand dogmas. But you down with the butt-end. The merit in fact this dslike of Ly~Idczs, and a good of his best sayin~s is not that they com- many instances of critical incapacity press an argument into a phrase, but that might be added, is merely a misapplica- they are vivid expressions of an intuitive tion of a very sound principle. The judgment. In otber words, they are al- hatred of cant and humbug and affecta- ways humorous i ~ther than witty. He tion of all vanity is a most salutary ingre- holds his own belief with so vigorous a dient even in poetical criticism. John- grasp that all argumentative devices for son, with his natural ignorance of that loosening it seem to be thrown away. historical method, the exaltation of which As Boswell says, he is through your body threatens to become a part of our con- in an instant without any preliminary temporary cant, made the pardonable parade ; he gives a deadly lunge, but blunder of supposing that what would cares little for skill of fence. We know have been gross affectation in Gray must we are free and theres an end of itis have been affectation in Milton. His ear his characteristic summary of a perplexed had been too much corrupted by the con- bit of metaphysics; and he would eyi- temporary school to enable him to recog- dently have no patience to wander nize beauties which would even have through the labyrinths in which men like shone through some conscious affecta- Jonathan Edwards delighted to perple~c tion. He had the rare courage for, themselves. We should have been glad even then, Milton was one of the tabooed to see a fuller report of one of those con- poets to say what he thought as forci- versations in which Burke wound into bly as he could say it; and he has suf- a subject like a serpent, and contrast fered the natural punishment of plain his method with Johnsons downright speaking. It must, of course, be ad- hitting. Boswell had not the power, even mitted that a book embodying such prin- j if he had the will, to give an adequate ci p les is doomed to become more or less account of such a wit combat. obsolete, like his political pam phletsj That such a mind should express itself And yet, as significant of the writers own I most fo& ibly in speech is intelligible character, as containing many passages enough. Conversation was to him not of sound judgment, expressed in forcible merely a contest, but a means of escape language, it is still, thou~h not a great from himself. I may be cracking my book, really impressive within the limits joke, he said to Boswell, and cursing of its capacity. the sun: Sun, how I hate thy beams ! After this imperfect survey of John- The phrase sounds exaggerated, but it sons writings, it only remains to be no- was apparently his settled conviction that ticed that all the most prominent pecu- the ofily remedy for melancholy, except liarities are the very same which give indeed the religio~~s remedy, was in hard interest to his spoken utterances. The work or in the rapture of conversational doctrine is the same, though the preach- strife. His little circle of friends called er s manner has changed. His melan- forth his humour as the House of Coin- choly is not so heavy-eyed and depress- mons excited Chathams eloquence; and ing in his talk, for We catch him at both of them were inclined to mouth too moments of excitement; but it is there, much when deprived of the necessary DISORDER IN DREAMLAND. 102 stimulus. Chathams set speeches were as pompous as Johnsons deliberate writ- ing. They resemble the chemical bodies which acquire entirely new properties when raised beyond a certain degree of temperature. Indeed, we frequently meet touches of the conversational Johnson in his controversial writing. Taxation no Tyranny is at moments almost as pithy as Swift, though the style is never so simple. The celebrated Letter to Ches- terfield, and the letter in which he tells MacPherson that he will not be de- terred from detecting what he thinks a cheat by the menaces of ~ ruffian, are as good specimens of the smashing repartee as anythin~ in Boswells reports. Nor, indeed, does his pomposity sink to mere verbiage so often as might be supposed. It is by no means easy to translate his ponderous phrases into simple words without losing some of their meaning. The structure of the sentences is com- pact, though they are too elaborately bal- anced and stuffed with superfluous antith- eses. The language might be simpler, but it is not a mere sham aggregation of words. His written style, however faulty in other respects, is neither slipshod nor ambiguous, and passes into his conversa- tional style by imperceptible degrees. The radical identity is intelligible, though the superficial context is certainly curi- ous. We may perhaps say that his cen- tury, unfavourable to him as a writer, gave just what he required for talking. If, as is sometimes said, the art of con- versation is disappearing, it is because society has become too large and diffuse. The good talker, as, indeed, the good artist of every kind, depends upon the tacit co-operation of the social medium. The chorus, as, indeed, Johnson has shown very well in one of the Ramblers, is quite as essential as the main performer. Nobody talks well in London, because everybody has constantly to mee ta fresh set of interlocutors, and is as much put out as a musician who has to be al- ways learning a new instrument. A lit- erary dictator has ceased to be a possi- bility, so far as direct personal influence is concerned. In the club Johnson knew how every blow would tell, and in the rapid thrust and parry dropped the heavy style which muffled his utterances in I print. He had to deal with concrete il- lustrations, instead of expanding into plat- itudinous generalities. The obsolete theories which impair the value of his criticism and his ~litics, become amus- ing in the form of pithy sayings, though they weary us when asserted in new ex- positions. His greatest literary effort, the Dictionary, has of necessity become antiquated in use, and, in spite of the in- tellectual vigour indicated, can hardly be commended for popular reading. And thus but for the inimitable Boswell, it must be admitted that Johnson would probably have sunk very deeply into oblivion. A few good sayings would have been preserved by Mrs. Thrale and others, or have been handed down by tra- dition, and doubtless assigned in process of time to Sydney Smith and other con- versational celebrities. A few couplets from the Vanity of Human Wishes would not yet have been submerged, and curi- ous readers would have recognized the power of Rasselas, and been delighted with some shrewd touches in the Lives of the Poets. But with all desire to magnify critical insight, it must be admitted that that man would have shown singular penetration, and been regarded as an ec- centric commentator, who had divined the humour and the fervour of mind which lay hid in the remains of the huge lexicographer. And yet when we have once recognized his power, we can see it everywhere indicated in his writings, thou~h by an unfortunate fatality the style or the substance was always so deeply affected by the faults of the time, that the product is never thor- oughly sound. His tenacious conser- vatism caused him to cling to decaying materials for the want of anything better, and he has suffered the natural penalty. He was a great force wasted, so far as literature was concerned, because the fashionable costume of the day hampered the free exercise of his powers, and be- cause the only creeds to which he could attach himself were in the phase of de- cline and inanition. A century earlier or later he might have succeeded in express- i~g fimself through books as well as through his talk ; but it is not given to us to choose the time of our birth, and some very awkward consequences follow. From Blackwoods Magazine. DISORDER IN DREAMLAND. ~ PART III. IT must have been just an accidental meeting, said the curate. They must have come up 4 the same moment to speak to Mr. Pound. People are always wanting something of him. DISORDER IN DREAMLAND. [03 No, said Lydia, that wasnt it, Im sure. I saw them ride into the town to- gether, without doubt. What on earth can have brought them into company? Oh, some odd chance or other. Is the thing worth noticing Not if Miss Fulford speaks of it her- self. We shall see. Perhaps she will explain all about it. It is odd, isnt it ?~ Miss Fulford, as we have seen, did not speak of the matter herself. She was annoyed at it having occurred, and she believed that nobody had noticed it so she was glad to banish it from her thoughts. Mr. Saunders, on the con- trary, saw in this incident his good for- tune working its way to the fulfilment of his desires. To think now, said he to himself, of my actually riding ~ilone with her for three or four miles, and at- tending of her to the little inn I This is getting on at a great pace : shell get over her shyness after a bit; if I should have the luck to meet her once or twice more. Im awake. And he was silly enough to talk to one or two of his as- sociates about having ridden with Miss Fulford, suppressing the circumstances to which the ride was due, so as to make them open their eyes wide and say to one another after he left them, My eye Bens a gettin on, isnt he ? hell be to court next ; clever chap, Ben. It was about this time that I sat, one evening, at a meeting of the club, apart on a sofa with the curate, neither of us caring to play cards. We were talking of the strange coincidences that happen in this world, and then it was that Nor- cott confided to me that curious story of Lieutenant Hardinges dream. I thought it one of the most remarkable things I had ever heard, and said I should like to make a note of the particulars to keep by me. I knew the Plymouth Hotel well, and asked whether the curate could give the number of the room,~vhich he said was 26, Hardinge having once or twice named the number, as if impressing it on his own memory, and saying, Its the number of the Cameronians: I shall rec- ollect it by that. I observed that these foreshadowings, or warnings, or what- ever they were, certainly passed our comprehension; when Saunders, who had been lounging opposite to us, ap- parently studying a sporting paper, jumped up at my words, and came across towards us, asking if we were talking about visions and prophecies, and what they were, as he took ~t deep interest in such matters. Of course we were not in- dined to tell him of the story, to renew his grief, so the curate put him off by saying that we had been discussing a certain dream which had been remarkably and exactly fulfilled. Fulfilled, eh ? an- swered lie, little imagining what the sub- ject of the dream was. You know in- stances, then, of dreams hayiiig been ex- actly fulfilled: good. I have no doubt they come quite true sometimes. I could tell, if I liked, of a very odd dream that seems likely to come to pass, only they say you spoil all if you tell it. Of course I know now what was then in Mr. Benjamins mind. Admiral Tautbrace was very fond of his garden. He understood gardening, and worked himself at it a part of most days on which he was free of engage- ments. He employed as his assistant a queer old fellow, who was quite a char- acter in the neighbourhood, observant, shrewd, droll after his fashion, and quick at repartee. Uncle * Jack Varco or old Plummybag, as he was profanely called, because plum means soft, as an air-cushion, risen-bread, & c., and Uncle Jack had been afflicted with dropsy soon after his conversion re- joiced in the reputation of having been somewhat of a reprobate in time past; but in my recollection he had been a saint a liberal saint, that is, for he still enjoyed his joke, did not pull long faces, and was not particularly hard on his neighbours save in the way of sarcasm, to which he had always been addicted, even in his carnal days. The religious denominations down there in the west might say, as the evil spirits did, that their name is legion, for they are many. Uncle Jacks persuasion called itself Bri- enite, after one OBrien, its founder. Sailors when on shore, I have observed, dislike constrained intercourse with infe- riors ~(ofwhich they have more than enough, perhaps, on the quarter-deck), and take to these privileged oddities, with whom they can be familiar without loss of dignity. The two were very busy one day among the beds, and Uncle Jack, having made mention of Thicky there, Saunderss boej, as he irreverently termed our friend Benjamin, said, What do eethink I heard about en, then, sir? Infernal youn~ cub! how should I know? Well, what did you hear, Jack ? * I have met many countrymen who supposed that to call elderty people Uncle and Anne was an American invention. Those who are acquainted witis the south- western peninsula of this island must know very well from whence the Americ os derived the custom. DISORDER IN DREAMLAND. 104 I should say before telling of it, that it didnt come from no reliable witness, and if there was only Tommy Triggss word for it, I shouldnt ha believed it. Whothe Hades (?) is Tommy Triggs ? My dear, Im afeared youve a named the very place where they could tell ee most about en. Hes a fine carriter that there Tommy. Whupped heve a. been, and caged and ironed, to say nothin of a short visit to Buttiney Bay along of a hoss job. Theres little he dothnt knaw. Rascal! and theres something else about him, Jack, that I know without your telling me. Whats that, my dear ? Why, Ill answer for it, that with all those accomplishments, the fellows been a Brienite preacher. Cant say, my dear, wheer a was or not, or wheer a had any religion at all. What I do know of en is that a was once the Capn of a man-o-war: easier to onderstand that than his bein of a preacher. Easier to understand that, you old villain ! What the devil do you mean My dear, I knaws nothin of myself, how should I? but Ive heerd say, per- haps ontruly, that some of em wull cuss and swear, and call names like troopers, and be guilty of much profaneness: now thats exacly Tom Triggss carriter. Hark ye, Uncle Jack, youll do well to keep those sentiments for the shore for Ill be (something) if you wouldnt get your old back well scored afloat if you talked in that impudent way. Likely I might. Ive a been a-ship- board, and knaw sometbin of the doings. Convict vessel ? No, measter, no. What Ive a seed hey been in a very humble way. I never persoomed to make out that us had a sailed together me and Tommy, I means, of kewse. I daresay, bless you. But now about this rascal, this Mr. Triggs. Well, this rascal, as you calls en unfortinate sinner, as I calls enwas a drinkin last Friday arternoon to Hannah Sibleys, dree mile out upon the Slushton road, and he saith he seed Miss Gar- trude, you know, the young mistuss (winking and pointing his finger over his shoulder towards Golkatton) He saw, and be dashed (?) to him! Well, yes, yes; what did the fellow see \I was agwain to tell ee, onny you stopped me. The fella said that he seed the young lady (de~ sweet maiden her is, tew, I vow to gewdness) Get on, old man go ahead, make sail, will you? I wull, if youll leave me to, except makino~ sails, which I cant do;i wish I could. St. Paul, you knaw Bless St. Paul! Youre doing this on purpose, you old rascal ! (Then, calming himself with a great effort) Now, I say, Uncle Jack, lets have it; thats a good man. My, my! I hope youll be. forgove. Well, a said he seed Miss Gartrude out there a-ridin with young Bennyonny they two. An infernal lying villain! How could you think of repeating such an in- famous story ? upon Tommys word, sartainly, twasnt worthy to be tould again; but I onderstand the young sprig hisself hey a been sayin somethin of the same soart. He has, has he? Then he stands as good a chance of a ropes-ending as any man between the four seas. An impu- dent (a few choice imprecations, the details of which are not suited to these pages). Immediately after the above conversa- tion, the flag-officer, firing minute oaths, retired into the house, while old Plumrny- bag let his countenance relax into a grin that might have belonged to a hearty laugh, but was not attended by any sound whatever. As he doffed his garden dress, and rigged himself, as he called it, for town, it occurred to Admiral Tautbrace that his position in entering into judgment with Mr. Saunders would be much strengthened if he had some accurate in- formation as to the real facts. These could be ascertained nowhere so well as at Colkatton ; and he was glad of an ex- cuse for calling there. Thither, accord- ingly, he first took his way; and there he f~uq~1 the ladies much out of sorts, the younger one especially so, who had learned from Miss Tarraways innuendos rather than her words that she was ac- quainted with the adventure, and who had been made aware of this annoying fact at a time and in a company when and where it was impossible to reply or explain. Indeed Gertrude was greatly niortified and very angry. There was no need for the~ dmiral to beat cautiously about, for t a ies were only too glad to unburden themselves of their grief, and to tell him the whole story of the af- fair as it really occurred. He had heard of Corders accident, but not of the at- tendant circumstances: now he under- DISORDER IN DREAMLAND. 105 stood the whole matter, and would take care that people whose opinion was worth should understand it too. Not knowing how Lydia had come by her im- perfect information, he thought the whole gossip was owing to Mr. Saunderss in- discreet boasting. So he took his leave, saying that he would go now and take steps for having a proper version of the tale put in circulation, and quietly intend- ing to go also and administer a caution to the offender. He called on the clergy- man of the parish, on the curate, and on one or two other persons who possessed either local influence or long tongues, and gave the proper version of the story, not without inveighing against Mr. Ben- jamin Saunderss idiotic vanity, and hint- ing at the retribution which was probably in store for him. Some of the persons whom he went to enlighten had never heard the story at all; but among those who had heard it was Mr. Norcott, who felt himself guilty, not for having spoken of the subject, or having even imagined that there could be anything in it worth speaking about, but because he had too quietly permitted Miss Tarraway to de- ceive herself (so the honest fellow put it) as to its having been other than one of the most simple of accidents. lie never thought of blaming Lydia, to whose weak- nesses he was getting particularly blind. The Admiral then took his way towards the large gates, over which were written on a great wooden arch that spanned the entrance, Saunders, Stone-Mason, Brick- layer, Builder, and (ontractor, and stepped into the little office adjacent thereto, where he saw Mr. Benjamin be- hind the desk, having some earnest busi- ness talk with a gentleman of the town who stood outside the same desk, and John Bray, the foreman, who was in at- tendance. On observing who it was that darkened the doorway, Ben came smirk- ing forward, requested the Admiral to take a seat, and he would have the pleas- ure of taking his orders in a very few minutes but the Admiral said there was no hurry; he had a short business to do elsewhere, and would return; so he went out again, rather to l3ens disappointment, wuo thought perhaps he might forget to call again, or be prevented from doing so. There was, however, no danger of his forgetting; only as he had now ascer- tained that Mr. Saunders was within his reach, which he had feared might not be the case, he thouTht he would take a turn or two outside, measure the young mans offence, and consider bow he should be dealt with. Some people would have looked into these little matters before seeking the delinquent, but that was not the Admirals way. A little reflection showed him that Ben had been guilty of only indiscretion, or at the worst of a suppression of the truth, and that he had been indulging his vanity without any bad intention. He therefore did the great violence to his feelings of putting aside the idea of ropes-ending. No, said he to himself, enjoying the consciousness of his clemency, which he didnt think ten men in the whole service would have the magnanimity to imitate No, by George (?), Ill only give the whelp a little wholesome advice ; speak to him like a father this time, and if that doesnt do he didnt finish the sentence, but closed his fist upon his baton, and made it quiver a little in his grasp. Ah, are you desengaged now, young- ster? inquired he, as he entered the office the second time. Benjamin rubbed his hands, and said he was quite at the Admirals orders, again offering a seat. Then just let your mate or whatever he may be go forard get out of this, I mean for I want to say a few words to you in private. John Bray raised his eyebrows at this, and thought it looked mysterious ; he took his departure, however. Ben began to experience a disagreeable sensation, as if this pointed to a different kind of bus- iness from what he had expected. Now look you, my friend, began the Admiral. I understand that your good fortune yotlr devilish good for tune, mind you caused you to render a small service the other day to a young lady whose groom met with an accident. You know. Bens apprehension turned suddenly to delight. Could the Admiral possibly have~coWe as an ambassador to open ne- gotiations that might lead to the fulfil- ment of the dream ? This did indeed look promising. Ben simply bowed in acknowledgment that he had done his devoir, as imputed. Then dont interrupt me, sir. Zounds, I say sir, dont interrupt me. Youve been lubber enough to speak of your ride home as if it hadnt been the result of an accident, but so~ething in the way of your ordinary privilege, havent you? (faint effort on Mr. Saunderss tart to say something in mitzgation.) Not a word, sir not a word; you know you did. Now my first impression, when I heard of this, was that it was impertinence, and, DISORDER IN DREAMLAND. io6 by George, sir, if (movement of dissent from Mr. Saunders) well, I am willing to believe that it was not impertinence, only folly, blest folly, which perhaps you were not aware of; I hope not. But now that Ive made you understand what an ass you are, what an idiotical conceited puppy you are justly called, I trust it will operate as a caution to you as. long as you live, not to speak of gentlewomen ex- cept with the profoundest respect the profoundest respect, do you hear? Really, Admiral Tautbrace, Ben was beginning in an indignant strain. Silence, sir; dont attempt to answer. If Id ordered you four dozen that is, I mean, if youd been severely trounced (you understand me), there might have been some reason for singing out, al- though men of any mettle are not much given to bleating under punishment; but Ive chosen to deal with this case mildly by yea and nay, mildly. Good day, sir; good day. I hope I shant have to repent of my humanity. Dont drive me to be a savage against my nature. As the Admiral strode put of the office, striking his stick upon the floor, uttering from his nostrils breath that was red-hot if it had not burst into flame, and looking the very picture of mild benevolence, he came against John Bray in the porch, who didnt appear to have withdrawn himself to any great distance. John sprang out of the path of the meek old sailor as if the latter had been a ~steam- engine at full speed, and presently re- entered the office, where he found. his chief greatly disconcerted, and not a bit so6thed by the suspicion that his foreman had overheard the no, not the dialogue.. That be a limb,* bent a? said John, as he came in. Soart uv a chap now,. that ef he wus upun the one side uv a hadge I wud sewnderbe upun the tether; speakth to we like as ef us was brewt beastisses, doant a? An old man, John, answered Ben. People have spoiled him by humouring of him. I was half a mind to serve him properly, and let the daylight through him. Bless him, the old tyrant, but I dont think he meaned half that he said, you know. If Id punished him for his hectoring, the old fool, I should have been sorry afterwards, perhaps. Es, I reckon yew wewd, replied John. Ben, be it remarked, was not thought to be deficient in courage; it was want of To wit, of Satan. sense and judgment that put him wrong. His father, if the old Admiral had tried to bully him, would have met the assault quietly but firmly, and in the end got the better of the peppery old sailor. But Ben, although he may have been up to hitting out, had no other resource, and personal violence, he instinctively felt, was not the right thing in this place. It was an attack against which he was not prepared with any defence. He felt rather guilty, too, being aware that he had made his remarks in such a way as not to convey exactly the whole truth ; and yet, indeed, nothing that he said would have been much noticed by any one if his words had not been so ably supported by those of Miss Tarraway. Well, here he was in another mess, and snubbed again. He couldnt think how it was, that while some influence or other seemed to be intent on forwarding the fulfilment of his dream, some other unlucky chance brought him, out of each opportunity, mortification and discouragement. Many people may think that the Ad- miral had much better have omitted his interview with Mr. Saunders. Such, however, was by no means his own opin- ion. Satisfied that he had done his duty, and rather proud of the calm and temper- ate manner in which it had been done, he took his way homewards, and thought he would look in again at Colkatton to assure the fair inhabitants that everything had been put right. He felt himself now to be commissioned in some sort as Ger- trudes champion, to be wearing her fa- vour; and, sink me, said he to himself, I should like to see one of these waltzing, gallopin.g young humbugs that could dis- pose of a bit of business of that kind like an oldster who has some comprehension of discipline, by George ! He reported in few words the outlines of his proceed- in~s,mo re to let Gertrude observe his ze~an in the way of boasting; said that all annoyance about the matter might be suffered to die away now, as he was certain that he had quite put an end to misapprehensions ; received his meed of thanks, and then, like a prudent mari- ner, thought he would clap on all sail while the wind was fair. Accordingly, he led the conversation to his own affairs, with subt~ty adapting his remarks to tastes rather than her daughters (as he who would be master of the body of the place knows that he must first win the outworks), mentioned an in- terview which he had had with the sea lord on his recent visit to the Admiralty. DISORDER IN DREAMLAND. 107 Fine fellow, Tom Mainsplice, and, I may say, not ill disposed to your humble servant sailed together you know; tak- ing of Martinique Toms arm broke I shot through calf of my leg; that sort of thing. Hell do me a good turn, rely upon it, if he can. Oho! you expect promotion, Admi- ral. Well, I hope with all my heart it will not be long delayed. What shall you be a field-marshal ? said Mrs. Fulford. Promotion ! not a hit of it. Thats all right: goes by seniority, you see, now. Ive been of the white two years and a half, and must be of the red soon, if the old ones go off as they are doing at pres- \ent. Poor Sir Davy Dreadnought, only last week; good-service pensionone leg, and reef in right side from sabre-cut in boarding. Two or three just before him. No, I wasnt speaking of promo- tion; but Mainsplice gave me a whisper about the South American command being vacant shortly, and he hinted that possibly, he couldnt say for certain, mine might be one of the names submitted for it. Oh yes; and then, if your name were submitted ? If I were selected you know, my flag would go up. Really, your flag would go up, re- peated Mrs. Fulford, intensely interested, and understanding the matter of which she spoke as well as if it had been men- tioned in Sanskrit. Then you will have to get it down again! No, Heaven forbidno; if I get it up, Ill keepjt flying, trust me. Sending up my flag, maam, means getting a coin- mand; taking my berth on board a flag- shzj5 dye understand ? Oh, I see; of course, of course. (The Misses Tautbrace were rather bet- ter up in this subject than Mrs. Fulford. The possible ascent of this flag was the constant topic of conversation when the family was alone, and came to them as regularly as their daily bread, though, I fancy they prayed less earnestly for it.) Well, dont you think it looks prom- ising? asked the Admiral. Oh, most hopeful almost certain, I should say. Of course, you reminded your friend, Maysplice Mainsplice, maam, Mainsplice. Name that was in everybodys mouth in J erviss days. Commanded Untameable Hy~ena off Cape St. Vincent. Of course, I me~t Mallspice; the king gave him a bath, or something, I remember. Well, you reminded your friend Malispice, now, of that glorious, glorious conflict, of that dreadful wound in your arm? Leg, maam, leg and not so dread- ful, neither; not even entered severe in doctors report. No, Tom knows all about that, and the First Lord wouldnt know or care much abput it if it was told to him. Ill tell you what I reminded him of, though; I said he must recollect that I had always voted strai,,ht since that little matter was put right about the Finisterres prize-money; and that theyd have returned one of those confounded prying, grumbling, arithmetical rascals for Wetton last election, if I hadnt pre- vented it. I hinted, too, that if I was left too long ashore, I might, in a mo- ment of forgetfulness, plump for, the wrong man. That will give me a capital chance if Tom represents it properly. What! a better chance than the mem- ory of your services and sufferings A blessed (I beg your pardon, la- dies) a confounded sight better. What occurred to poor Gertrude on this occasion was, that if Tom Mainsplice should only be duly impressed by his friends merits, she might be delivered from the importunities of a suitor who was becoming troublesom~, and was, in the present circumstances, particularly distasteful. ut another thing had taken hold of Mrs. ~ulfords mind, which had never before ~ened to the great possi- bilities of Admiral Tautbraces position in the sery,ice possibilities which, though they surrounded him now in only an uncorporeal and invisible state, might any day be clothed upon and take gor- geous shape. Once she conceived the new idea, she didnt do so in an imper- fect way, but saw Tautbrace full-blown as Port-Admiral at Plymouth. She had been at the Admiralty House there, and seen~th* glories of the appointment; and to think that Admiral Tautbrace, her friend and neighbour, inioht be invested with these or similar, glories if only Tom Mainsplice should prove an effectual ad- vocate ! She didnt know how Tom Mainsplice, and other Toms, Dicks, and Harrys, had been playing fast and loose with~ the Admiral for the last seven or eight years always holding out hopes, and always find~hg some excuse for not realizing them I Jack, said the Admiral to old Plum- mybag next morning in the garden, I gave a word of caution yesterday to that jackanapes, that young whats-his-name. icS DISORDER IN DREAMLAND. Saunderss boey do ee mean? Yes ; the fellows father was a respect- able man, so I thought I wouldnt be so sharp as I intended, but speak to him mildly, as a parson or one of those peo- ple would. He isnt a used to sich tenderness as that. Shouldn wonder now ef a never seed twas lovin-kindness at all. Folks be so contrairy. That may be, Jack; Ive often and often found that the case, but Ive got used to it, and dont expect anything bet- ter. A man that expects to be appreciat- ed will be disappointed, its a bad world, old man a dashed ungrateful world. All i~norance, my dear; they doesnt knaw when theym a spoke to in that pleasant way that tis all for their own good. After this occurrence the spring ad- vanced at Wetton without incident worthy of special mention, although time was, of course, preparing eventsand sur- prises. As to the characters in this nar- rative, they were quietly working away, or being borne, towards their destinies. Lieutenant Hardinge was making the most of the days that remained of his country sojourn, sporting, visiting, but not making love, I am afraid. The young fellow went to Colkatton now and then with a mind perfectly~ asy as to the terms on which the acq i~l ntance there was maintained, and n~er for an in- stant suspecting the flushes, tremors, palpitations, meditations, and tears to which his visits nay, his looks, words, and oestures gave rise. Although he had disappointed the matrimonial expec- tations of Wetton, he was there regard- ed as an unaffected, good-natured, rather pleasant fellow. His want of liveliness was set down to a reflecting mind and professional study. A fine honourable young fellow, and a thorough soldier, I can assure you, was the testimony re- gardin~ him of the doctor of the militia, who, except for the three weeks during which the regiment was occasionally em- bodied, practised in the town as an ordi- nary surgeon, and assumed, and was al- lowed, to be the highest resident military authority. Hardinge had come short of the stereotyped country town idea of a young officer, all dash,, brilliancy, and ex- travagance, and so rather disappointed the place at his advent; but when the time of his departure approached, Wet- ton found that it w~s sorry to lose him. Miss Tarraway, having obtained satisfac tory testimonials of Mr. Norcott, and as- certained that two of his cousins were members of Parliament (one of them a small official), also that he had a bishop for his uncle by marri~ge, and that there was a livin~ in the family, no longer con- fined herself to tentative operations, but formally invested that young man, and sat down before him, assailing him vig- orously with all the weapons of which the attack was in that day cognisant. But some innocent objector may remark, How could curates be attacked in those days? There was no confession, no dec- orating of churches at all seasons of the year, no working of altar-cloths, no em- broidering of stoles, no prostrations, no choirs, no schools, even, calculated to aid such designs ! Thou fool; pre- sumest thou in thy small scale of sense to weigh thy opinion, founded on the ex- perience of a few years probablyof a generation at most against the eternal instincts of spinsterhood expectant here on earth? Because the modern method of operating was not applicable to those days, is that a reason why there should have been no operation at all? If a mod- ern curate in his raffish wideawake, his starched band, his bombasine waistcoat, and his straight-cut surtout, got up in imitation, as far as he dares, of a popish priest, be, in that he is a bachelor, an object of competition, why should not an ancient curate have been equally so, al- though his ambition was to form himself upon the model of a Methodist preacher? Know well, that this relation is not for an age but for all time, and that where- soever a curate (unencumbered) is, there will gentlewomen of a certain type be gathered together. In the days of Miss Tarraways youth, Dissent was preva- lent in the We