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diff --git a/78090-0.txt b/78090-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..61032b3 --- /dev/null +++ b/78090-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9686 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78090 *** + + + + +BLACKWOOD’S + +EDINBURGH MAGAZINE. + +No. CCCCLVI. OCTOBER, 1853. VOL. LXXIV. + + + + + CONTENTS. + + + UNCLE TOM’S CABIN, 393 + + RIGHT DIVINE, 424 + + LADY LEE’S WIDOWHOOD.--PART X., 426 + + NEW READINGS IN SHAKESPEARE.--NO. III., 451 + + RAIL AND SADDLE IN SPAIN, 475 + + THE WANDERER, 488 + + THACKERAY’S LECTURES--SWIFT, 494 + + NOTE TO THE ARTICLE ON THE NEW READINGS IN SHAKESPEARE, 518 + + + EDINBURGH: + WILLIAM BLACKWOOD & SONS, 45 GEORGE STREET; + AND 37 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON. + + _To whom all communications (post paid) must be addressed._ + + SOLD BY ALL THE BOOKSELLERS IN THE UNITED KINGDOM. + + PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH. + + + + +=BLACKWOOD’S + +EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.= + +No. CCCCLVI. OCTOBER, 1853. VOL. LXXIV. + + + + +UNCLE TOM’S CABIN.[1] + + +Let us imagine one of our critical successors of a century +hence--that is, in the month of October 1953--sitting musingly +before a copy of a work called UNCLE TOM’S CABIN, which a few days +previously he had taken down by chance from one of the least-used +shelves of his library. May one also amuse one’s imagination by a +picture of the possible state of things then existing on the other +side of the Atlantic, by the light of which our shadowy friend of +1953 has read the work which his substantial one of 1853 has just +laid down? + +--The present United States of America, after having been, perhaps, +more than once split asunder and soldered together again--or the +whole, or a large portion voluntarily reannexed to the mother +country, and by and by again detached--after these and other, +possibly more or less sudden, violent, and bloody vicissitudes--have +become a great Empire, under the stern, but salutary, one-willed +sway of the Emperor of America: his majesty a jet black, who had +shown consummate and unexpected high qualities for acquiring and +retaining the fear and submission of millions of the stormiest +tempers of mankind; but his lovely empress a white. He has an +immense army devoted to his person and will, composed of men of +every complexion--from black, through copper-middle tints, down to +white; and correspondingly diversified are his banners, but black, of +course, the predominant: a quadroon being commander-in-chief. As for +his majesty’s civil service, he has a coal-black chancellor, equally +at home in the profoundest mysteries of white and black letter; a +mulatto minister of instruction, and a white secretary of state; +black and white clergy, and a similarly constituted bar--here a big +black face frowning out of a white wig, and there a little white +face, grinning out of a black wig, with black and white bands, and +gowns varied _ad libitum_. And the laws which they are concerned in +administering, accord with these harmonious diversities--it being, +for instance, enacted, under heavy penalties, that no black shall, by +gesture, speech, or otherwise, presume to ridicule a white because of +his colour, nor, _vice versâ_, shall a white affect to disparage a +black because of his complexion; that the emperor and empress shall +always be of different colours, and that the succession to the throne +shall alternate between black and white, or mulatto, members of the +imperial family. By this and other provisions have been secured a +complete fusion between North and South, between black and white, +glitteringly typified by intermingled gems in the imperial crown; +the central one being the identical black diamond that figured in +the famous Exhibition in Great Britain in 1851, and presented to the +emperor by one of the descendants of her Majesty Queen Victoria, +then on the British throne! “To this _complexion_” shall it be that +matters have “come at last?” + +Or will our sturdy cousins of 1953 be still republican, a united +republic, but with offices, honours, rights, and privileges, equally +distributed, as in our fancied empire, among those of every shade of +colour? Or, after a fearful succession of struggles between black and +white, ... the ... is predominant; ... slavery, after a ... sang-- +... or a noble spontaneous....[2] + +From a preliminary dissertation prefixed to the book, our critic of +1953 learns that it excited, almost immediately on its appearance, +a prodigious sensation among all classes, both in Europe and +America; that both sexes, high and low, young and old, literate and +illiterate, vulgar and refined, phlegmatic and excitable, shed tears +over it, and wrote and talked about it everywhere; that, within a +few months’ time, impressions of it were multiplied by millions, +and in most languages of the civilised world. That its writer, an +American woman, immediately came over to England, and made her +appearance in public assemblies, called in honour of her; and she was +also “lionised” [a word explained, in a long note, as indicating a +custom prevalent in that day, among weak persons, of running after +any notorious person weak enough to appear pleased with it] among +the fashionables and philanthropists of the day, but preserved, +nevertheless, amidst it all, true modesty of demeanour, and silence +amidst extravagant eulogy. Inflamed with curiosity, our shadowy +successor sits down to peruse a work--then possibly little, if ever, +mentioned--anxious to see what could have produced such a marvellous +effect, in the middle of the intelligent nineteenth century, on +all classes of readers; and whether it produced permanent results, +or passed away as a nine days’ wonder. Having at length closed the +pages of _Uncle Tom’s Cabin_, and judged it according to the critical +canons of 1953, will he deem it adequate to have produced such +effects? _What estimate will he form of our intellectual calibre?_ + +We cannot tell, and shall not attempt to conjecture. Dismissing, +therefore, but for a while only, the imaginary occupant of our +critical chair a century hence, let us say for ourselves, that +though our silence, and that of one or two quarterly contemporaries, +may have excited notice, both in America and this country, we have +been by no means indifferent spectators of the reception which this +singularly-successful book has met with; regarding it as one of +those sudden phenomena in literature, demanding, even, a deliberate +consideration of cause and effect. We apprehend no one will doubt +that, to excite such attention and emotion among all classes of +readers, in both hemispheres, as this work has excited, it must +possess _something_ remarkable; and what that is, it will be our +endeavour to determine. We ourselves never read this work till within +the last month, and then as a matter of mere critical curiosity, +uninfluenced by the past excitement of others, and the favourable +and unfavourable opinions which we heard expressed as to the merits +of the work. If we could have been biassed at all, it would have +been rather against, than in favour of, a writer who had been over +persuaded by her friends to come to this country, for the purpose of +making a sort of public appearance, at the moment that admiration +of her work was at fever height. Nothing could palliate such an +indiscretion on the part of this lady’s advisers, in the eyes of a +fastidious Englishman, but the belief that she was a simple-minded +enthusiastic crusader against American slavery, considering that +the totally unexpected celebrity of her work had afforded her an +opportunity of accelerating a European movement, in a holy cause, +by her personal presence. Criticism, however, ought not to be +influenced by petty disturbing forces like these, nor will ours. +We shall judge _Uncle Tom’s Cabin_ by its own intrinsic merits or +demerits--occasionally looking for the light which she has thought +proper to reflect upon it from its companion volume, “THE KEY.” + +_Uncle Tom’s Cabin_ is a remarkable book unquestionably; and, upon +the whole, we are not surprised at its prodigious success, even as a +mere literary performance; but whether, after all, it will have any +direct effect upon the dreadful INSTITUTION at which it is aimed, may +be regarded as problematical. Of one thing we are persuaded--that +its author, as she has displayed in this work undoubted genius, in +some respects of a higher order than any American predecessor or +contemporary, is also a woman of unaffected and profound piety, and +an ardent friend of the unhappy black. Every word in her pages issues +glistening and warm from the mint of woman’s love and sympathy, +refined and purified by Christianity. We never saw in any other +work, so many and such sudden irresistible appeals to the reader’s +heart--appeals which, moreover, only a wife and a mother could +make. One’s heart throbs, and one’s eyes are suffused with tears +without a moment’s notice, and without anything like effort or +preparation on the writer’s part. We are, on the contrary, soothed +in our spontaneous emotion by a conviction of the writer’s utter +artlessness; and when once a gifted woman has satisfied her most +captious reader that such is the case, she thenceforth leads him on, +with an air of loving and tender triumph, a willing captive to the +last. There are, indeed, scenes and touches in this book which no +living writer, that we know of, can surpass, and perhaps none even +equal. + +No English man or woman, again, could have written it--no one, but +an actual spectator of the scenes described, or one whose life is +spent with those moving among them; scenes scarce appreciable by +FREE English readers--fathers, mothers, husbands, wives, brothers +and sisters. We can hardly _realise_ to ourselves human nature tried +so tremendously as, it seems, is only adumbrated in these pages. An +Englishman’s soul swells at the bare idea of such submission to the +tyrannous will of man over his fellow-man, as the reader of this +volume becomes grievously familiar with; and yet we are assured by +Mrs Stowe that she has given us only occasional glimpses of the +indescribable horrors of slavery. To this part of the subject, +however, we shall return. Let us speak first, and in only general +terms, of the literary characteristics of the author, as displayed in +her work. + +Mrs Stowe is unquestionably a woman of GENIUS; and that is a word +which we always use charily: regarding genius as a thing _per +se_--different from talent, in its highest development, altogether, +and in kind. Quickness, shrewdness, energy, intensity, may, and +frequently do accompany, but do not constitute genius. Its divine +spark is the direct and special gift of God: we cannot completely +analyse it, though we may detect its presence, and the nature of many +of its attributes, by its action; and the skill of high criticism is +requisite, in order to distinguish between the feats of genius and +the operations of talent. Now, we imagine that no person of genius +can read _Uncle Tom’s Cabin_, and not feel in glowing contact with +genius--generally gentle and tender, but capable of rising, with its +theme, into very high regions of dramatic power. This Mrs Stowe has +done several times in the work before us--exhibiting a passion, an +intensity, a subtle delicacy of perception, a melting tenderness, +which are as far out of the reach of mere talent, however well +trained and experienced, as the prismatic colours are out of the +reach of the born blind. But the genius of Mrs Stowe is of that kind +which instinctively addresses itself to the Affections; and though +most at home with the gentler, it can be yet fearlessly familiar +with the fiercest passions which can agitate and rend the human +breast. With the one she can exhibit an exquisite tenderness and +sympathy; watching the other, however, with stern but calm scrutiny, +and delineating both with a truth and simplicity, in the one case +touching, in the other really _terrible_. + +“_Free_ men of the North, and Christians,” says she, in her own +vigorous and earnest way, “cannot know _what slavery is_.... From +this arose a desire,” on the author’s part, “to exhibit it in a +_living dramatic reality_. She has endeavoured to show it fairly in +its best and its worst phases. In its _best_ aspect, she has perhaps +been successful; but oh! who shall say what yet remains untold in +that _valley and shadow of death_ that lies on the other side?... +The writer has only given a faint shadow--a dim picture--of the +anguish and despair that are at this very moment riving thousands of +hearts, shattering thousands of families, and driving a helpless and +sensitive race to frenzy and despair.” + +Without going further, the beautiful, accomplished, but ruined and +heart-broken slave Cassy--the bought, abhorring, and ultimately +discarded mistress of the miscreant Legree, and whose heart is +full of despair and murder towards him--affords many instances +of both kinds, the tender and the terrible. Her successor in the +_affections_! of the monster, is the lovely young slave Emmeline, of +but fifteen summers! and Cassy obtains a great ascendancy over her, +winning her love by the story of her own indignities and bereavements. + + ‘“What use will freedom be to me?” says Cassy, when they + are whispering together in their place of concealment, + where they lie like a couple of hunted hares, momentarily + hidden from the hounds--“Can it give me back my children, + or make me what I used to be?” + + There was a terrible earnestness in her face and voice as + she spoke. Emmeline, in her childlike simplicity, was half + afraid of the dark words of Cassy. She looked perplexed, + but made no answer. She only took her hand with a gentle + caressing movement. + + “_Don’t!_” said Cassy, trying to draw it away,--(observe, + she only _tries_!)--“_you’ll get me to loving you! and I + swore never to love anything again!_” + + “Poor Cassy!... _I’ll_ be like a daughter to you!... I + shall love you whether you love me or not!” + + The gentle childlike spirit conquered. Cassy sate down by + her, put her arm round her neck, stroked her soft brown + hair; and Emmeline then wondered at the beauty of her + magnificent eyes, now soft with tears. “O Emmeline!” said + Cassy, “I’ve hungered for my children, and thirsted for + them, and my eyes fail with longing for them! Here! here,” + she exclaimed, striking her breast, “it’s all desolate! all + empty!”’ + +Of the terrible we have a thrilling, indeed a sickening instance, +in Cassy’s frenzied determination to murder the fiend Legree, whose +brandy she has drugged for the purpose--but we anticipate. + +Occasionally, also, Mrs Stowe displays a fine perception of external +nature--irradiating her inanimate scenes with the rich hues of +imagination. At these, however, she generally looks through a sort +of solemn religious medium. Here, for instance, is a startlingly +suggestive picture. It is poor Uncle Tom, sitting at midnight, +exhausted and heart-broken, during a moment’s respite from the +wasting and cruel inflictions of slavery, and reading his Bible by +moonlight. + + ‘... Tom sate alone by the smouldering fire, that flickered + up redly in his face. + + The silver fair-browed moon rose in the purple sky, and + looked down, calm and silent, as God looks on the scene + of misery and oppression--looked calmly on the lone black + man, as he sate, with his arms folded, and his Bible on + his knee. “Is God here?” inquires he. ‘Ah,’ (proceeds the + author,) ‘how is it possible for the _untaught_ heart to + keep its faith unswerving, in the face of dire misrule, + and palpable unrebuked injustice? In that simple heart + waged a fierce conflict: the crushing sense of wrong, + the foreshadowing of a whole life of future misery, the + _wreck of all past hopes, mournfully tossing in the soul’s + sight, like dead corpses of wife, and child, and friend, + rising from the dark wave, and surging in the face of the + half-drowned mariner_? Ah, was it easy _here_ to believe + and hold fast the great password of Christian faith, that + _God_ IS, _and is the_ REWARDER _of them that diligently + seek him_?’ + +Here, again, is the lovely smile of early morning flung over the +monster Legree (poor Tom’s brutal master), as he wakes from a foul +debauch:-- + + ‘Calmly the rosy hue of dawn was stealing into the room. + The morning star stood, with its solemn holy eye of light, + looking down on the man of sin, from out the brightening + sky. Oh, with what freshness, with what solemnity and + beauty, is each new day born! as if to say to insensate + man, “Behold! thou hast one more chance! _Strive_ for + immortal glory!” There is _no speech nor language_ where + this voice is not heard; but this bold bad man heard it + not. He awoke with an oath and a curse. What to him were + the gold and the purple, the daily miracle of morning? What + to him the sanctity of that star which the Son of God has + hallowed as his own emblem? Brute-like, _he saw without + perceiving_; and, stumbling forward, poured out a tumbler + of brandy, and drank half of it. “I’ve had a h--ll of a + night!” he said.’ + +’Twas somewhat different, that same morning, with his poor slave Tom, +waking bruised, wearied, and well-nigh spirit-broken. + + ‘The solemn light of dawn, the angelic glory of the + morning star, had looked in through the rude window of + the shed where Tom was lying; and, as if descending on + that star-beam, came the solemn words, _I am the root and + offspring of David, and the bright and morning star_.... + Without shuddering or trembling, he heard the voice of his + persecutor as he drew near. “Well, my boy,” said Legree, + with a contemptuous kick, “how do you find yourself? Didn’t + I tell yer I could larn yer a thing or two? How do yer like + it, eh? How did yer whaling”--he had been fearfully flogged + over-night--“agree with yer, Tom? An’t quite so crank as + yer was last night? Ye couldn’t treat a poor sinner now to + a bit of a sermon, could yer, eh?” + + Tom answered nothing. + + “Get up, ye beast!” said Legree, kicking him again. This + was a difficult matter for one so bruised and faint; and, + as Tom made efforts to do so, Legree laughed.’ + +These passages, taken at random, are highly characteristic of the +author of _Uncle Tom’s Cabin_, in more ways than one, as will by and +by be shown. + +Up and down the book are to be found strewn, as it were, carelessly, +striking and grand reflections, evincing the deeply thoughtful +moralist, and profoundly convinced believer. + + ‘True--there was _another life_--a life which, once + believed in, _stands as a solemn significant figure before + the otherwise unmeaning ciphers of time, changing them to + orders of mysterious unknown value_.’ + +We have not met with this idea before; and it is very striking. +Again-- + + ‘The gift to appreciate, and the sense to feel the finer + shades and relations of moral things, often seems an + attribute of those whose whole life shows a careless + disregard of them. Hence Moore, Byron, Goethe, often + speak words more wisely descriptive of the true religious + sentiment, than another man whose whole life is governed by + it. In such minds, disregard of religion is a more fearful + treason--a more deadly sin.’ + +Again-- + + ‘Oh! how dares the bad soul to enter the shadowy world of + sleep!--that land whose dim outlines lie so fearfully near + to the mystic scene of retribution!... + + Legree felt a secret dislike to Tom--the native antipathy + of good to bad. He saw plainly that when (as was often the + case) his violence and brutality fell on the helpless, Tom + took notice of it; for _so subtle is the atmosphere of + opinion, that it will make itself_ FELT _without words; and + the opinion, even of a slave, may annoy a master_.... + + What a sublime conception is that of a last judgment!... A + righting of all the wrongs of ages!--a solving of all moral + problems, by an unanswerable wisdom.’ + +One of these problems--perhaps the greatest at present insoluble by +man--torments poor Tom. + + ‘It was strange that the religious peace and trust which + had upborne him hitherto should give way to tossings of + soul and despondent darkness. The gloomiest problem of this + mysterious life was constantly before his eyes: _souls + crushed and ruined, evil triumphant, and God silent!_ It + was weeks and months that Tom wrestled, in his own soul, in + darkness and sorrow.’ + +Which of _us_ cannot here sympathise with the poor, bruised, and +bleeding black? + +Yet once more. + + ‘Is not this truly _feeling after God, and finding him_? + And may we not hope that the yearning, troubled, helpless + heart of man, pressed by the insufferable anguish of this + short life, or wearied by its utter vanity, never extends + its ignorant pleading to God in vain? Is not the veil which + divides us from an almighty and most merciful Father, much + thinner than we, in the pride of our philosophy, are apt + to imagine? And is it not the most worthy conception of + Him, to suppose that the more utterly helpless and ignorant + the human being is that seeks His aid, the more tender and + condescending will be His communication with that soul?’ + +Character is often drawn by our author with delicate discrimination; +and, at the same time, she almost as often exhibits a poverty and +crudeness in dealing with such subjects, which would be surprising, +but that it is evidently referrible to haste and inattention. Her +mind, too, is so intent upon the great, noble, and holy purpose of +her book, that she often does not give herself time to develop or +mature her own happiest conceptions. The momentary exigencies of her +story require the introduction of an additional figure; on which, +having paused for a moment to call up the image of one before her +mind’s eye, she forthwith gives a few strokes, possibly intending, +at a future time, to complete and retouch them; but that future time +never comes, for she has got into new scenes, and moves on, crowded +with new characters and associations. In this respect her book may +be compared to the _studio_ of a great painter, where the visitor +sees some pictures in all the splendour of their completeness, and +others in various stages of incompleteness--some exhibiting the +master’s hand, and others that of a hasty and unskilled workman; all +which may, perhaps, be visibly accounted for by the painter’s being +absorbed by some masterpiece, itself, however, only approaching +completeness. We feel bound, nevertheless, to express our opinion +that an additional solution of the matter is to be found in her +probably limited range of observation of actual life, at all events +of such life as Europeans can appreciate. In delineating the +character of slaves and the “slave-trader, kidnapper, negro-catcher, +negro-whipper,” as she herself groups them, she handles her pencil +with the confident ease of a master. “The writer,” says she herself, +at the close of her work, “has lived for many years on the frontier +line of slave states, and has had great opportunities of observation +among those who formerly were slaves.” To her sadly-familiar eye +“there are some things about these slaves which cannot lie: those +deep lines of patient sorrow upon the face--that attitude of +crouching and humble subjection--that sad habitual expression of +hope deferred in the eye--would tell their story, if the slave never +spoke.” We shall, however, presently have ample opportunities of +showing Mrs Stowe’s profound appreciation of the negro character; +one of a far more composite construction than any but a philosopher +might suppose, and also of great interest to those who are +contemplating _the future of the negro race_, as a large, though many +may unhappily deem it an unsightly element, in ascertaining the fates +of the human family. “This is an age of the world, truly,” says our +author, “when nations are trembling and convulsed. A mighty influence +is abroad, surging and heaving the world as with an earthquake. And,” +she asks, “is America safe? Every nation that carries in its bosom +great and unredressed Injustice, has in it the elements of this great +convulsion.” + +While the pathos of Mrs Stowe is deep and pure, her _humour and +satire_ are genuine and racy, but quiet. Gloomy as is the prevalent +tone of her work, her reader’s feelings are discreetly relieved +by many little touches of quaint dry drollery. Master Shelby, for +instance, is a sharp youth of thirteen, the eldest son of Uncle Tom’s +first and kind-hearted master; and he has taken it in hand to teach +Tom (old enough to be almost his grandfather) his letters. Chloe is +Uncle Tom’s wife, and the cook of Mr Shelby; and it seems that she +is a capital cook, to boot, as Master Shelby has found out. He often +visits Uncle Tom’s cabin, to teach old Tom his letters--and also +partake of certain good things which Aunt Chloe used to prepare for +her favourite; who displays no little art in inflaming her ambition +by faintly undervaluing the culinary skill of one of her rivals, +a cook at a neighbouring plantation. The whole scene is admirably +sketched, and forms one of the earliest in the work. Excited to the +utmost, she prepares a delicious supper for Master George, who, it +will be seen, does it full justice. + + ‘By this time Master George had arrived at that + pass to which even a boy can come (under uncommon + circumstances)--_i. e._, when he could not eat another + morsel; and, therefore, he was at leisure to notice _the + pile of woolly heads and glistening eyes which were + regarding their operations hungrily from the opposite + corner_. [Who does not see the turgid youngster?--But one + does not dislike him; for] “Here!--you, Mose! Peto!” [said + he, addressing the young sables--the children of Uncle Tom + and Aunt Chloe]--breaking off liberal bits, and throwing + them at them--“You want some, don’t you?”’ + +One Black Sam, a friendly fellow-slave of Uncle Tom’s, is +unconsciously caught in the attitude of deeply considering the +interests of _number One_, as soon as he hears of the departure of +poor Uncle Tom, who has been suddenly sold to another master, leaving +a vacancy in his somewhat confidential office, which _some one_ must +supply. “One touch of” _selfishness_ “makes the whole world kin”--and +here is how it strikes our black brother. + + ‘Never did fall of any prime minister at court occasion + wider surges of sensation than the report of Tom’s fate + among his compeers on the place. It was the topic in every + mouth, everywhere; and nothing was done in the house or in + the field, but to discuss its probable results. + + Black Sam, as he was called, from his being about three + shades blacker than any other son of ebony on the place, + was revolving the matter profoundly in all its phases and + bearings, with a comprehensiveness of vision, and a strict + look-out to his own personal well-being, that would have + done credit (says good, sly Mrs Stowe) to any white patriot + at Washington. + + “It’s an ill wind dat blows _nowhar_--dat ar a fact,” + said Sam, sententiously, giving an additional hoist to + his pantaloons, and adroitly substituting a long nail in + place of a missing suspender-button. “Yes, it’s an ill wind + blows nowhar,” he repeated. “Now, dar, _Tom’s_ down--wal, + ’course der’s room for some nigger to be _up_; and why + not _dis_ nigger?--dat’s de idee! Tom, a-ridin’ round de + country--boots blacked--pass in his pocket--all grand as + Cuffee; who but he? Now, why shouldn’t Sam?--_dat’s_ what + _I_ want to know!”’ + +There are, however, many indications throughout the work of the +writer’s humorous powers being checked and restrained, either +purposely or unconsciously, as if from a severe sense of the purpose +with which she writes--as though before her mind’s eye was ever the +bleeding heart of the negro. We have an indistinct recollection of +more than one disposition, or rather juxta-position, of persons and +incidents most suggestive of _fun_: but they are suddenly discarded, +the reader breathlessly following the grave and ardent writer, over +whose pale countenance the smile had but furtively flickered for an +instant, like a glance of moonlight on a gloomy sea. Here is one +of the passages to which we allude. Mr St Clare and his heartless +lackadaisical wife are conversing about his newly-acquired slave, +Uncle Tom, for whom he feels no little regard; but she is speaking of +him in a disparaging, contemptuous tone. + + ‘“Tom isn’t a bad hand, now, at explaining Scripture, I’ll + dare swear,” said St Clare. “He has a natural genius for + religion. I wanted the horses out early this morning, and + stole up to Tom’s _cubiculum_[3] there, over the stables, + and there I heard him holding a meeting by himself; and, in + fact, I haven’t heard anything quite _so savoury_ as Tom’s + prayer this some time. He put in for me with a zeal that + was quite apostolic.” + + “Perhaps he guessed you were listening! I’ve heard of + _that_ trick before!” + + “If he did he wasn’t very polite; for _he gave the Lord his + opinion of me pretty freely_! Tom seemed to think there + was decidedly room for improvement in me, and seemed very + earnest that I should be converted.” + + “I hope you’ll lay it to heart,” said Miss Ophelia, (who is + the pious, simple-minded, conscientious, elderly spinster, + and cousin of Mr St Clare.)’ + +How much of the pious disinterested character of the poor slave, the +heartless distrust of his mistress, the humorous, good-natured levity +of his master, and the earnest goodness of Ophelia, does this quiet +touch reveal to us! + +On another occasion, Mrs St Clare, who has no more intellect or +feeling than her thimble, or thread paper, is conversing with her +lovely little daughter, Eva, who is pleading with her mamma on behalf +of the poor little negress, Topsy (of whom more anon), and meekly +suggesting the possibility of Topsy’s being human! and consequently +capable of improvement. + + ‘“Mamma, I think Topsy is different from what she used to + be; she’s _trying_ to be a good girl.” + + “She’ll have to try a good while before _she_ gets to be + good,” said Mrs St Clare, with a careless laugh. + + “Well, you know, mamma, poor Topsy! everything has always + been against her!” + + “Not since she’s been _here_, I’m sure. If she hasn’t been + talked to”--(not by the silly speaker, let our readers + understand, but by good Miss Ophelia aforesaid, for whom + poor Topsy has been _bought!_ good-humouredly by Mr St + Clare, simply to try whether moral and religious training + can make anything of the little sooty gnome)[4]--“and + preached to, and every earthly thing done that anybody + _could_ do; and she’s just so ugly, and always will be, you + can’t make anything of the creature!” + + “But, mamma, it’s so different to be brought up as I’ve + been, with so many friends--so many things to make me good + and happy; and to be brought up as she has been, all the + time, till she came here!” + + “Most likely,” said Mrs St Clare, yawning. “Dear me! how + hot it is!” + + “Mamma, you believe, don’t you, that Topsy could become an + angel, as well as any of us, if she were a Christian?” + + “Topsy! what a ridiculous idea! Nobody but you would ever + think of it! I suppose she could, though!” + + “But, mamma, isn’t God her father, as much as ours? Isn’t + Jesus her Saviour?” + + “Well, that may be. I suppose God made everybody.--Where’s + my smelling-bottle?”’ + +This is very masterly. It has a sort of rich stillness of satire, +and, at the same time, a truthfulness and suggestiveness which make +the reader first admire the writer’s acute perception of character +and power of felicitous dialogue, and then pause and ponder the +state of mind and feeling revealed--that of frivolous, ignorant, +indifferent _acquiescence_! + +The above extract incidentally indicates another excellence of Mrs +Stowe. Her dialogue is almost always admirable; brief, lively, +pointed, and characteristic--that is, when she does not, so to speak, +crowd too much sail upon it, in her intense anxiety to be didactic +and hortatory on the great subject on which her eyes are ever fixed. +When she yields to the promptings of her own power over character and +expression, she exhibits high dramatic capabilities. She perceives +a fine _situation_ with the unerring intuition of genius, and +inspires her characters with fitting sentiments, conferring upon +them appropriate eloquence. Akin to this is the easy strength of +her narrative. She hurries her reader along with her, breathless. +The flight and pursuit of poor Eliza and her child--the incidents +selected to heighten the interest in their fate--the introduction of +Marks and Tom Loker, and their interview with Haley--their encounter +at the rocky pass with George and his wife and child, are, in parts, +worthy of the pencil of Sir Walter Scott: but, it must be added, +that that consummate master of his art would never have drawn up +suddenly in his exciting course, to interpolate drivelling allusions +to Austria and the Hungarians, Poland, Ireland, and England--or tame +and even irritating moralisings at the very crisis of the adventure, +as is but too often the case with Mrs Stowe. But this very fault, +and a serious one to a reader of fiction it is, must be referred to +a cause infinitely and eternally honourable to the author--her pure +and noble purpose in writing the book. With our eye fixed on that +purpose, we will forgive her five times as many faults of style and +arrangement as she is fairly chargeable with. + + “In every work regard the writer’s _end_.” + +And in the application of this obviously just critical canon, we +are disposed to look, in the present case, with peculiar benignity +on miscarriages as to _means_. One or two of them, however, we must +lightly indicate (for we are in our critical chair) in addition to +those at which we have already glanced. + +We shall begin with a small matter. It is evident that the writings +of one English author at least of the present day have made a deep +impression on Mrs Stowe. This is Mr Dickens, with whom, indeed, she +has much in common; but he must not attribute it to mere gallantry, +if we express our opinion that there are parts of _Uncle Tom’s +Cabin_ which he never can surpass, which he never has surpassed. +She probes human nature every whit as tenderly and truly as he; her +sympathies are as keen and subtle, her spirit is as generous, as his; +her perception of the humorous as quick and vivid as his own. She +shows also his--so to speak--structural faults; which, in a general +way, we may indicate by saying, that condensation and directness +of course would greatly improve the compositions of both. A lively +reader hates to be detained on his way, in order to have traced out +for him the source and operation of the _motives_ by which characters +are actuated. He likes to be given credit for a capacity to do that +for himself. It occurs to us, that had Mr Dickens passed his life +among the same scenes as Mrs Stowe, making allowance for certain +special circumstances affecting the latter, he would have produced +a work very similar, in both its faults and excellencies, to _Uncle +Tom’s Cabin_. That she is a reader, and doubtless an admirer of his, +is abundantly evident; for she has closely copied his manner, and +that not in its most favourable manifestations, but rather the more +obvious mannerisms. Mr Dickens might have written this passage for +her. + + ‘_Carriage sticks fast_, while Cudjoe on the outside is + heard making a great muster among the horses. After various + ineffectual pullings and twitchings, just as Senator is + losing all patience, the carriage suddenly rights itself + with a bounce, two front wheels go down into another abyss, + and Senator, woman, and child, all tumble promiscuously on + to the front seat; Senator’s hat is jammed over his eyes + and nose quite unceremoniously, and he considers himself + fairly extinguished; child cries, and Cudjoe on the outside + delivers animated addresses to the horses, who are kicking, + and floundering, and straining under repeated cracks of the + whip. Carriage springs up with another bounce--down go the + hind wheels--Senator, woman, and child, fly over on to the + back seat, his elbows encountering her bonnet, and both + her feet being jammed into his hat, which flies off in the + concussion. After a few moments the “slough” is passed, and + the horses stop, panting; the Senator finds his hat, the + woman straightens her bonnet, and hushes her child, and + they brace themselves firmly for what is yet to come.’ + +Here again-- + + ‘If any want to get up an inspiration, under this head, + “the beauty of old women,” we refer them to our good + friend Rachel Halliday, just as she sits there in her + little rocking chair. _It had a turn for quaking and + squeaking--that chair had--either from having taken cold in + early life, or from some asthmatic affection, or perhaps + from nervous derangement._ But as she gently swung backward + and forward, the chair kept up a kind of “creechy-crawchy” + that would have been intolerable in any other chair. But + old Simon Halliday often declared it was as good as any + music to him, and the children all avowed _that they + wouldn’t_ miss of hearing mother’s chair for anything in + the world.’ + +Another little mannerism acquired from the same quarter is the use, +in grave composition, of the colloquial, “can’t,” “won’t,” “didn’t,” +“couldn’t,” &c. &c. These are little bits of vulgar slip-slop which +are sad eyesores to readers of taste; and we cannot for the life of +us see what end is gained by introducing them into black and white, +except, perhaps, in fitting dialogue. + +We have already intimated a considerable want of tact in Mrs Stowe, +in twitching aside, as it were, her reader, when in full course of +following her breathless, to listen to some very self-obvious and +commonplace moralising. Here is one most provoking instance. Poor +beautiful Eliza Harris, supported by almost supernatural energy, is +flying from misery and infamy--her little son close-clasped in her +arms--with but a little time to improve her precarious chances of +escape to Canada; knowing that her little one is _sold_, and that the +blood-hounds may almost then, even, be snuffing on her track! ’Tis +early--very early--in a frosty February morning; the sparkling stars +are looking down, as it were, out of the cold silent heavens with +pitying looks on the poor fugitive. She hastily hushes her child into +silence, as “with vague terror he clings round her neck.” He could +have walked;--but let good Mrs Stowe’s own fleet pencil tell of her +heroine’s feathery movements:-- + + ‘Her boy was old enough to have walked by her side, and + in an indifferent case she would only have led him by the + hand; but now the bare thought of putting him out of her + arms made her shudder; and she strained him to her bosom + with a convulsive grasp as she went rapidly forward. The + frosty ground creaked beneath her feet, and she trembled + at the sound; every quaking leaf and fluttering shadow + sent the blood backward to her heart, and quickened her + footsteps. She wondered within herself at the strength that + seemed to be come upon her--for she felt the weight of + her boy as if it had been a feather, and every flutter of + fear seemed to increase the supernatural power that bore + her on; while from her pale lips burst forth, in frequent + ejaculations, the prayer to a Friend above--“Lord, help! + Lord, save me!”’ + +While the reader--perhaps herself a palpitating mother, almost +blinded with her tears--is flying along with the dear fugitive and +her child, bah! she is arrested, to listen to twaddle--we must say +it--as follows:-- + + ‘If it were _your_ Harry, mother, or _your_ Willy, that + were going to be torn from you by a brutal trader to-morrow + morning--if you had seen the man, and heard that the + papers were signed and delivered, and you had only from + twelve o’clock till morning to make good your escape--how + fast could _you_ walk? How many miles could you make in + those few brief hours, with the darling at your bosom--the + little sleepy head on your shoulder--the small soft arms + trustingly holding on to your neck?’ + +Forgive us, dear Mrs Stowe, if we gently reproach you for thus +marring your own beautiful narrative, and also giving English +mothers credit for being so obtuse and phlegmatic as to be unable to +realise all these thoughts and feelings as they are hasting along +with you! + +And there are very many such instances of defective workmanship. +A considerable portion of these consists of preaching--always, +doubtless, perfectly orthodox and evangelical, but smacking too +strongly--will she forgive us?--of the _conventicle_ twang. +After all, however, Mrs Stowe must be tried by the canon already +cited--“regard the writer’s _end_;” and doubtless she knows that +portion of the American public for which she chiefly writes, and what +kind and amount of _hard-hitting_, so to speak, is necessary to make +an impression on sensibilities enclosed in rhinoceros hide. We do not +say that it is so; but we suppose that Mrs Stowe has classes of hard +people in view, and knew the rough force requisite to hit home. + +All these, however, and other similar little matters which might +be mentioned, are mere motes in sunbeams, when regarded by the +eye of a just and generous criticism; which only regrets, every +now and then, that the gifted authoress had not had the advantage +of submitting her MS., or her printed sheets, to the eye of some +competent censor, capable of seizing the scope of her noble purpose, +and solicitous to remove every obstacle in the way of her attaining +it. But she evidently did not write for us in England--in Europe; +nor did this pious daughter of genius dream of the world-wide fame +which she was destined to acquire. She has assured us, in print, +that, “when writing _Uncle Tom’s Cabin_,” she was “entirely unaware +and unexpectant of the importance which would be attached to its +statements and opinions.” We implicitly believe her; and our heart +gives her its entire confidence, as to a simple-minded and gifted +Christian woman, writing out of the fulness of her heart, in order +to open before the eyes of free shuddering Christendom a hideous +and blood-smeared page of living humanity. She has repeatedly and +solemnly asseverated that she has taken the greatest possible pains +not to mis-state or exaggerate the case against slavery; that she +speaks from long personal observation; and, in short, “that this +work, more than any other work of fiction that ever was written, +has been a collection and arrangement of real incidents, of actions +really performed, of words and expressions really uttered, grouped +together with reference to a general result, in the same manner +that the mosaic artist groups his fragments of various stones into +one general picture. His is a mosaic of gems--this is a mosaic of +facts.... The book had a purpose entirely transcending artistic +purpose, and accordingly encounters, at the hands of the public, +demands not usually made on fictitious works. It is treated as a +reality--sifted, tried, and tested as a reality; and, therefore, as a +reality it may be proper that it should be defended.... It is a very +inadequate representation of slavery, and necessarily so, for this +reason--that slavery, in some of its workings, is too dreadful for +the purpose of art. A work which should represent it strictly as it +is, would be a work which could not be read.” “The writer,” she adds, +in the preface to her _Key_, “has aimed, as far as was possible, +to say what is true.... She has used the most honest and earnest +endeavours to learn the truth.” ... “And the book is commended to the +candid attention and earnest prayers of all Christians throughout +the world.” These are grave statements, especially when falling from +the pen of one who had already secured a world-wide hearing; and by +the light of such statements _Uncle Tom’s Cabin_ ought to be read, +unless Mrs Stowe’s means of knowledge, or her truthfulness, can be +seriously impeached. Looked at in this light, the writer is regarded +as actuated by a magnificent spirit: one which cannot stoop to regard +petty carping and cavilling, and need concern itself with nothing +but grave and temperate objections based upon facts. It will not do +for her American critics to aver, that, “without being actuated by +wrong motives in the preparation of this work, she has done a wrong +which no ignorance can excuse, and no penance can expiate”[5]--unless +such an allegation can be sustained by unequivocal evidence of +exaggeration, misrepresentation, and falsehood. All we shall say at +present is, that if Mrs Stowe is to be believed by her reader, he +will lay down her book, on having deliberately read it, with feelings +and thoughts too painful and deep for utterance, and which _ought_ to +lead to action. + +The title of Mrs Stowe’s book--“_Uncle Tom’s Cabin_”--is far from +commensurate with the scope of the fiction, or rather series of +“pictures,” of which it consists. The cabin is not the scene of any +events of importance to the story. It is not impossible that her +intention originally was to confine her pencil to the delineation of +Tom, his residence, family, relations, and the incidents which befell +item _personally_ through the operation of slavery. Uncle Tom and +his fortunes might have constituted a work by itself, and those of +George and Eliza Harris, a second. The former might have been called +_Uncle Tom_, and the latter _George and Eliza_; or _The Cabin_, +and _The Flight_; for there are two classes of adventures quite +separate from each other--the experiences of the submissive, and the +adventures of the recalcitrant, slave. It is true that the authoress +seeks to link them together, at starting, by making Uncle Tom and +Eliza Harris fellow-slaves of the same master and mistress, and Uncle +Tom and Eliza’s child, Harry, the subjects of a joint sale to the +slave-trader; but beyond this slight connection there is none other. +Eliza, with her sold child, pays only one hasty affrighted midnight +visit to the cabin of Uncle Tom; but her husband is never shown near +it. At the very end of the story, however, Mrs Stowe seems to have +had suggested to her the propriety of coupling the fates of her +characters together in some way or other--so that, in a manner which +may provoke the smile of a veteran novelist, she contrives to make a +female slave, Cassy, whom Tom encounters at the close of his career, +prove to be the mother of Eliza Harris; and a lady passenger, who +happens, by the merest accident on earth, to be in the steamboat in +which the aforesaid slave is escaping, turns out to be the sister of +George Harris! Rather a fortunate coincidence this, it must be owned. +Thus it is, that, under the title “_Uncle Tom’s Cabin--a Picture of +Slave Life in America_,” there are two distinct threads of story, +only nominally and arbitrarily connected together; while on each +is strung a series of interesting, affecting, and even horrifying +incidents, developing character, and the working of institutions upon +it. + +Let us now give some account of the style in which she has executed +her work. + +The tale opens with a very skilfully contrived scene, the object +being to arrest attention, without plunging into horrors which might +at first shock a reader, and render him incredulous; and yet it is +very startling to a European not familiar with slavery. It is a +_tête-à-tête_ between a respectable Kentuckian planter, involved +by over-speculation, and the slave-dealer Haley, an impudent, +swaggering, hard-hearted, gaudily-dressed brute, who bargains over +his brandy-and-water for flesh and blood, just as he would do in +respect of a bale of cotton. Mrs Stowe opens the wretch’s character, +as it were an oyster, with a firm and practised hand. It is quickly +seen that the subject of chaffering is the sale of poor Tom, with +whom Mr Shelby is reluctantly compelled to part, as some of his +heaviest “paper” had found its way into the hands of Mr Haley. In +this introductory dialogue we meet with new and fearful phraseology, +as applied to human beings. Mrs Stowe, with much tact, contrives, +by a word or two, to excite the reader’s interest in Tom long +before he comes on the scene. In enumerating his good qualities, +Mr Shelby speaks of poor Tom’s religious character as a guarantee +of his fidelity. This is how it strikes the slave-dealer. “Some +folks don’t believe there’s pious niggers, Shelby; but I _do_. I +had a feller, now, in this yer last lot I took to Orleans--’twas +as good as a meetin’ now, really, to hear that critter pray!... +He fetched me a good sum, too; for I bought him cheap of a man +that was ’bliged to sell out” (a tasteful allusion to the exact +quandary of his companion!) “so I realised six hundred on him. +Yes.--I consider religion a valeyable thing in a nigger, when it’s +the genuine article, and no mistake!” By and by, in bursts little +Harry, romping about the room, trotted out by Mr Shelby, to amuse +his hateful companion by his quaint antics; who had first asked, as +the child entered--while the two gentlemen! were haggling about the +price of Tom--“Well; haven’t you a boy or a gal that you could throw +in with Tom?”... After a while, Mr Haley adds--“I’ve got a friend +that’s going into this yer branch of the business--and wants to buy +up handsome boys to raise for the market--fancy articles entirely!” +Mr Shelby having hinted his reluctance to separate the child from +his beautiful mother, who had just withdrawn him from the room, +Mr Haley favours his companion with the result of his experiences +in such matters; deprecating doing anything rashly (“though these +critters arn’t like white folks, you know”), lest--lest--it should +injure the mother’s health, and lower _her_ price in the market! +And he mentions a grievous blunder made by a friend of his, who too +suddenly sold away a mother’s baby, on which she “jist went ravin’ +mad, and died in a week--_clear waste, sir, of a thousand dollars_, +jist for want of management--there’s where’t is. It’s always best +to do the humane thing, sir; that’s been _my_ experience.” (By this +time, our gentleman reader is disposed to fling friend Haley through +the window; and our lady reader--but, oh! as for her, we have much +more serious matter in store). Mr Shelby, it is intimated, was +desirous to help Mr Haley down stairs with a kick, but he was Mr +Shelby’s _creditor_! On the former’s return, his debtor’s scruples +have been overcome; and poor good old Tom, and little Harry, have +become the property of Mr Haley, who is to take them away the next +morning! The whole of this introductory scene is highly creditable +to Mrs Stowe’s powers: it is graphic and dramatic, character and +incident being hit off with a quiet strength, auguring well for +the rest of her performance. She has not overdrawn Haley. She has +given us quite enough to startle and disgust us with--the _system_, +more than the individual, and has at the same time relieved the +reader’s mind by a just perceptible strain of drollery and piquant +satire. But how distinctly you see, all the while, the dismayed and +ungratefully-treated patriarch, old Tom, and the beautiful mother, +with bleeding heart soon to come before us--the one, his big heart +heaving with grief and astonishment; the mother’s, bleeding and +broken! The first few chapters of this work will satisfy the most +fastidious reader that he is sitting down before the production of +a great artist. The scene enacting in Uncle Tom’s cabin, during +the time that his master is selling him to Haley, and consigning +him to those of unknown suffering and death, is first-rate, and +peculiarly racy to European readers; who, though strangers to such +scenes, _feel_ that _this_ must be painted to the very life. From +the first to the end of the eighth chapter, including also the +tenth, we are conducted, indeed, “from gay to grave, from lively to +severe;” the lights and shadows of negro life are brought before +us with equal vividness and distinctness, by scenes most happily +contrived, without a tinge of exaggeration, or a disfiguring touch +of coarseness. Mr and Mrs Shelby are just what they ought to be, +without any marked characteristics; the reader’s attention being thus +fixed undisturbedly on the new figures of Haley, Uncle Tom and Aunt +Chloe, George and Eliza Harris, Marks, and Tom Loker, as well as +the skittish, frolicsome, mischievous, and selfish negro servants. +The story, too, is advancing; Tom is on his journey, manacled and +fettered, in the slave-waggon with Haley, whose pursuit after Eliza +and her child has been hitherto in vain, in spite of his grim +auxiliaries; and George also has started safe on the desperate race +for freedom: the little we have seen of him induces us heartily to +say--God speed you! brave soul, you are worthy of the prize--may you +win it! + +The ninth chapter introduces us to quite a different scene--Senator +Bird, and his bustling little soft-hearted wife, who became the host +and hostess of fugitive Eliza--the pallid, the breathless--with +tottering knees and bleeding feet--who has been led by the +Kentuckian, who had helped her up the bank of the river, to the +house of the senator and his wife, just as they are discussing--the +abolition question. They, their children, and their quiet home-scene, +are beautifully sketched--as are the means by which Eliza and her +child are conducted to a place of temporary succour and safety. + +The eleventh chapter introduces us to a different time and +locality--an evening in a remote Kentucky hotel. The wild Kentuckian +guests squat about and straddle their legs, and chew, and spit, +before us. What a gathering of _hats_ of all shapes and sizes--“quite +a Shakspearian study!”--is before us! We see them all, and can +conjecture the stranger aspect of those who wear them! It is here +that our disguised friend George turns up, in the way we have +mentioned. ’Tis here that he says, with erect form and flashing eye, +to his former kind master, Mr Wilson, “I’ve said _Mas’r_ for the last +time to any man! I’m free!” + +“Take care. You may be taken,” replies good Mr Wilson, apprehensively. + +“All men are free and equal _in the grave_, if it comes to that, Mr +Wilson,” says lion-hearted George, who is armed to the teeth.... +“Good-by, sir; if you hear that I’m taken, you may know that I’m +dead!” He stood up like a rock, and put out his hand with the air of +a prince. Well done, Mrs Stowe! And how tenderly she presently smites +the rock of his resolution, till the pent-up waters of a husband and +a father gush forth! So do those of Mr Wilson, as he accepts poor +George’s little commission, to give to his wife the pin which she had +formerly given to him as a Christmas present, and beseech her to get +to Canada if ever she have the means, “and,” he adds, “tell her to +bring up our boy A FREE MAN!” + +Chapter XII. gives us a hateful glimpse of an auction sale of slaves; +after which we accompany friend Haley, with poor Tom and some other +human cattle, in _La Belle Rivière_, a boat on the Ohio, “floating +gaily down the stream,” stuffed full of slaves, “under a brilliant +sky, _the stripes and stars of free America waving and fluttering +overhead_!” Who can read without a shudder of the young mother, +whose infant has been deceitfully sold from her--who is suddenly +told of her bereavement: “she did not scream, the shot had passed +too straight and direct through her heart for cry or tear. Dizzily +she sate down. Her slack hands fell lifeless by her side. Her eyes +looked straight forward, but she saw nothing. All the noise and the +hum of the boat, the groaning of the machinery, mingled dreamily to +the bewildered ear; and the poor dumb-stricken heart had neither +cry nor tear to show for its utter misery. She was quite calm.” In +vain, during the bright starlight solitude and silence, had poor Tom, +forgetting his own griefs--his forlorn wife and children--crawled for +a moment to her side, and tried to whisper a word of comfort from the +New Testament. Her heart was palsied; and some time afterwards the +good old slave was startled from his doze. “Something black passed +by him quickly, ... he heard a splash in the water.... No one else +had seen or heard anything. He got up and searched--the woman’s +place was vacant--the poor bleeding heart was still at last, and the +river rippled and dimpled just as brightly as if it had not closed +above that heart!”--“Where alive is that gal?” said her new master, +perplexedly, in the morning, searching every corner of the boat in +vain; and then trying to make up his mind to the loss of so many +dollars’ worth, with what philosophy he might. + +Chapter XIII. finds Eliza and her husband in the Quaker settlement, +all prim, precise, kindly, thoughtful, and resolute about securing +the safety of the fugitives. “Thou’rt safe here by daylight,” said +his hospitable host Simeon, “for every one in the settlement is a +Friend, and all are watching. Moreover, it is safer to travel by +night.” Thus ends the chapter. The next three, XIV., XV., XVI., +in continuation with chapters XVIII., XIX., XX., XXII., XXIII., +XXIV., XXV., XXVI., XXVII., XXVIII., XXIX., (that is, fourteen, or +upwards of a third of the entire work) find us in widely distant +and different scenes,--travelling up the magnificent Mississippi, +and finally housed at New Orleans, and moving among a new set of +characters: Tom having, on the voyage, changed hands, and become the +property of Mr St Clare, grateful for his having saved the life of +his daughter Eva--for she falls over boat side into the water, and +Tom plunges in after her. This is a somewhat startling incident, and +it was not quite necessary to peril the fragile little creature’s +life, in order to supply her father with an inducement to buy Tom. +Story-tellers should never use greater machinery to bring about their +ends than is adequate. The doing so generally argues a deficiency +of power or invention. In the present instance the gentle reader’s +feelings are shocked, and needlessly; for as little Evangeline St +Clare was the only and idolised child of her father, who was onboard, +and wanted a coachman--having dismissed his own for drunkenness--what +more natural than for Tom, having gained, as in a very pretty and +natural way he had done, the affection of little Eva on the voyage, +to occur to her, and to her father, as a good successor to his +discarded Jehu? A silvery word or two from Eva’s sweet little lips +would have sufficed, and Tom, in the quietest way in the world, would +have become the sable chattel of Mr St Clare. Observe, the very idea +had occurred to Eva before her sudden and superfluous immersion, and +she herself had told him of her intention. + + ‘... “So, Uncle Tom, where are you going?” + + “I don’t know, Miss Eva.” + + “Don’t know,” quoth she, concernedly. + + “No, I am going to be sold to somebody. I don’t know who.” + + “My papa can buy you,” said Eva quickly, “and if he buys + you, you will have good times. I mean to ask him to[6] this + very day.” + + “Thank you, my little lady,” said Tom.’ + +Five minutes afterwards Mrs Stowe has heart enough to let the +benevolent little creature go overboard, simply to be rescued by Tom! +Nor is the incident told forcibly; and it elicits no unusual trait +of character in anybody. Having thus introduced Tom to new places and +persons, let us give a general account of this elaborate episodical +portion of Mrs Stowe’s undertaking. + +The figures in the foreground of this large picture are--Mr and Mrs +St Clare, his cousin Miss Ophelia, his daughter Eva (or Evangeline), +Topsy, and Uncle Tom. Those in the background are Mr St Clare’s +brother, his youthful son Henrique, and a confused heap of domestic +slaves--all as happy as happy can be, under the protection of their +wealthy, indolent, good-natured proprietor, Mr St Clare; but there +is also, almost hid in the dark shadow, _one Prue_! As for Tom, the +lines have fallen to him in exceedingly _pleasant places_; he leads +a life of only nominal servitude--the huge pet of pretty little +Eva, and consequently a favourite of her father. Here Mrs Stowe has +evidently expended much greater pains than on any other portion of +her work; but we doubt greatly whether she will be satisfied with +our judgment on the subject. Speaking as English critics, we are of +opinion that Topsy is worth all the others, ten times over; then +comes Mrs St Clare; then the cook, ladies’-maids, and the valet +Adolph; then Miss Ophelia, then Eva, and then Mr St Clare. The others +have nothing distinctive about them, and seem introduced simply +to “draw out” the characters and opinions of Mr St Clare and his +daughter Eva. + +Augustine St Clare and his brother Alfred are of Canadian +descent--the sons of a wealthy Louisianian planter; their mother +having been a lovely and pious Huguenot French lady, whose family had +been early emigrants to Louisiana; and these two had been her only +children. It is with Augustine[7] that we are at present concerned; +and he having been crossed in love, through the cunning cupidity of +the young lady’s guardians--in disgust, and to show his indifference +towards one whom he erroneously supposed to have jilted him, married +the wealthy reigning belle of the season--“a fine figure, a pair of +bright dark eyes, and--a hundred thousand dollars.” Her husband was +of a “sensitive temperament”--“gay, easy, unpunctual, unpractical, +_sceptical_.” Indeed, he himself declares, as to this last, “religion +is a remarkably scarce article at our house.” Almost immediately +after his marriage, he received a letter from the lady to whom he had +been “so passionately--romantically” attached, explaining the true +state of matters. She was yet unmarried, and wrote fervently to him, +supposing him also unmarried! + +“Thus ended the whole romance and ideal of life for Augustine St +Clare,” whose wife was the mere incarnation of silliness, vanity, +selfishness, and tyranny, as far as she dared to show this last. +Her husband treated her, from first to last, with undisguised +but laughing contempt; but it may be doubtful whether she really +appreciated the extent to which he civilly despised her. + + ‘“Mr St Clare, I wish you wouldn’t whistle,” said Marie; + “it makes my head worse.” + + “I won’t,” replied St Clare. “Is there anything else you + would wish me not to do?” + + “I wish you _would_ have some kind of sympathy for my + trials; you never have any feeling for me!” + + “My dear accusing angel!” said St Clare. + + “It’s provoking to be talked to in that way!” + + “Then, how _will_ you be talked to? I’ll talk to order--any + way you’ll mention, only to give satisfaction.”... + + “St Clare always laughs when I make the least allusion to + my ill health,” said Marie, with the voice of a suffering + martyr. “I only hope the day won’t come when he’ll remember + it!” she added, and put her handkerchief to her eyes. Of + course, there was a rather foolish silence.’ + +Happy couple! But we think we have such in our own island home! Mrs +St Clare was “beautiful, accomplished, and an heiress--having no +doubt that Augustine was a most fortunate man in having obtained +her.” “It is a great mistake,” justly observes Mrs Stowe, “to suppose +that a woman with no heart will be an easy creditor in the exchange +of affection. There is not on earth a more merciless exactor of love +from others than a thoroughly selfish woman; and the more unlovely +she grows, the more jealously and scrupulously she exacts love to +the uttermost farthing.” At length she brings her husband a solitary +child--Evangeline--whom he names after his gifted, beloved, and +sainted mother. From the time of Eva’s birth, her mother’s health +“gradually sunk. A life of constant inaction, bodily and mental--the +friction of ceaseless ennui and discontent, united to the ordinary +weakness which attended the period of maternity, in the course of +a few years changed the blooming young belle into a yellow, faded, +sickly woman, whose time was divided among a variety of fanciful +diseases, and who considered herself in every sense the most ill-used +and suffering person in existence.” + +Such a woman as this, being worse than a mere cipher in his +establishment, and Eva’s health requiring change of air, he had +taken her to Vermont for a season; bringing back with him his +cousin Ophelia--a spinster of forty-five; a model of propriety, +exactitude, and a sort of hard conscientiousness. She was the +absolute bond-slave of the “_ought_.” Her standard of right was so +high, so all-embracing, so minute, and making so few concessions to +human frailty, that, though she strove with heroic ardour to reach +it, she never actually did so, and of course was burdened with a +constant and often harassing sense of deficiency. This gave a severe +and somewhat gloomy cast to her religious character. + +The contrast between this starched, prim, yet worthy beau-ideal +of Duty and “gay, easy, unpunctual, unpractical” St Clare is well +conceived, and nearly as well carried out before the reader, +who gradually conceives a kind of respect for her, which seems +continually on the point of warming into regard; but the predominant +idea in his mind is, that Miss Ophelia would make an excellent +housekeeper in--somebody else’s establishment: for himself, +she would--he fears--be too good, and, too hard--and--“tall, +square-formed, and angular.” What a treasure, however, thinks he, for +a widowed cousin--three hundred miles off, with eight or ten wild +boys and girls to break in! Mrs Stowe tells us, that Miss Ophelia +is “the representative of a very numerous class of the very best of +northern people, of activity, zeal, unflinching conscientiousness, +clear _intellectual_ discrimination between truth and error, and +great logical and doctrinal correctness;[8] but with a want of +that SPIRIT OF LOVE, without which, in the eye of Christ, the most +perfect character is as deficient as a wax flower, wanting in life +and perfume.... Yet that blessed principle is not dead, but only +sleepeth, and always answers to the touch of the true magnet--divine +love.” She, however, “_unconsciously_ represents one _great_ sin--the +prejudice of caste, and colour.” Even in the New England States, +where slavery has been abolished by law, this prejudice flourishes +in full and fell vigour, despite, even, the melting sunbeams of +Christianity! Those who will nobly stint themselves of luxuries, +and almost necessaries, to send the gospel to the _distant_ dark +heathens--at home, loathe the sight and contiguity of their black +brother, and exhibit it even in the house of God. “Supposing,” Mrs +Stowe says, solemnly and finely, “our Lord was now on earth as he was +once, what course is it probable that he would pursue with regard +to this unchristian prejudice of colour? There was a class of men +in those days, as much despised by the Jews as the negroes are by +us; and it was a complaint made of Christ that he was a friend of +publicans and sinners. And if Christ should enter, on some communion +season, into a place of worship, and see the coloured man sitting +afar off by himself, would it not be just in His spirit to go there +and sit with him, rather than to take the seats of his richer and +more prosperous brethren?” + +The character of Miss Ophelia is most happily developed, by means, +principally, of Topsy--the Gem of the book, of whom more anon; and +that character is, as will be seen, _proper_ to the moral climate of +New England; whereas, according to Mrs Stowe herself, “Mrs St Clare +is the type of a class of women not peculiar to any latitude, nor any +condition in society ... she may be found in England, or America.” +The same, indeed, is to be said of “Alfred and Augustine St Clare, +who represent,” she says, “two classes of men which are to be found +in all countries, the radically aristocratic and democratic men.” In +defining _her_ “aristocrat” and “democrat,” it must be borne in mind +that she is speaking of American exhibitions of those characters, +and as connected with the relation of slaveholders. On this subject +we might make many observations; but content ourselves with saying, +that, in the main, we concur with Mrs Stowe’s views, as expounded by +herself, with reference to the perilousness of intrusting man with +practically irresponsible authority over his fellow-man. That state +of society is essentially vicious, and foully rotten before the eyes +of our Almighty Maker, _who hath made of one blood all nations of men +for to dwell on all the face of the earth_, which does not make THE +LAWS the indifferent and easily accessible protector, vindicator, and +avenger of every human being living in that state. + +The two brothers discuss frequently, and with considerable force, +the question of slavery, as to its consistency or inconsistency with +an enlightened and civilised system of laws, and the spirit and +precepts of Christianity. + +Why Mrs Stowe should have thought it necessary to represent her +favourite St Clare as a _sceptic_ on religious subjects, is not quite +clear; unless, indeed, she intends to intimate that it is a dark +and grievous characteristic of the whole class which he represents. +Perhaps it may be, unfortunately, so; and, indeed, she seems, with +bitter sarcasm, to hint that one thing which tends to produce this +result is, the cool accommodation of the principles and precepts +of the Gospel to the existing order of things in the slave states, +in even their vilest aspects. Upon the whole, however, Mrs Stowe +succeeds in satisfying the reader that her gentleman hero is a manly +fellow, with all his faults. His love of his little daughter, his +grief as he perceives her withering away before his eyes under the +blight of consumption, his anguish and despair when she is taken from +him, are all told touchingly--very touchingly, with true pathos. So +also the fondness with which he cherishes the memory of his mother. +He forms the resolution to give poor Tom his freedom; but as it is +necessary, for the exigencies of the story, to get poor Tom into +worse hands, there is no other way occurs to the author than to make +Mr St Clare die abruptly; and the most suitable mode of bringing +about that result is, when his moral being has been soothed and +solemnised by a religious conversation with his cousin Ophelia, in +which he says he “does not know what makes him think so much of +his mother that night.” He “has a strange kind of feeling as if +she were near him ...;” he by and by says, “I believe I’ll go down +street and hear the news to-night.” He gets into a café; and while +reading the paper, an affray arises between two partially intoxicated +_gentlemen_; he “attempts to wrest a bowie knife from one of them, +who gives him a fatal stab with it in the side.” He is brought home +on a shutter, wrapped in a cloak, to the consternation of all in the +house, and dies the same evening, having first said to Tom, “pray!” +He dies, “opening his eyes with a sudden light, as of joy and +recognition, and saying ‘mother’--and then he was gone.” + +Eva is evidently a favourite creation of the author’s, and she +is undoubtedly a gentle and sweet little spirit, suggesting the +tenderest thoughts of love and pity; but a mere worldly reader is apt +to think, with a little impatience, that she is so very good; she +talks so much beyond her years;[9] and _challenges_ our admiration, +with the confidence of a _pattern_ child. No one can find fault with +anything she says or does; but unfortunately, you see that the writer +from the first intended her to be a little piece of perfection. +Frail and sensitive human nature is a little irritated by this, and +suspects something factitious. It says, peevishly, “I know many good +and charming children, but here’s an angel in flesh!” When, however, +our excellent and pious author herself tells us, that “the gentle +Eva is an impersonation, in childish form, of the love of Christ--” +worldly criticism utters not another word, but reverences the +writer’s motives. Here is little Eva’s death-- + + ‘St Clare saw a spasm of mortal agony pass over the + face.... “Eva!” said he, presently, gently. She did not + hear. “Oh, Eva, tell us what you see! What is it?” A + bright, a glorious smile passed over her face, and she + said, brokenly,--“Oh, love--joy--peace!” gave one sigh, and + passed from death to life.’ + +It might have been grander, perhaps, if her _voiceless_ response, had +been that “glorious smile,” reflecting the ineffable happiness--the +suddenly seen glory of heaven. Are not these words, again, more +likely to have fallen from an adult, than a mere child?--Let the +spectator’s eye now be turned heavily towards the darkest portion +of the background--and there is crouching a grisly figure--old +Prue--“cross old Prue”--as even sweet Eva styled her! This creature +is introduced and disposed of by the author, with a certain dreadful +power; she is seen for but a short space--but in that short space, +what a tale of horror does she tell! + +Prue was a tall, bony, coloured woman, with a scowling expression of +countenance, and a sullen, grumbling voice. Her office was, to carry +on her head a basket of rusks and hot rolls to Mr St Clare’s house. + + ‘She set down her basket (in the kitchen), squatted herself + down, and resting her elbows on her knees, said--“O, Lord! + I wish I’se dead!” + + “Why do you wish you were dead?” asked Miss Ophelia. + + “I’d be out of my misery,” said the woman, gruffly, without + taking her eyes from the floor.’ + +She is among the merry, saucy, black and quadroon servants, who jibe +her, as soon as Miss Ophelia is gone. The only one who notices her is +Tom, who offers to carry her basket for her, and tries to persuade +her to leave off drinking--to which misery has driven her. She wishes +herself in hell--Tom shuddering the while--to be out of her misery. + + ‘“Where was you raised?” he asked. + + “Up in Kentuck. A _man kept me to breed chil’en for + market_, and sold ’em as fast as they got big enough; last + of all, he sold me to a speculator, and my mas’r (a baker), + got me o’ him.” + + “What set you into this bad way of drinkin?” + + “To get shet of my misery.”’ + +And she proceeds to describe that misery; and many a tender mother +has sickened and shuddered over the next eighteen lines. + +A few days afterwards _another woman_ came in old Prue’s place, to +bring the rusks. On being asked about her by Dinah, another servant, +she says, mysteriously, “Prue isn’t coming any more!” + + ‘“Why not?” inquires Dinah. “She an’t dead, is she?” + + “We doesn’t exactly know. She’s down cellar,” said the + woman, glancing at Miss Ophelia. After Miss Ophelia had + taken the rusks, Dinah followed the woman to the door. + + “What _has_ got Prue, anyhow?” she said. + + The woman seemed desirous, yet reluctant, to speak, and + answered in a low, mysterious tone. “Well, you mustn’t tell + nobody. Prue, she got drunk agin--and they had her down + cellar--and thar they left her all day; and I hearn ’em + saying that the flies had got to her--and she’s dead!”’ + +The unhappy wretch had been whipped to death in a cellar, left +there, and--“the flies had got to her!” Miss Ophelia’s honest soul +was fired with indignation on hearing it; and when she expressed her +kindled womanly feelings to Mr St Clare, he received it with levity, +“peeling his orange,” while good excited Miss Ophelia is denouncing +it as “perfectly abominable”--and answering her with badinage; gaily +adding, “My dear cousin, _I_ didn’t do it, and I can’t help it; I +would, if I could!” + +Let us turn, however, from this revolting incident, to Mrs Stowe’s +_chef-d’œuvre_--the inimitable TOPSY--a true _psychological_ +curiosity--a character quite new to _us_, and delineated by the +pencil of a consummate limner. The portrait will not bear an +additional touch, nor the loss of one that has been given it. It +exactly satisfies the critical eye. + +We have already given the reader Topsy’s presentation to Miss +Ophelia. Here is the little black imp _in propriâ personâ_ before +you, as Mr St Clare paraded her before the astounded eye of his prim +cousin:-- + + ‘She was eight or nine years of age--one of the blackest + of her race; and her round, shining eyes, glittering + as glass beads, moved with quick and restless glances + over everything in the room. Her mouth, half open with + astonishment at the wonders of the new mas’r’s parlour, + displayed a white and brilliant set of teeth. Her woolly + hair was braided in sundry little tails, which stuck out + in every direction. The expression of the face was an odd + mixture of shrewdness and cunning, over which was oddly + drawn, like a kind of veil, an expression of the most + doleful gravity and solemnity. She was dressed in a single + filthy, ragged garment, made of bagging; and stood with + her hands demurely folded before her. Altogether there + was something queer and goblin-like about her appearance. + “Here, Topsy,” said Mr St Clare, giving a whistle, as a + man would to call the attention of a dog, “give us a song, + now, and show us some of your dancing.” The black glassy + eyes glittered with a kind of wicked drollery, and The + Thing struck up, in a clear shrill voice, an odd negro + melody, to which she kept time with her hands and feet, + spinning round, clapping her hands, knocking her knees + together, in a wild, fantastic sort of time, and producing + in her throat all those strange guttural sounds which + distinguish the native music of her race; and, finally, + turning a somerset or two, and giving a prolonged closing + note, as odd and unearthly as that of a steam whistle, she + came suddenly down on the carpet, and stood with her hands + folded, and a most sanctimonious expression of meekness and + solemnity over her face, only broken by the cunning glances + which she shot, askance, from the corners of her eyes. Miss + Ophelia stood silent, perfectly paralysed with amazement.’ + +A world of scrubbing and cleansing brings to sight “great welts +and calloused (?) spots”--ineffaceable marks of the system under +which she had grown up that far, at the sight of which the heart +of Miss Ophelia--who had a horrid repugnance to the touch of a +nigger!--“became pitiful within her!” She had compelled Jane, one of +the quadroon maids, to assist her in the task of ablution, as she +did, tossing her head with disgust; the “young one” “scanning, with a +keen and furtive glance of her flickering eyes, the ornaments which +Jane wore in her ears!” + +When arrayed, at last, in a suit of decent clothing, and her hair had +been cropped close to her head, Miss Ophelia sits down to question +the thing; who tells her, with a grin showing all her glittering +teeth, that she does not know how old she is; that she never had a +mother; never was born; never had no father, nor mother, nor nothin. +“I was raised by a speculator, with lots of others. Old Aunt Sue used +to take care on us.” + + ‘“Have you ever heard anything about GOD, Topsy?” She + looked bewildered, and grinned. + + “Do you know who made you?” + + “Nobody, as I knows on,” said the child, with a short + laugh. “I ’spect I _grow’d_! Don’t think nobody ever made + me!”’... + +“Virgin soil here,” indeed, as St Clare slily suggested to his +dismayed cousin. By and by--behold Topsy, washed and shorn, arrayed +in a clean gown, with well-starched apron, standing reverently before +Miss Ophelia, with an expression of solemnity well befitting a +funeral, while she carefully initiates her sooty little charge into +the mysteries of bed-making. Topsy pays profound attention to all the +directions about under-sheets, bolsters, and turning down; but not +too profound to prevent her, the young disciple, when her teacher’s +back was turned for a moment, snatching a pair of gloves and a +ribbon, which she adroitly slipped into her sleeves, and stood with +her hands duly folded as before! + +Being required, by and by, to reduce her lessons to practice, out +drops from her sleeve an end of the purloined ribbon! at which she +looks, when furiously challenged, with innocent wonder. She declares +solemnly she had never seen it till that minute; and when angrily +shaken by Miss Ophelia, out dropped the gloves from the other +sleeve! Topsy now owns to the gloves, steadily denying the ribbon; +but, threatened with a whipping, confesses to both, with woeful +expressions of penitence. Being adjured to “_confess_” if she has +taken anything else, the little wretch owns to having taken “Miss +Eva’s red thing she wears round her neck,” and Rosa’s red earrings, +and having burnt them! “Burnt them! why did you do that?” inquires +the astounded lady. “’Cause I’se wicked--I is! It’s mighty wicked, +anyhow. I can’t help it!” But in a moment or two’s time, Eva and Rosa +make their appearance, with necklace and earrings as usual, never +having parted with them. + + “I’m sure I can’t tell what to do with such a child,” said + Miss Ophelia in despair. “What did you tell me you took + these things for, Topsy?” + + “Why, missis said I must _’fess_; and I couldn’t think of + nothing else to ’fess,” said Topsy, rubbing her eyes. + + “But, of course, I didn’t want you to confess to things you + didn’t do. That’s telling a lie just as much as the other.” + + “Laws, now, is it?” said Topsy, with an air of innocent + wonder!’ + +Here is an impressive contrast:-- + + ‘Eva stood looking at Topsy. There stood the two children, + representatives of the two extremes of society. The fair, + high-bred child, with her golden head, her deep eyes, her + spiritual, noble brow, and prince-like movements; and her + black, keen, subtle, cringing, yet acute neighbour. They + stood the representatives of their races. The Saxon, born + of ages of cultivation, command, education, physical and + moral eminence; the African, born of ages of oppression, + submission, ignorance, toil, and vice.’ + +If Miss Ophelia’s conscientiousness was--to use the slang of the +phrenologists--“largely developed,” that of Topsy was about equal +to the conscientiousness of a squirrel or a monkey; and good Miss +Ophelia observes her _protegée_, “lithe as a cat, and active as a +monkey,” and to the full as wantonly mischievous, with dumb despair. +One of her fancies was to deck herself in Miss Ophelia’s choicest +ornaments, and rehearse in them, like an actress, before the glass, +singing, whistling, and making grimaces. Once surprised by the lady, +with her “very best scarlet Indian crape shawl wound round her head +for a turban,” “Topsy,” says she, at the end of all patience, “what +_does_ make you act so?” + + “Dun no, missis. I ’spects ’cause I’se so wicked.” + + “I don’t know what I shall do with you, Topsy.” + + “Law, missis, _you must whip me_. My old missis allers + whipped me. I an’t used to workin’ without I gets whipped.” + + “Why, Topsy, I don’t want to whip you. You _can_ do well if + you choose; why won’t you?” + + “Laws, missis, I’se used to whippin’. I ’spects it’s good + for me.”’ + +Though one might almost as well, one would have thought, have tried +to teach a hedgehog astronomy, Miss Ophelia devoted herself to +teaching the gnome the Catechism; and, after a patient year and a +half’s efforts, here were some of the blessed results, as exhibited +before laughing Mr St Clare, before whom were confident catechist and +hopeful catechumen:-- + + “_Q._--Our first parents, being left to the freedom of + their own will, fell from the state wherein they were + created.” Topsy’s eyes twinkled, and she looked inquiringly. + + “What is it, Topsy?” said Miss Ophelia. + + “Please, missis, was dat ar _state_ Kintuck?” + + “What state, Topsy?” + + “Dat state dey fell out of. I used to hear Mas’r tell how + as we com down from Kintuck!”’ + +But what the sedulous didactic teaching of Miss Ophelia failed to +do, would have doubtless been effected by sweet little Eva, had +she lived: from whom, one day, fell the first word of kindness she +had ever heard in her life; and the sweet tone and manner struck +strangely on the wild rude heart, and a sparkle of something like a +tear shone in the keen, round, glittering eye. + +Twice again this strange creature flits across the scene, and on one +of these occasions says-- + + ‘“Old missus whipped me a deal harder, and used to pull + my har, and knock my head agin the door; but it didn’t do + me no good! I ’spects if theys to pull every spear o’ har + out of my head, it wouldn’t do no good, neither! I’se so + wicked! Laws! I’se nothing but a nigger, no ways!” ... + “But, Topsy, if you’d only try to be good, you might”---- + + “Couldn’t never be nothin but a nigger, if I was never so + good! If I could be skinned, and come white, I’d try then!”’ + +Poor Topsy!--these words go to the heart of all but--a moral _leper +white as snow_! There is in them a huge volume of anguish and +reproach. + +It required the potent eloquence of little Eva’s death to dispel the +last lingering feelings of Miss Ophelia’s repugnance towards the +unhappy little black, in whom also the same solemn event had worked +a marked change. “The callous indifference was gone ... there was a +_striving_ for good--a strife, irregular, interrupted, suspended, +oft--but yet renewed again.” The finishing touch to this singular and +masterly delineation is exquisite in every way:-- + + ‘One day, when Topsy had been sent for by Miss Ophelia, she + came, hastily thrusting something into her bosom. “What are + you doing there, you limb? You’ve been stealing something, + I’ll be bound,” said the imperious little Rosa (a quadroon + slave), who had been sent to call her, seizing her at the + same time roughly by the arm. + + “You go ’long, Miss Rosa!” said Topsy, pulling from her; + “’tan’t none o’ your business!” + + “None o’ your sa’ce!” said Rosa. “I saw you hiding + something--I know yer tricks,” and Rosa seized her + arm, and tried to force her hand into her bosom; while + Topsy, enraged, kicked and fought valiantly for what she + considered her rights. The clamour and confusion of the + battle drew Miss Ophelia and St Clare both to the spot. + + “She’s been stealing!” said Rosa. + + “I han’t, neither!” vociferated Topsy, sobbing with passion. + + “Give me that, whatever it is!” said Miss Ophelia, sternly. + + Topsy hesitated; but, on a second order, pulled out of her + bosom a little parcel done up in the foot of one of her + own old stockings. Miss Ophelia turned it out. There was a + small book which had been given to Topsy by Eva, containing + a single verse of Scripture arranged for every day in the + year; and in a paper, the curl of hair which she had given + on that memorable day when she had taken her last farewell. + St Clare was a good deal affected at the sight of it; the + little book had been rolled in a long strip of black crape, + torn from the funeral weeds. + + “What did you wrap _this_ round the book for?” said he, + holding up the crape. + + “’Cause--’cause--’cause ’twas Miss Eva. Oh, don’t take ’em + away, please!” she said; and, sitting flat down on the + floor, and putting her apron over her head, she began to + sob vehemently.’[10] + +“Topsy,” says Mrs Stowe, “stands as the representative of a large +class of the children who are growing up under the institution of +slavery--quick, active, subtle, and ingenious--apparently utterly +devoid of principle and conscience--keenly penetrating, by an +instinct which exists in the childish mind, the degradation of their +condition, and the utter hopelessness of rising above it.” In a note +to a friend on the same subject, she writes very beautifully--“There +lies, buried down in the heart of the most seemingly stupid and +careless slave, a bleeding spot that bleeds and aches, though he +could scarcely tell why--and this sore spot is the degradation of his +position.” + +Miss Ophelia, having had a formal gift of Topsy from Mr St Clare, +takes her home to Vermont, where we are told, she “grew rapidly in +grace and favour with the family,” at first sufficiently staggered +by the quaint apparition. “At the age of womanhood she was at her +own request baptised; and finally recommended and approved as a +missionary to one of the stations in Africa.” Of course the mode +of training Topsy was beyond the scope of the writer’s purpose; +but we could have wished to see a good deal more of Topsy, in the +progress of her mental and moral development. But as it is, the +sketch is pregnant with instruction, encouragement, and warning: and +were it for this one portrait alone, Mrs Stowe would be entitled to +the blessings of generations of blacks yet unborn. With the divine +penetration of genius consecrated by holiness, she has wrought down +to the seat of our common nature, in the black, crushed beneath whole +piled up mountains of prejudice, scorn, and despair. + +We must now return to poor Tom, whose course is henceforth brief, and +of deepening gloom, and whose _sun goes down in blood_. + +Detestable Mrs St Clare, released from the humanising presence of her +husband, as though she had been a deadly snake half-crushed by the +presence of authority, makes amends for past inaction, by darting +venomously at every one within her reach. She orders off a poor +girl to the whipping-house, to be flogged, _naked_, by the common +flogger--a huge man--in the presence of as many of both sexes as +chose to look on, and be entertained by her shrieks, and the sight +of her quivering ensanguined flesh.[11] Mrs St Clare contemptuously +discarded the entreaties of Miss Ophelia, based mainly, with a +womanly energy, on the mere sense of sex: and in disgust, Miss +Ophelia returns, with Topsy, to her own country. Moreover, though +poor Tom had been repeatedly promised his freedom by her husband, +as she well knows, she ruthlessly sells him, with all the other +slaves. Tom is told of his fate--to be forthwith sent to the slave +mart. “The Lord’s will be done!” he exclaimed, folding his arms, and +sighing heavily. He appeals to Miss Ophelia, who makes a hopeless +attempt on Mrs St Clare, relying on her deceased husband’s promise. +“Indeed,” says that charming lady, delicately clad in most elegantly +made mourning for him whose solemn wishes she was violating, as he +lay scarce cold in his grave--“Indeed I shall do no such thing! Tom +is one of the most valuable slaves in the place! It could not be +afforded any way!” ... “But consider his chance of getting a bad +master----” “O! that’s all humbug----:” and the good lady turns a +scornfully deaf ear to the solemn assurance, that Mr St Clare had +made the promise to Eva on her deathbed. Marie St Clare is the type, +we are told, of a class. + + ‘When Marie comes under a system of laws which gives her + _absolute control_ over her dependants--which enables her + to separate them, at her pleasure, from their dearest + family connections, or to inflict upon them the most + disgraceful, degrading, and violent punishments, _without + even the restraint which seeing_ the execution might + possibly induce--then it is that the character arrives at + full maturity.’ + +Here we part with this viper; assuring the class whom she may +represent, that they are burthened with the execration of the +civilised world--most piercing of all, those of her fair, Free +sisters. + +Now one’s heart aches to see poor Tom, the helpless, sorrowful +inmate, amongst a great quantity of uproarious and _quasi_-merry +other live lumber--of a New Orleans slave-market. O sickening scene! +But here the two figures arresting the eye--and whose brief tale is +told with melting pathos and simplicity--are Susan and Emmeline, both +beautiful, mother and daughter; the latter only fifteen, just budding +into womanhood: both with hearts trembling at the fear of approaching +separation--and what kind of life before them? The mother to be sold +for the purpose of breeding other slaves; the daughter--oh speak it +not in the ears of Free fathers and mothers--of Christian men or +women--to be “sold to a life of shame!” She has “the same soft, dark +eye” as her mother, “with longer lashes, and her curling hair is of +a luxuriant brown.” And in passing, we are told, with an appalling +irony, that “the gentleman to whom they belong, and to whom the money +for their sale is to be transmitted, is a member of a Christian +church in New York, who will receive the money, and go thereafter to +the sacrament of _his Lord_ AND THEIRS, and think no more of it.” + +The hurriedly-whispered dialogue of these two would break a heart of +stone to overhear: they are--that forlorn mother and daughter--trying +to express a hope--a faint hope--poor souls!--that they may be sold +together! In order to aid this result, and disguise her beauty, the +mother and she comb out her luxuriant tresses, so as to “look plain +and decent;” but in the morning, when the watchful owner comes round +to look at his human cattle--“How’s this?” he said, stepping in +front of Susan and Emmeline, “where’s your curls, gal?” He is told, +timidly, that they thought it looked “more respectable so.” + + ‘“Bother!--You go right along, and curl yourself real + smart,” he added, giving a crack to a ratan he held in his + hand; “and be back in quick time, too! You go and help + her,” to her mother--“them curls may make a hundred dollars + difference in the sale of her!”’ + +Can horror go deeper? Yes, one step. The loathsome monster, +Legree--of whom in a moment--is presently attracted by her beauty. + +“He put out his heavy, dirty hand, and drew the girl towards +him”--oh, Mrs Stowe! shall we go on?--“passed it over her neck and +bust; felt her arms; looked at her teeth, and then pushed her back +against her mother, whose patient face showed the sufferings she had +been going through, at every motion of the hideous stranger.” + + ‘The girl was frightened, and began to cry. + + “Stop that, you minx!” said the salesman, “no whimpering + _here_! The sale’s going to begin!”’ + +Presently the mother is put up on the block, and bought by a +benevolent purchaser; in descending from it she gazes wistfully +at her lovely daughter; and implores her purchaser--“O, do buy my +daughter!” He tries to do so; but alas! she has inflamed the sensual +monster Legree: he quietly bids against Benevolence, resolved to +secure his victim: “the hammer falls; he has got the girl, body and +soul, unless God help her!” But will HE? The chapter ends ominously +with a passage from his Word-- + + “_When he maketh inquisition for blood, he forgetteth not + the cry of the humble!_” + +This Legree also purchases Tom, having quickly appreciated his +“points,” as a “valleyable nigger:” and here you may see the _cobra_, +uncoiled for you, in all its hideousness. + + ‘He was a short, broad, muscular man, in a checked + shirt, considerably open at the bosom, and pantaloons + much the worse for dirt and wear, who elbowed his way + through the crowd, like one who is going actively into a + business; and coming up to the group, began to examine + them systematically. From the moment that Tom saw him + approaching, he felt an immediate and revolting horror at + him, that increased as he came near. He was evidently, + though short, of gigantic strength. His round, bullet + head, large, light-grey eyes, with their shaggy, sandy + eyebrows, and stiff, wiry, sun-burned air, were rather + unprepossessing items, it is to be confessed; his large + coarse mouth was distended with tobacco, the juice of + which, from time to time, he ejected from him with great + decision and explosive force; his hands were immensely + large, hairy, sun-burned, freckled, and very dirty, and + garnished with long nails, in a very foul condition. This + man proceeded to a very free personal examination of the + lot. He seized Tom by the jaw, and pulled open his mouth, + to inspect his teeth (!) made him strip up his sleeve, + to show his muscle; turned him round, made him jump and + spring, to show his paces. + + “Where was you raised?” he added briefly to these + investigations. “In Kintuck, mas’r,” said Tom, looking + about as if for deliverance. “What have you done?” “Had + care of mas’r’s farm,” said Tom. “Likely story!” said the + other shortly, as he passed on.’ + +Legree’s exterior only very faintly adumbrates the interior horrors +of his character, as the reader soon finds out. He seems specially +pleased with one of his purchases--the sweet Emmeline, who, as they +approach “home,” feels the hot foul breath of the serpent upon her. + + ‘“Well, my little dear,” said he, turning to Emmeline, and + laying his hand on her shoulder, “we’re almost home!” When + Legree scolded and stormed, Emmeline was terrified; but + when he laid his hand upon her, and spoke as he now did, + she felt as if she had rather he would strike her. _The + expression of his eyes made her soul sick, and her flesh + creep._ + + “You didn’t ever wear earrings!” he said, taking hold of + her small ear with his coarse fingers. + + “No, mas’r,” said Emmeline, trembling, and looking down. + + “Well, I’ll give you a pair, when we get home, if you’re a + good girl. You needn’t be so frightened! I don’t mean to + make you work so very hard! You’ll have fine times with me, + and live like a lady! Only be a good girl!”’ + +Alas, sweet Emmeline! motherless Emmeline! was there no MAN--no +father, no brother, near you, to fell the monster to the earth? No, +none; and you are close to the residence of your eager and brutal +proprietor. There he had destined her as the successor of one of +whom he was tired--but whom yet he feared: and that was CASSY; a +being whom we did not suppose Mrs Stowe, with all our trust in her +previously exhibited powers, equal to conceiving and supporting. She +occasionally reminds us of some of the greatest passages in Greek +tragedy. + + ‘“Come, mistress”--quoth Legree to Emmeline, having reached + the house, and dismissed all his other purchases to their + prescribed localities in the plantation--“You go in here + with _me_!” A dark wild face was seen, for a moment, to + glance at the window of the house; and as Legree opened the + door, a female voice said something in a quick imperative + tone.’ + +This was--Cassy; and here is her figure. + + ‘She was tall and slenderly formed, with remarkably + delicate hands and feet, and dressed in neat and + respectable garments. By the appearance of her face, she + might have been between thirty-five and forty; and it was + a face that, once seen, could never be forgotten--one of + those that, at a glance, seemed to convey to us an idea of + a wild, painful, and romantic history. Her head was high, + and her eyebrows marked with beautiful clearness. Her + straight, well-formed nose, her finely cut mouth, and the + graceful contour of her head and neck, showed that she must + once have been beautiful; but her face was deeply wrinkled + with lines of pain, and of proud and bitter endurance. + Her complexion was sallow and unhealthy, her cheeks thin, + her features sharp, and her whole form emaciated. But her + eye was the most remarkable feature--so large, so heavily + black, overshadowed by long lashes of equal darkness, and + so wildly, mournfully despairing. There was a fierce pride + and defiance in every line of her face, in every nerve of + the flexible lip, in every motion of her body; but in her + eye was a deep, settled, night of anguish--an expression so + hopeless and unchanging, as to contrast fearfully with the + scorn and pride expressed by her whole demeanour.’ + +Her relations to Legree were of a mysterious character. The first +that Tom saw of her was when she suddenly, and to the surprise of +all her fellow-slaves, made her appearance, as one of themselves, in +the cotton-fields, walking by his side, erect and proud, in the dim +grey of the dawn. She works with the others, but infinitely quicker +and more effectively. Observing Tom generously transfer some cotton +of his own picking to the sack of a feeble female fellow-slave, whom +he had just seen brutally maltreated by the driver--she approached +him, and transferred some of her own cotton to his bag, telling him +in a fearful whisper, “that he knew nothing about that place, or he +would not have done what he had: that when he had been there a month, +he would have ceased helping anybody, finding it hard enough to take +care of his own skin.” + +“The Lord forbid, _missus_,” quoth Tom, instinctively recognising her +superiority over the others. + + ‘“The Lord never visits these parts,” said she, bitterly. + But her action had been observed by the driver, across the + field: and flourishing his whip, he came up to her. “What! + what!” he said to the woman, with an air of triumph, “YOU + a-foolin! Go along! yer under _me_ now--mind yourself, or + ye’ll cotch it!” A glance like sheet-lightning suddenly + flashed from her dark eyes; and facing about, with + quivering lip and dilated nostrils, she drew herself up, + and fixed a glance, blazing with rage and scorn, on the + driver. “DOG!” she exclaimed, “touch _me_, if you dare! + I’ve power enough yet to have you torn by the dogs, burnt + alive, cut to inches!--I’ve only to say the word!” + + “What de debel you here for, den?” said the man, cowed, + and retreating a step or two. “Didn’t mean no harm, Misse + Cassy!” and he slinks to another quarter of the field.’ + +Weighing time comes in the evening. + + ‘“So,” says Legree, to his myrmidon, “Misse Cassy did her + day’s work?” + + “Iss! she pick like de debil and all his angels!” + + “She’s got ’em all in her, I believe!” said Legree; and + growled a brutal oath.’ + +At length it is Cassy’s time, and she delivers her basket to be +weighed with a haughty, negligent air: Legree looking in her eyes +with a sneering, yet inquiring glance. She fixed her black eyes on +him steadily--her lips moved slightly, and she said something in +French. What it was, no one knew, but the expression of Legree’s face +became demoniacal; and he half-raised his hand, as if to strike--a +gesture which she regarded with fierce disdain, and turned, and +walked away. Then Tom comes up; and--poor fellow--for once we rejoice +to say, shows something like a spirit: for being ordered to try his +hand on flogging the poor female slave--falsely accused of not having +picked her quantity--he steadily refuses; and after having received a +shower of blows from Legree, firmly repeats, “This yer thing I can’t +feel it right to do,” wiping the blood from his face; “and massa, +I _never_ shall do it--_never!_” All the shivering wretches around +exhibit consternation at his audacity; and Legree looked stupefied +and confounded; but at last he burst forth:-- + + ‘“What, ye blasted black beast! tell _me_ ye don’t think it + _right_ to do what I tell ye! What have any of you cussed + cattles to do with thinking what’s right? I’ll put a stop + to it. Why, what do ye think ye are? Maybe ye think ye’r a + gentleman, Master Tom, to be a-telling your master what’s + right, and what an’t; so you pretend it’s wrong to flog the + gal?” + + “I think so, mas’r,” said Tom; “the poor crittur’s sick + and feeble, ’twould be downright cruel, and it’s what I + never will do, nor begin to, mas’r. If you mean to kill me, + kill me; but as to my raising my hand agin any one here, I + never shall: I’ll die first.” Tom spoke in a mild voice, + but with a decision that could not be mistaken. Legree + shook with anger; his greenish eyes glared fiercely, and + his very whiskers seemed to curl with passion; but, like + some ferocious beast that plays with its victim before he + devours it, he kept back his strong impulse to proceed to + immediate violence, and broke out into bitter raillery. + “Well, here’s a pious dog, at last, let down among us + sinners! a saint, a gentleman, and no less, to talk to us + sinners about our sins! Powerful holy crittur he must be! + Here, you rascal; you make believe to be so pious, didn’t + you never hear out of yer Bible, ‘Servants, obey your + masters’? An’t I your master? Didn’t I pay down twelve + hundred dollars cash for all there is in yer old cussed + black shell? An’t yer mine now, body and soul?” he said, + giving Tom a violent kick with his heavy boot; “tell me!” + In the very depth of physical suffering, bowed by brutal + oppression, this question shot a gleam of joy and triumph + through Tom’s soul. He suddenly stretched himself up, and + looking earnestly to heaven, while the tears and blood that + flowed down his face mingled, he exclaimed--“No, no, no! + my soul an’t yours, mas’r! You havn’t bought it; ye can’t + buy it; it’s been bought and paid for by one that’s able to + keep it. No matter--no matter, you can’t harm me!” + + “I can’t!” said Legree, with a sneer; “we’ll see. Here, + Sambo! Quimbo! give this dog such a breakin in as he won’t + get over this month.” + + The two gigantic negroes that now laid hold of Tom, with + fiendish exultation in their faces, might have formed no + unapt personification of powers of darkness. The poor woman + screamed with apprehension, and all rose, as by a general + impulse, while they dragged him unresisting from the place.’ + +Sambo and Quimbo are two huge black fiends, each savage, sycophantic +towards Legree, rivals of each other in his good graces, and +abhorring poor Tom, whom some expressions of Legree show to have been +designed to become his chief overlooker. + +While Tom is lying in an exposed outhouse at midnight, groaning and +bleeding, alone, the night damp and close, the thick air swarming +with myriads of musquitoes, which increased the restless torture of +his wounds, whilst a burning thirst--a torture beyond all others, +filled up the uttermost measure of physical anguish-- + +“Oh, good Lord, _do_ look down! Give me the victory--give me the +victory over all!” prayed poor Tom, in his anguish, when a footstep +is heard behind him--the light of a lantern flashes in his eyes, +and he recognises Cassy, come to him like a ministering angel. At +length she sits beside him, when he has become somewhat more easy +and composed for a while under the soothing applications of his +companion; and she mutters a few words, in rejoinder to his feeble +but trustful exclamations, of despair and atheism--“There’s no God, +or he’s taken sides against us; all goes against us, heaven and +earth! Everything is pushing us into hell! Why shouldn’t we go?” In +a few scorching words of misery she tells him that she, “a woman +delicately bred,” has been for four long years in the hell--of +Legree’s presence and power--her whole body and soul, cursing every +moment of her life--the slave of his brutal passions; “and now he +has got a new one--a young thing, only fifteen! And she’s brought +her Bible here--_here_, to hell with her!” She adds, that she has +witnessed scenes of savage cruelty, of mortal cruelty, which “would +make any one’s hair rise, and teeth chatter to hear--but it is +useless resisting. There’s not a white person who could testify if +you were burned alive!” She lets fall a hint that sweet Emmeline is +trying bravely to struggle against her fate--at present! + +She gives Tom an outline of her history. She had been the idolised +daughter of a lovely slave, and educated in the most expensive manner +at a convent; but her father, before he could fulfil his intention +of freeing her, died of cholera; and she was _sold_ to a man, who +concealed from her that he had given two thousand dollars for her. +Imagining that she was his free choice, and he handsome, fond, and +indulgent, she lived a little while with him as in Paradise, and +had two children--a boy, _Henry_, and a girl, _Elise_. A cousin of +his caught sight of her, and resolved to possess her, succeeded +by shameful arts in alienating his affection from her, and then +persuading him to sell her, with her two children. He forced her, +recoiling from his embraces, to live with him, and sold off her two +idolised children. In a moment of frenzy----All she recollects is, +that “something snapped in her head--there was a great bowie-knife +gleaming on the table.... She caught it--flew upon him--all grew +dark, and she knew nothing more till she woke, long afterwards, +when she found that he had left her to be sold; and, to realise the +most from her, had secured her good attendance. As the fever left +her, “they made her get up and dress every day; and gentlemen used +to come in, and stand, and smoke their cigars, and look at me, and +ask questions, and debate my price!--They threatened to whip if I +were not gayer, and didn’t take pains to make myself agreeable.” She +was ultimately bought by a planter, a Captain Stuart; and the child +she had by him--so like her lost Henry!--when, two weeks old, she +kissed, cried over, and--poisoned with laudanum--“I held him close to +my heart, while he slept to death!” At length, Captain Stuart dies +of fever. “Everybody died that wanted to live; and I, that wanted +to die, _lived_” to be “sold, passed from hand to hand, till I grew +faded, wrinkled, had a fever--and--this wretch (Legree) bought me, +and--here I am!... In the judgment-day, I will stand up before God a +witness against them that have ruined me and my children, body and +soul!--When I was a girl, I thought I was religious. I used to love +God and prayer! Now, I’m a lost soul, pursued by devils that torment +me day and night. They keep pushing me on--and--I’ll do it, too, some +of these days!” she said, clenching her hand, while an insane light +gleamed in her heavy black eyes. + +Legree in his lair resembles a huge tiger. As painted by the author, +with graphic force,--sitting in his desolate apartment, drowning +reflection in brandy-and-water,--admitting Sambo and Quimbo to his +savage debauches,--and in their absence having his fierce bloodhounds +for his companions--(anything better than being alone)--it seems +wonderful that any human being could obtain over him any kind of +influence, and much less ascendancy; yet Cassy has, in spite of +himself, acquired--“the kind of influence which a strong impassioned +woman can ever keep on the most brutal man.” Of late, however, she +had become “more irritable and restless under the hideous yoke of her +servitude, and her irritability sometimes burst forth in the ravings +of insanity; and this liability made her an object of dread to +Legree, who had that superstitious horror of insane persons which is +common to coarse and uninstructed minds. When he brought Emmeline to +the house, all the smouldering embers of womanly feeling flashed up +in the exhausted heart of Cassy, and she took part with the girl.” + +One night, very late, she was gliding about unknown, and came to +the window of the room where he was wildly carousing with the +twin-fiends, Sambo and Quimbo. “She rested her small slender hand on +the window behind, and looked fixedly at them--a world of anguish, +scorn, and fierce bitterness in her black eyes,” as she saw them +“singing, whooping, upsetting chairs, and making all manner of +ludicrous and horrid grimaces at each other. ‘_Would it be a sin +to rid the world of such a wretch?_’ said she to herself.” Many +subsequent scenes in his career passing before us must more and more +have inclined Cassy to answer the fearful question in the negative; +as though it had shaped itself--“Is it any harm to kill a rattlesnake +that has located itself near your house?” + + ‘When he first bought her, Cassy was, indeed, a woman + delicately bred; and then he crushed her without scruple + beneath the hoof of his brutality. But as time, and + debasing influences, and despair, hardened womanhood + within her, and waked the fires of fiercer passions, she + had become, in a manner, his mistress; and he alternately + tyrannised over, and dreaded her. This influence had become + more harassing and decided, since partial insanity had + given a strange, weird, unsettled cast to all her language.’ + +In fact, her tormentor was on one occasion much nearer a ghastly +climax than he had any idea of; for she had drugged his brandy--left +him helpless--the back door unlocked--and then gone silently, at +midnight, to Tom, to tell him that the hour of liberty was at hand. + + ‘“I shall have it, Misse, in God’s time,” said he. + + “Ah, but you may have it to-night!” said Cassy, with a + flash of sudden energy. “Come on!” + + Tom hesitated. “Come!” she whispered, fixing her black eyes + on him. “He’s asleep--sound! an axe is there! I’ll show + you the way! I’d have done it myself--only my arms are so + weak! Come along!” + + “Not for ten thousand worlds, Misse!” said Tom firmly, + stopping, and holding her back.... He flings himself on the + floor, grasping her arms, imploring her for the love of God + to abstain. “We must suffer, and wait the Lord’s time!” + + “Wait!” said Cassy. “_Haven’t_ I waited? till my head is + dizzy, and my heart sick? What has he made me suffer? What + has he made hundreds of poor creatures suffer? Isn’t he + wringing the life blood out of you? I’m called on! I’m + called on! they call on me! His time’s come, and I’ll have + his heart’s blood!” + + “No! no! no!” exclaimed Tom, holding her small hands, which + were clasped with spasmodic violence.’ + +The slave triumphed, and saved the life of--his murderer. He +suggests to Cassy the attempt to escape, however desperate, “without +blood-guiltiness;” and while he is speaking to her, “there flashed +through her mind a plan so _simple_ and _feasible_ in all its +details, as to awaken an instant hope.” We suspect that our readers +will hardly be of her opinion. This was the nature of “the stratagem” +which had occurred to her. Legree was very superstitious; and it +is evident that some not very recent and barbarous murder of one +of his slaves had largely developed his superstitious fears, and +especially with reference to a particular apartment. Cassy, having +taken Emmeline into her counsels, resolves to terrify Legree with +the idea of this room being haunted, in order that, having a secret +access to it, she may, when the proper time arrives, make it her +safe and undisturbed retreat. She forthwith commences operations +by training Legree’s mind into a more and more terrified mood with +reference to this apartment, causing all sorts of strange, dismal, +unearthly noises to issue from it, ghosts to be seen gliding in white +out of it, and so forth. Thus far she succeeds; and having, in the +meanwhile, made up two little beds in a huge box in the dreaded room, +and provided food, candle-light, and clothes for their journey, she +puts her scheme in operation. Late in the evening, she and Emmeline +affect to make their escape, contriving to be seen in the act by +Legree; on which he gallops homeward--orders out Sambo and Quimbo, +and a posse of other willing myrmidons, and also the bloodhounds, +and away they start on their cruel and perhaps bloody errand. In the +meantime, the supposed fugitives have returned home unobserved, and +taken up their abode in the haunted chamber. There they listen to the +hunting party--men, horses, dogs--returning wearied and disappointed. +The next day the search is renewed, with the like ill success; and, +after a day or two’s seclusion in their hiding-place--near which +ghosts are seen to glide, and from which unearthly noises issue--the +adventurous pair start on their perilous journey--Cassy disguised +as a Creole Spanish lady, dressed entirely in black, and Emmeline +as her servant. She found no difficulty in assuming and sustaining +the character. “Brought up from early life in the highest society, +her language, air, and movements were all in accordance with it; +and she had still sufficient left of her once splendid wardrobe and +sets of jewels, to enable her to complete her personation. A small +black bonnet on her head, covered by a veil thick with embroidery, +concealed her face.” It was near sunrise when the two terrified and +breathless travellers paused, for a moment, in a little knot of +trees near the town. Having purchased a trunk in the outskirts, she +requested the seller to send it with her; and thus, escorted by a boy +wheeling her trunk, and Emmeline behind her carrying her carpet-bag +and sundry bundles, she made her appearance at a small tavern, like +a lady of consideration, and there encountered George Shelby, who, +with herself, was awaiting the arrival of the boat. He handed her +courteously to it, and provided her with a good state-room; but Cassy +found it expedient, on the plea of indisposition, to keep her room, +and her bed--sedulously attended, it may be imagined, by her maid +Emmeline--during the whole time they were on the Red River. Arrived +at the Mississippi, they entered the good steamboat _Cincinnati_. +How she disclosed herself to George Shelby, and became acquainted +with Madame de Thoux--how the latter proved to be Emily, the +long-lost sister of George Harris, and Cassy the mother of George’s +wife--somewhat compendious work, it must be owned--has been seen. It +was, in truth, as the author seems to have suspected, _rather_ “a +singular coincidence in their fortunes.” In due time they find their +way to Montreal, where George and Eliza had established themselves +in a neat tenement in the outskirts of the town, very happy and +contented, he having found constant occupation in the shop of a +worthy machinist. Cassy is now ending her days happily, “a devout and +tender Christian.” Emmeline continued with them; and, on her passage +to France, her beauty captivated the first mate of the vessel, +and, shortly after entering the port, she became his wife. Before, +however, this happy result has been effected, has occurred the +crowning act of the tragedy--the martyrdom of poor Tom; who, being +suspected by Legree of knowing of their escape, will not deny that he +was privy to it, but will afford him no information. On this Legree, +mortally infuriated, tells him that he “means to kill him”--“I’ve +made up my mind to kill you.” + +“‘It’s very likely, Mas’r!’ said Tom, calmly.” + +We shall spare our readers the frightful scene, as one of simple +butchery. One might as well describe, in detail, the slaughter of an +ox by the slaughterer and his two assistants. He is felled to the +ground by a blow of Legree, and Sambo and Quimbo flog him to death. +These two grim instruments of their master’s murderous vengeance are +filled with sudden remorse, when they shortly after revisit their +victim, and hear from him words of resignation and forgiveness. They +ask him “Who is _Jesus_, anyhow?” and on Tom, in a heavenly spirit, +telling them, they ask _Him_ for mercy. + +“Poor critturs!” said Tom, “I’d be willing to bar all I have, if +it’ll only bring you to Christ! O Lord! _give me these two more +souls, I pray!_” To very many of _our_ readers, these expressions +will appear somewhat forced and _peculiar_; whilst others may +recognise in them language with which poor Tom had become familiar +in those scenes of religious exercise to which, we are told, he had +been accustomed for four years before his introduction to the reader. +“‘Tom,’ said Mr Shelby to Haley, ‘is a good, steady, sensible, pious +fellow. He got religion _at a camp meeting_, four years ago; and +I believe he really _did_ get it. I have trusted him, since then, +with everything I have: money, house, horses--and let him come and +go round the country; and I always found him true and square in +everything.” If such results follow “camp meetings,” they might be +advantageously tried, and on a large scale, too, in this country. +Some little time afterwards occurs the interview between dying Tom +and young Mr Shelby, who had come to ransom him. + +“‘Who--who--who shall separate us from the love of Christ?’ he said, +in a voice that contended with mortal weakness; and with a smile he +fell asleep.” + +Regarded merely as a stroke of art, this closing scene may be +contemplated with qualified feelings; but we shall offer no remarks +upon what has evidently been conceived in a high religious, a +nobly human spirit, and executed with no little power. Viewed in +this light--and it ought to be viewed in no other, by a critic +who has seized the scope and entered into the spirit of his +author--objections to the development of Uncle Tom’s character melt +away. He is not drawn to meet the views, or satisfy the exacting +spirit of mere worldly persons, sickly novel-readers, or conceited +supercilious critics. No, Tom is conceived in a lofty spirit, and +adorned with all the meekness, the gentleness, the long-suffering, +which can be drawn from the inexhaustible sources of our holy +religion alone; he is set sublimely on a pinnacle to attract towards +his oppressed race, represented by his crushed and bleeding form, +the pitying eye of Christendom--to awaken, to encourage, to _warn_. +“Suffering is,” indeed, “the badge of all _their_ tribe;” and +Europe has felt it to be so more strongly and directly, since the +publication of this work, than it ever felt before. In the soft, +glorious sunlight of Christian sympathy, the blackness of our poor +brother’s skin--his skin torn with the incessant lash--disappears. +Uncle Tom is actuated by religious principles which _will not +admit_ of his speaking or doing otherwise than he is represented as +speaking and doing. His condition was that of _a slave_; it was a +very hard one often, but had not always been such; and he was on +the eve of escaping from it by lawful means, more than once, but +the will of Providence had decreed otherwise. The sudden death of +St Clare was permitted to consign unoffending Tom to the hideous +Legree. But is not such an occurrence frequent in God’s ordinary +all-wise, but inscrutable direction of human affairs? Presented to +us under the conditions dictated by the objects and purposes of Mrs +Stowe, how could she, without outraging propriety and defeating her +whole, her only, and righteous purpose, have represented him, for +instance, organising a revolt against the oppressor, in the course +of which he and his maddened fellow-sufferers would have imbrued +their hands in the blood of Legree? With Mrs Stowe’s proved powers +of description, and her mastery over the feelings, she could have +flashed before our eyes characters, scenes, and actions which only +St Domingo could have paralleled! Instead, however, of playing the +part of a mad incendiary, she has calmly and magnanimously addressed +herself to the tribunal of public opinion, to the sense of justice, +and of religion, by which all civilised mankind profess to be +guided. She solemnly appeals to “the whole American church, of all +denominations, unitedly to seek the entire abolition of slavery +throughout America and throughout Christendom.” To “every individual +Christian, who wishes to do something for the abolition of slavery,” +she says--“Begin by doing what lies in your power for the coloured +people in your vicinity.... The contest is to be carried on ‘with +love unfeigned’--‘through every degree of opposition and persecution, +a divine unprovokable spirit of love, which must finally conquer.... +We must love both the slaveholder and the slave, never forgetting +that both are our brethren.... We must use, as means, an earnest +application of all straightforward, honourable, and just measures, +for the removal of the system of slavery. Every man in his place +should remonstrate against it. All its sophistical arguments should +be answered, its biblical defences unmasked, by correct reasoning, +and interpretation. Every mother should teach the evil of it to +her children; every clergyman should fully and continually warn +his church against any complicity with such a sin.” _These_ are +the weapons, not carnal, but of holy temper, with which Mrs Stowe +would enter upon this warfare; and who shall rebuke her, and say +her Nay? Not _we_. We say to her, with a tender recollection that +it is a WOMAN of whom we are writing, All hail, thou impersonation +of Christian love and purity! Thou very genius of philanthropy! +Verily thou wilt _have thy reward_. Not merely in the praises of men, +though _they_ have been accorded already with an almost unanimous +and universal assent; but in the reflections of a chastened and +subdued--a warm, a loving, and devout spirit. + +Taken as a _literary_ whole, _Uncle Tom’s Cabin_ is a work standing +before the critical eye in large proportions, but somewhat +irregularly and inartificially disposed; exhibiting, here and +there, minor and easily removable marks of haste, and inexperienced +workmanship. It would have been easy to contrive incidents, and +that without deranging her general scheme, which would have kept +curiosity on the stretch from first to last, and secured a sort +of poetical justice which might have satisfied the minds of many +of her readers;--by dealing, for instance, with Marie St Clare, a +beautiful but venomous little reptile,--and the huge speckled monster +Legree,--in a spirit of retribution, making their own acts entail +upon them condign and appropriate punishment; but how could that +have aided the declared moral purpose of the writer? She has done +well, on the contrary, in representing a Haley, a Legree, a Marie St +Clare, as still--_cumbering the ground_, as so many of the centres of +innumerable circles of despotic barbarity. + +The main defect of the construction of her work as a “story”--for +such she terms it--is, its want of connectedness. The reader is +hurried incessantly from side to side of the dividing line between +the fortunes of Uncle Tom, and those of George and Eliza Harris, +with the episodical incidents depending on them; coming to each with +sympathies attuned to the _other_; which, again, as soon as they have +begun to be attracted to the new object, are suddenly dissociated, +to address themselves to the one which they had but recently quitted +so abruptly. + +With all its defects, however, this book is an instrument worthy +of contributing to effect a grand purpose, to attack and subvert A +SYSTEM: the only condition, in this view, being, that it is founded, +not upon exaggeration and misrepresentation, but upon TRUTH. The +moment that the work had attracted universal notice, it was obvious +that it must challenge attention to the point of--TRUE, or FALSE, in +its representations of the condition of American slavery. Mrs Stowe +has cheerfully accepted the challenge thrown out to her--accepted +it in a calm and temperate spirit, and with the resolute confidence +of one believing herself right. She formally consents to have her +book tried by the test proposed, always protesting that she has +painted slavery _as it is_--has done ample justice to large portions +of humane Southern slaveholders; but insisting that _that_ is no +answer to her case, which is, that the SYSTEM is one altogether +opposed to the spirit of Christianity, and subversive of the rights, +and destructive of the best interests, of man. It is one, she would +say, that tends to stamp out, in every newly-born slave, the noble +image of his Maker, to _depress him beneath the level of humanity_; +and it is no answer to this to assert, as is asserted by one of the +keenest and sternest of her opponents, that “the peculiar falsity +of the book consists in making _exceptional_ or impossible cases +the representatives of the system.”[12] To establish her great +_principle_, on the one hand, and to controvert by _evidence_, on the +other, the charge in point of fact, of having made the exception the +rule, she has published what she calls _A Key to Uncle Tom’s Cabin_, +which is, in fact, simply a series of _Proofs and Illustrations_ of +the truth of her representations. We have examined this _Key_ to the +_Cabin_ with some attention, and are of opinion that its alleged +_facts_ are such as must be _answered_; or those whose accusations +provoked its publication, will have succeeded in only placing a +professed Fiction upon the solid basis of Fact. No one who reads this +_Key_ will tolerate being simply told, that _Uncle Tom’s Cabin_ is +founded on falsehood. She quotes (evidently, and even avowedly,) +under the guidance of gentlemen of adequate experience and knowledge +of the subject, from the authentic records of judicial decision, +dealing with cases so appalling as, for a moment, even to make +one think Legree painted in colours less dark than he might have +been;--and also exhibits a vast mass of documents which cannot be +disposed of, but by counterproof. We, of course, can deal with such +statements but as we find them; knowing that they derive their value +from the trustworthiness of a conscientious writer, _conclusively +confirmed by the absence of substantial disproof_.--This volume, in +a word, we commend to the serious consideration of every reflecting +European and American reader of _Uncle Tom’s Cabin_. + +It were idle to class among these latter those who read simply to +indulge a spurious whimpering sentimentality, or to have a morbid +curiosity stimulated and inflamed by scenes of suffering and horror. +But the Christian statesman, the enlightened politician, in either +hemisphere, is bound, we think, to deal with the existence of this +book, and the extensive effects produced by it, as a signal FACT. +Great as are its literary merits, they are by no means sufficient, +of themselves, to account for the universal attention which it has +excited. It is because--to descend to a homely illustration--this +book has acted like the sudden flash of the policeman’s lantern +on a scene of secret midnight crime; it has painted in such vivid +colours a condition of humanity hidden from European observation, +as has attracted and fixed upon it the startled eyes of thinking +Europe--of a FREE Christian people. In vain is it to hang beside it +hasty recriminatory daubs of countervailing _white_ slavery, or of +the charms of slavery, as exhibited by a _quasi_ paradisaical state, +where such monsters as Legree, Mrs St Clare, Haley, Marks, and Tom +Loker, exist not. All such attempts have already proved, as might +have been anticipated, ridiculous failures, as far as they had been +designed to stultify and falsify _Uncle Tom’s Cabin_, and divert +from it the stern eye of public morality. How to deal with slavery +is a tremendous problem for enlightened Christian statesmanship. +It cannot tolerate the meddling of an unfortunate, impulsive, +unreasoning, unreflecting, however ardent and generous, so-called +humanity. True humanity, in this instance, consists in a sincere, +comprehensive, deliberate, and resolute effort to rouse the PUBLIC +OPINION of America on behalf of its slave population; and we believe +that that public opinion will ere long find--with more embarrassment +and danger the longer the discovery takes to be made--that slavery is +an ulcer, a foul spreading ulcer, eating its way, perilously, to the +very vitals of the body politic. + +_Will slavery--American slavery--will slavery at all--be in existence +on the earth, a century hence?_ It is a vast question, and we will +not presume to answer it. Perhaps our imaginary brother of the +twentieth century may read what is here being written by his brother +of the nineteenth, and applaud our caution. Slavery _may_ then have +become a thing of the past; or, in the fortunes of the world, in the +mysterious, sublime, and even then unaccomplished destiny of the +human race, that institution may still have its monstrous strangling +coils encircling large and helpless sections of the family of man. + +But if our shadowy brother of 1953 come to any other conclusions than +are favourable to the intelligence of us of 1853, in respect of our +reception of _Uncle Tom’s Cabin_, as Maga will doubtless be then in +flourishing existence, we look to our lineal successors, in our seat +of critical justice, to take up the cudgels for us, and vindicate our +opinions and cautious vaticinations. And, in the mean time, Harriet +Beecher Stowe, be it known a century hence, that we are ashamed of +neither yourself, nor our reception of your book; that one not of the +least important names of the present century is your own--already, +and though you should never write another book. We doubt, indeed, +whether you ever will do so--whether, at least, it will, or can be, +a great book; for this one embodies your life-long experiences, +heart-yearnings, and long-cherished thoughts. Your whole soul is +wrapped up in its single noble purpose; so, _Sis fœmina Unius Libri_. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] _Uncle Tom’s Cabin: A Picture of Slave Life in America._ By +HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. 1852. + +_The Key to Uncle Tom’s Cabin: Presenting the original Facts and +Documents upon which the Story is founded._ By HARRIET BEECHER STOWE, +author of _Uncle Tom’s Cabin_. 1853. + +[2] Here the MS. becomes unfortunately illegible for some lines. + +[3] Is this word a suggestion from good Mrs Stowe’s husband? + +[4] Topsy--an incomparable sketch--excited at first sight no +pleasureable sensations in good, starched Miss Ophelia. “Now, +Augustine (Mr St Clare), what upon earth is _this_ for? Your house +is so full of these little plagues already, that a body can’t set +their foot down without treading on ’em! I get up in the morning, I +find one asleep behind the door, see one black head poking out from +under the table, one lying on the door-mat; and they are mopping, and +mowing, and grinning between all the railings, and tumbling over the +kitchen floor! What on earth did you want to bring _this_ one for?” + +“For you _to educate_--didn’t I tell you? You’re always preaching +about educating. I thought _I would make you a present of a +fresh-caught specimen_, and let you try your hand on her, and bring +her up in the way she should go!... The fact is, this concern (!) +belonged to a couple of drunken creatures, that kept a low restaurant +which I have to pass every day, and I am tired of hearing her +screaming, and them beating and swearing at her. She looked bright +and funny, too, as if something might be made of her; so _I bought +her_ (!) and I’ll give her to you. Try, now--and give her a good +orthodox New England bringing up, and see what it’ll make of her!” + +“Well--I’ll do what I can,” said Miss Ophelia; and she approached her +new subject, very much as a person might be supposed to approach a +black spider--supposing him to have benevolent designs towards it! + +[5] _New York Courier_, Nov. 5, 1852. Quoted, _Key_, p. 97. + +[6] “I mean to ask him _to_.” This is a form of expression +continually occurring in this work. It is also one used by the +vulgar in this country; but Mrs Stowe puts it into the mouths alike +of educated and uneducated--black and white. We might notice many +analogous vulgarisms in at least English eyes, but the critic is +disposed heartily to act on the principle-- + +“Verum ubi plura nitent ... non ego paucis Offendar maculis.” + +[7] Mrs Stowe is evidently very anxious to ingratiate her favourite +hero with her readers--and perhaps with young ladies she may +succeed--by constantly dwelling on his “large, blue, flashing +eyes”--“large, melancholy, blue eyes”--“his _fine face_, classic +as that of a Greek statue”--and so forth; but sterner touches are +requisite to make him a _manly_ hero. It seems also somewhat odd +to see him “sitting on the floor, and laying his head back in Miss +Ophelia’s lap”--who lays her “hand on his forehead”--he saying to +her, “Don’t _take on_, so awfully serious!” + +[8] “Her theological tenets were all made up, labelled in the most +positive and distinct forms, and put by, like the bundles in her +patch trunk; there were just so many of them, and there were never to +be any more. Underlaying all, deeper than anything else, higher and +broader, lay the strongest principle of her being--conscientiousness. +_Nowhere is conscience so dominant and all-absorbing as with New +England women._” [Bless them!] “It is the granite formation which +lies deepest, and rises out, even to the tops of the highest +mountains.” This last we suspect to be a touch of her relative--The +“Professor!” + +[9] Here, however, is an exquisite touch. When Eva can no longer +walk, Tom carried her; and on one occasion her father seeks to +perform that office. “Oh, papa! let Tom take me! Poor fellow, it +pleases him; and you know, _it’s all he can do_, and he wants to do +something!” + +“So do I, Eva--.” + +“Well, papa, you can do everything, and are everything to me. You +read to me,--you sit up at nights; but Tom _has only this_ one thing, +and his singing!” + +[10] The next sentence in the text is a striking instance of the +superfluous and even irritating habit of Mrs Stowe already alluded +to. As if she had not painted so vividly as to touch the most stolid +feelings, she adds--“It was a curious mixture of the pathetic and +the ludicrous--the little old stocking, black crape, text-book, fair +soft curl, and Topsy’s utter distress.” Surely this is writing under +the picture of a horse--“This is a horse: do you see its hair, head, +neck, body, legs, hoofs, and tail? And it has eyes and nostrils!” + +[11] The luckless girl bore her own penal letter-missive--“An order, +written in Mrs St Clare’s _delicate Italian hand_, to the master of a +whipping establishment, to give the bearer fifteen lashes!” and this +for only a hastily-uttered saucy expression! + +[12] See the _New York Enquirer_, Nov. 5, 1852. _Key_, 97. + + + + + RIGHT DIVINE. + + + [No state of things can subsist without the Divine + permission. It is therefore obviously true how “the powers + that be” must be “ordained of God.” + + Yet truth is polygonous, and the Locke theory may be also + true. All existing and operating governments, of whatever + form, may be and work by Divine appointment, and yet + receive their authority by delegation from the People,[13] + that is, from the free Society at large. + + But the case may arise (as we have a remarkable instance + in California) where a mass of civilised men go forth in + complete maturity, and in perfect independence of the + mother country; carrying only so much of the government as + is contained in certain maxims and general principles which + they have imbibed with their mother’s milk. We see at once + that they would choose for themselves whether they would + rub on under the auspices of Justice Lynch, or depute a + corporation of some sort to take the management of their + affairs. Now, as it is clearly the affair of society that + John should not encroach upon Thomas’s diggings, or Thomas + put John to a violent death for his aggressions, some + consultation, like the following, will sooner or later have + to be held.] + + + SCENE.--THE CAPITAL OF “WHAT NOT.” + + Persons--JOHN, THOMAS, EXECUTIVE, and CHORUS. _Thirty-two. + _ Varlets--MUTE PERSONS. + + JOHN.--O great Executive, be good as great, + And save me from that brutal ruffian Thomas. + + THOMAS.--Hold, sir! no names; remember where you are: + I hoped you’d had enough of that before. + + EXECUTIVE.--Nay, gentlemen, this is unseemly. + + CHORUS.-- Very; + ’Twere well if John and Thomas did not fight! + + EX.--Well, good my masters, what am I to do? + I fain would help you; but I seem to lack + The means of action: how provide you now? + + J. (_whimpering_).--I keep a dozen cudgel-men. + + E. (_to Thomas_).--And you? + + T.--A score. + + E.--Heyday! why, this must cost you something: + But I presume it answers? + + C.-- Does it though? + Lord bless your worship; Thomas and his men + Rob, beat, and laugh at John; who’d do the same + Had he the power: and, indeed, I’ve heard + That John intends to keep ten other varlets; + And, O that Tom and Jack would cease to fight! + + E.--Why, so they may, if you will but be calm; + Let each man pay a trifle--scarce worth naming-- + And _I_ will keep a thousand cudgel-men. + + C.--Apapai! this is downright Beadledom. + + E.--My thousand varlets shall protect you all; + Each man shall have his thousand--all and each. + + C.--I see; but recollect yourself, my friend; + This were a standing army; don’t you see? + + J.--Ay, recollect yourself, good sir, you are our servant, + And hold your office only at our pleasure. + + T.--Ay, marry, do you; and if we should find + That we grow weary of you, or see cause + To wish you changed, pray, how will this be done, + You, with your thousand knaves? Answer me that. + + C.--Answer me that. + + J.-- I pause for a reply. + + E.--Dear masters mine, a little patience, pray: + If you would change me, it can still be done: + You are a million; and my thousand knaves, + What would they do against you? + + J.-- Out, you fox! + Your thousand knaves, with discipline and arms, + Will beat ten thousand peaceful men like me. + + E. (_blandly_).--O! gentlemen, it must be as you please, + For, after all, the affair is yours, not mine; + Even _with_ constables, I do not seek + The task of ruling spirits such as you. + + C.--O me! how John and Thomas will dispute! + This must not be: come, list to me, my boys; + Hark to me, Thomas; John, a word i’ your ear: + Our friend is right, as usual; his stout knaves + May beat ten thousand of us;--that’s a warning + That we must not attack him (_aside_) with that force. + + (_Aloud_).--You pay a tithe of what your fellows cost you, + And waive the privilege of private war, + A right that wrongs me foully; those he keeps + Will see fair play between you; he, no doubt, + Will use his power most justly. + + [EXECUTIVE bows to each of them, and exit in a state of + edifying meekness. Loud cheers from JOHN and THOMAS.] + + CH. (_proceeds_).--Should he not, + So help me, Hookey Walker, he shall rue it; + The wiser sort will grieve and bide their time; + And fools will raise their thousands, eight or nine; + And our friend’s arm shall crush them; if the time, + The melancholy time, should come, when Fate, grown sick + Of his vagaries, shall have spun his thread, + Some twelve or fourteen thousands will be found + To work the righteous sentence; he will fall; + Vox Populi Vox Dei; and the Rights + Of kings and constables are both divine. + + _Tableau._--JOHN and THOMAS stand apart, in thoughtful + attitudes, their respective followers having gone to seek + employment under the new system. The CHORUS stands pensive, + but firm, in the centre of the stage. Scene closes. + + H. G. K. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[13] Populus, not Plebs. These terms are often confounded, by the use +of a word which may be said to be the translation of either. I do not +here object to a nation’s being all Plebs, but protest against this +reading when it is not. + + + + +LADY LEE’S WIDOWHOOD. + + +PART X.--CHAP. XLVII. + +“You seem so much better to-day,” said Mr Payne next morning to Mr +Levitt, “that I think I shall leave you alone with the Captain, and +go down to Larches, where I have not paid my customary visit for a +couple of weeks past.” + +“By all means,” said the invalid; “I should like to go with you if +I could. I’ve a little curiosity to see that young lady of yours” +(which Mr Payne knew to signify that his friend felt a warm interest +in Orelia, though he had never seen her since she was a child). +“She’s handsome, you say?” + +“Really,” said Mr Payne, “making due deduction for a parent’s +partiality, I should say you wouldn’t often see a finer young woman.” + +“And accomplished too!--and high spirited. Payne, do you know, I wish +you’d take Durham down with you. I’m quite well enough to do without +anybody now.” + +“To be sure,” said Mr Payne; “if you think you can spare him, I shall +be delighted. ’Twill do Orelia good, too, for she, and a friend of +hers, who is staying with her, seem to me to be falling into a sort +of religious melancholy; and, to tell you the truth, it has caused me +a good deal of anxiety.” + +“And if--if the two should take a fancy to each other--Payne, +I needn’t say that my heir would lose nothing in my estimation +with your daughter for a wife. I once indulged in some little +castle-building of that kind, of which Durham was not the hero.” + +“Ah, we won’t speak of that now, my dear friend,” said Mr Payne +hastily. “I’ll go at once, and ask the Captain to join me.” + +Accordingly, he went off to propose the visit to Durham. + +“It needn’t be dull for you,” said Mr Payne, “even if you shouldn’t +succeed in finding Langley. Besides my daughter there’s a friend of +hers, a very charming person, whom I think you must know--Lady Lee.” + +Fane answered shortly and stiffly that he had that pleasure. + +“Come,” said Mr Payne, “this is fortunate. We’ll start after lunch, +and get down to Larches by dinner-time. Frewenham is just fifty miles +from here.” + +Fane agreed. Since finding out that Orelia lived near Frewenham, +he divined at once why Langley’s steps should be drawn in that +direction, and made sure of finding him there. Accordingly, after +lunch, they set off, and repaired in Mr Levitt’s carriage to the +railway, which took them the greater part of their journey. + +Fane was but a silent companion. He was about, then, to see Lady +Lee again--to be under the same roof with her; that was the text +on which his thoughts discoursed. Was it not foolhardy to run into +the dangerous proximity?--to expose himself to the influence of +charms which could never be his? On the other hand, would it not be +mere weakness to avoid it? Why should he permit his movements to be +governed, his feelings played upon, by a woman who had preferred +another to him?--who was probably awaiting but the expiration of her +period of mourning to be the wife of another--of a man he despised. +Besides, he had some curiosity to see how she would receive and treat +him. Yes, that was it! Curiosity was the feeling that made him wish +to see her again. + +And Fane, though as sensible a fellow as you would be likely to meet, +and by no means given to self-deception, really persuaded himself +that his anxiety once more to behold Lady Lee proceeded entirely +from curiosity. If he had a lurking doubt about that, there were +plenty of other plausible reasons to satisfy his conscience; for, +even admitting curiosity to be too trivial a feeling to cause him +to accept Mr Payne’s invitation, yet how could he help accompanying +him? Mr Payne was such an old friend of his uncle’s--and his uncle +wished it too; and then he should be glad to see Orelia again--he +had a great regard for Orelia! Above all, there was the prospect of +securing his cousin Langley--oh, there were reasons enough why he +should be anxious and eager for the termination of the journey, quite +independent of the prospect of seeing Lady Lee. Moreover, there was +nothing he despised so much as a man who would give a second thought +to a woman after he had ascertained that she didn’t care for him. + +Didn’t care for him!--here he left arguing, and branched off into +recollections--such as he had a thousand times before banished, and +resolved to have done with for ever. Was her treatment of him, at +one time, that of a woman who didn’t care for him? Was she a likely +person to be guilty of setting traps for a man just to feed her +vanity? Wasn’t she the reverse of everything hollow, trifling, and +insincere? These questions resulted in the satisfactory and novel +general axiom that women were unaccountable beings, and as changeable +as the moon. + +They had quitted the railway at Frewenham, and Fane stood at the door +of the principal hotel awaiting the harnessing of a horse to the gig +which was to convey them to Larches (which operation Mr Payne was +superintending), when he felt a hand laid gently on his arm, and a +voice said, “Bless me, Captain Fane, is that you? Who’d have thought +it!” + +Fane turned and beheld Miss Fillett. Kitty was dressed in +sober-coloured and sober-cut garments, very different from the +coquettish array in which she had been accustomed, when Fane last saw +her, to go flirting about the precincts of the Heronry. Her very face +seemed to have lost its pert expression; at least, if not quite lost, +it was driven to lurk in the corners of her mouth and eyes. Beside +her walked a youth of about fourteen, in whose features might be +traced a strong family likeness to Kitty. + +“How d’ye do, Kitty? You’ve come here with your lady, have you?” said +Fane. + +“This is my nittive place,” answered Miss Fillett. “I’m living with +my own femily, though I do see my lady and Miss Payne from time to +time. My lady took me from here when she married. This is my brother, +Captain,” looking at the youth at her side. “Go on, Thomas,” she +said to this relative, “and wait for me at the meeting-house door; +and mind you have nothink to say to them depraved boys that’s always +playing marbles there.” + +Thomas departed. “Why, goodness gracious, Captain, what bekim of you +that time you left us so suddin?” said Kitty, coming close up to +Fane, and speaking in a low earnest tone. “There was certain persons +fretted after you, I can tell you.” + +Fane felt his colour rise in spite of himself. “I suspect you’re +mistaken, Kitty,” he said, affecting to laugh. + +“To go off in that hasty way, without so much as saying good-by,” +Kitty went on, “and when there was persins, perhaps, wishing to +see you, if ’twas only to bid farewell--’twasn’t quite the thing, +Captain.” + +“Perhaps not, Kitty,” said the Captain, “but we can’t always do what +we wish, you know.” + +“No,” said Kitty, “Hevin knows we can’t--in particular, when our +wish is to do what is right. I’ve wanted to see you this long time, +Captain Fane, about a matter in which I’ve took blame to myself. Ever +since the loss of dear Master Juley, which my lady never will forgive +me, though I’d have laid down my life for him, Hevin knows, Captain, +my conscience have pricked me”-- + +Kitty stopt suddenly as she looked up the street. Fane’s eyes +following the direction of hers, he beheld a man in black advancing +on the opposite side of the way. His face hung down over his white +neckcloth; so that, in order to look round him, his eyes, which were +of a leaden colour, were forced to peer in a stealthy stare from +under his thick black eyebrows. His depressed nose, and his advancing +lips, rounding smugly and smilingly over the teeth, gave him some +resemblance to a sheep or goat. + +“’Tis the Rev. Mr Fallalove,” said Kitty, “the minister of our +chapel. O, what will he think of me talking to you, sir! I’ll meet +you, sir,” added Kitty, in a rapid under-tone, “outside the town, on +the road to Larches, at ten o’clock to-morrow morning. I’ve really +got something to tell you, sir--something you’d give a good deal, +perhaps, to know.” Fane promised to come--and Kitty, dropping a +demure curtsey, walked away to greet the Rev. Mr Fallalove; while Mr +Payne appearing with the gig, he and Fane drove off to Larches. + +“Go on and announce yourself, while I take my coat off,” said Mr +Payne to Fane, standing in the lobby at Larches--“through the +drawing-room’s your way.” + +Fane advanced--the door of the dining-room was open, and he paused, +looking at its occupants, who, taking his step for that of a servant, +did not look towards him. + +Orelia, the queenly Orelia, seated at the head of the table, was +eating her soup with her usual lofty composure. She was worth more +attention than Fane bestowed on her, for his gaze never rested on +her, nor on the martyr Priscilla, whose face was swathed up like a +mummy’s, but who smiled, nevertheless, in spite of her teeth. He was +altogether absorbed in the contemplation of Lady Lee, who sat at the +foot of the table, her soup untouched, her cheek resting on her hand, +her look turned aside towards a small foot which peeped from beneath +her black dress. + +How long he might have so stood is uncertain; but Mr Payne’s +advancing step and voice now caused them all to look up, and they saw +Fane standing in the doorway. Lady Lee visibly started; her bosom +and shoulders gave one quick heave, and her colour flushed up for a +moment. Orelia’s spoon stopped on its way to her mouth--she calmly +laid it down, and rose to receive her visitors. + +Fane, acting up to his principle that it would be mere weakness to +allow himself to show any feeling beyond strict civility towards +her ladyship, rather, as is customary in such cases, overdid his +part, and threw such an extreme amount of indifference into his +salutation, that the warmth with which she came forward to meet him +was dissipated in a moment. Chilled and hurt, she resumed her seat in +silence. + +Fane, supporting his character of chance and uninterested visitor +with great success, conversed fluently on a variety of topics, +though it would have puzzled him to remember his own remarks half +an hour after. It was one of the few occasions in his life when he +had acted a part, and he, of course, overacted it. He was pointedly +amusing to Orelia; he listened with great attention to the inanities +of Priscilla, lending the most courteous ear to a protracted account +of her toothache; but when Lady Lee spoke, which only happened +once or twice, though her voice made his heart beat, he manifested +no consciousness of her presence. Once or twice, addressing some +trivial remark to her, he caught her eyes fixed on him with a look of +sorrowful surprise, but they were immediately averted. + +Mr Payne did not find Fane more sociable, when the ladies left them +to their wine, than he had on the journey. At tea with the ladies +he resumed his former demeanour; and afterwards Orelia, thinking to +do him and Hester a kindness, set her father and Priscilla down to +double dummy, in a remote corner, and sat by the card-table herself. + +Fane felt rather awkward, and glanced at Lady Lee, who was reading. +Presently he found himself approaching her--not that he would have +owned himself impelled to take that course--not at all; he set +it all down to civility--he couldn’t leave her sitting there by +herself, you know. But he would be very guarded; he would try to hit +the line between the confidence of friends and the reserve of new +acquaintances, so that his present demeanour might blend harmoniously +into their ancient intimacy on the one hand, and the distant civility +that was to exist between them in future, on the other. + +Lady Lee did not seem so absorbed in her book as not to notice his +approach; for though she did not look round, she coloured a little, +and tremulously turned over two leaves at once, without discovering +the gap thus left in the narrative. She laid the volume down when he +took a seat near and addressed her. + +“This must be a pleasant place of your friend’s when the flowers are +in bloom,” said Fane. + +“Very.” + +“No doubt you feel quite at home here.” + +“Certainly; the happiest years of my life were spent here.” + +“I trust,” said Fane, “they may soon lose the distinction of being +the happiest.” + +“That is very unlikely,”--(with a sigh.) + +A pause. Strange to say, the thought that Lady Lee had no happiness +immediately in store for her, did not altogether displease Fane. + +“Happiness often takes us unawares,” said Fane; “and,” he added, +“another of its peculiarities, as we all know, is to slip from us +as we prepare to close our grasp on it. Most of us experience much +oftener its elusive power than its pleasant surprises.” + +“Yours used to be a more cheerful philosophy,” said Lady Lee. “I +remember, in one of our last conversations, you denounced those views +of life which are tinged with complaint or despondency, as unmanly +and untrue.” + +“I suspect our philosophy comes more from without than within,” he +said; “and we preach hope or cynicism as we happen to be prosperous +or disappointed.” + +“I should regret,” said Lady Lee, in a low tone, “to hear that you +had any real cause for such a change.” + +“Our opinions as to what might or might not be a real cause would +possibly differ,” returned Fane. “Of course, if one has bound up +one’s happiness in some ideal which turns out to be a delusion, there +is perhaps no one to blame but one’s-self. I say perhaps, because the +deception may have been so complete as to excuse the credulity; but, +at any rate, one must not then find fault with views of life which +others, more fortunate, are justified in adhering to.” + +“It must be a weaker belief in good than I had fancied Captain Fane’s +to be, which a single error can shake,” said Lady Lee. + +“But if the error is so important as to upset all calculation,” +said Fane. “If I have been all my life----. But I will not talk of +myself,” he said, breaking off, as he perceived how near dangerous +ground he was treading. “What is the book you are reading?” + +“It has a radical fault in your eyes,” said Lady Lee; “it is written +by a woman.” + +“Ah!” said Fane, “I remember I used to think it a kind of desecration +for a woman to confide her sentiments to the world; and the finer +the sentiments, the more it seemed to me a pity that they should +ever be blown on by the rude breath of the public. If she must write +them, let her write them in her journal, or her letters to a chosen +few--perhaps a chosen one; but to trot her feelings out, to show the +form and paces of her mind to cold-eyed critics and gaping fools, I +would as soon see the woman I loved capering in the scantiest gauze +at the opera. So I used to say.” + +“Used to say!” said Lady Lee. “Are your opinions on this point +changing too?” + +“Yes,” said Fane, with a good deal of unconscious bitterness in +his tone--“yes; I begin to think that if a woman’s sentiments do +not influence her life in its chief actions, it is of no great +consequence what becomes of them; let her trumpet them in the +marketplace, if she likes, after the manner of a proclamation. I +don’t mean to say they should be always manifesting themselves +in every petty action, but they should colour her existence, and +influence its main outlines. But if these sentiments and feelings +would never have found expression at all if not in writing--if, by +presenting them to the public, she is robbing her daily life of no +delicate tint--then my objections to female authorship are gone; +but with them is also gone some of my belief in the excellence of +feminine nature.” + +Can he have left Doddington on some love enterprise, and been +disappointed? whispered Lady Lee’s heart; or can the sharpness of +his tone be meant for me? A dim thought that he might be alluding to +her marriage with Sir Joseph crossed her mind. Poor woman! no wonder +she was puzzled; she could not see the handsome, self-complacent, +coxcombical image of Sloperton, which to Fane’s fancy sat between +them, like Banquo’s ghost, and seemed to push him from his stool. + +“Perhaps,” she said presently--“perhaps you are on principle getting +rid of some of the tenets of your former faith, stripping yourself, +that you may be the lighter to run the race of ambition; for you +never denied you were ambitious, you know.” + +“I never did,” said Fane; “but I do now. For do but consider, Lady +Lee, if my faith in my ideals has vanished, if the companionship and +reflected interest which these give to a man’s efforts are no longer +among his prospects, where is he to look for the stimulus and reward +of ambition?” + +“You show a dreary picture,” said Lady Lee, with an unconscious sigh; +“but then ambition is a dreary thing, and does not seem, in general, +to look for sympathy as its reward.” + +“True,” said Fane; “and when I see men long past their youth +joining in the contest for fame, I always ask myself where lies +their inducement?--Not in love, for they have outlived it--not in +friendship, for they reject it--not even in applause, for to that +they seem not to listen. They seem actuated by an insane desire to +climb to a barren eminence, and there die. For my own part, I could +not value nor wish for fame, unless I could read it focussed and +reflected in ----. But I will not trouble you with my abandoned +aspirations and opinions; I leave them, with my other theories, to +some one who has not yet discovered that he is a dreamer of dreams.” + +Fane imagined that he had conducted the conversation so as to show +perfect indifference and independence. It never occurred to him that +he would not have talked thus, nor on such subjects, to a woman he +did not care about. + +When Lady Lee went to her room that night, Orelia followed her, and, +sitting down by her side on the sofa at the foot of the bed, looked +inquiringly into her eyes. Lady Lee knew what she meant, but, having +nothing to say, said nothing. She only turned away and sighed; and +Orelia, kissing her forehead, bid her good night. + +Ah, if Fane could have afterwards seen Lady Lee whispering her sorrow +to her pillow in the watches of the night, what a pebble he must +have been had he not run to comfort her. But he couldn’t see her, +for there was a solid wall separating her room from the one where he +strode to and fro musingly. + +If it is hard for two, who would gladly give up all and everything +for each other, to find inseparable obstacles interposed between +them, must it not be the devil’s spite for them to discover, perhaps +in the next world, that they were divided in this one by some merely +imaginary bar--some difference that a word would have dissipated? + + +CHAPTER XLVIII. + +Fane was angry with himself next morning to perceive how anxiously +he looked for Lady Lee’s entrance to the breakfast-room. He looked +in vain, however; she breakfasted in her own room; and when the +meal was finished, he set off, without having seen her, to keep his +appointment with Miss Fillett. + +Kitty was lingering about a milestone when Fane came up, and, +appearing in great distress lest any one should see her talking to +him, she got over a stile when she saw him coming, and walked along a +bypath. + +Kitty’s conscience had, as she said, smitten her since the loss of +Julius for the share which she had taken in Bagot’s schemes, and she +now, as soon as Fane reached her, began, with much circumlocutory +penitence, to hint at what she called her lady’s parshality for +Fane--told what she knew of the Colonel’s design on Sloperton, and +how she had helped to forward it--mentioned the circumstances which +gave Bagot his power over Lady Lee--and, lastly, described the final +exit which Sloperton had made in apparent discomfiture from the +Heronry. She naturally took some pains to excuse her own complicity, +but she might have spared them; Fane attended to, and cared for, +nothing but the leading facts, which showed him how he had been +imposed on; and when she stopt, he actually caught Kitty round the +neck and kissed her. + +“Good Hevins, Captain!” said Miss Fillett, who, probably from +surprise, had submitted quietly to the salute, “why, I never! ain’t +you ashamed? Do behave, sir!” + +“’Twas a kiss of pure gratitude,” said Fane, “and might have been +given by a hermit to a saint, Kitty. I shall always look on you as a +benefactor.” + +“And--and--you’ll speak to my lady for me, sir?” said Kitty. + +“To be sure I will,” said Fane, “only you mustn’t intrigue any more +with the Colonel,” he added, laughing. + +He was hastening off, when he suddenly remembered that he had +intended to ask Kitty if she had seen anything of the dragoon Onslow +in Frewenham, and hurried back to put the question. + +In reply, Miss Fillett dived down into her pocket, and extracting +therefrom a yellow printed paper, she unfolded it, smoothed out the +creases against her knee, and gave it to Fane. + +It was a playbill, and announced, under the special patronage of the +mayor and corporation of Frewenham, Sheridan’s comedy of the Rivals +for that night. + +“Well, Kitty, what has this to do with the matter?” asked Fane. Kitty +pointed to the list of _dramatis personæ_. + +“‘_Sir Anthony Absolute_--Mr Cavendish,’” Fane read. “‘_Captain +Absolute_--Mr Onslow.’ What, he’s gone on the stage, then!” Fane +paused to consider. He had plenty to occupy him that morning; it +must have been very urgent business indeed that would keep him that +morning away from Larches; he could see his cousin as well at night, +as now--yes; he would go to the play, see him act, and discover +himself afterwards. + +“I knew him the minute I set eyes on him,” said Kitty, “for all he +have shaved off his mustache. They say he acts beautiful--and I must +own to a sinful wish to see him. But plays,” added Kitty piously, “is +vanity.” + +“Come to-night, Kitty,” said Fane, dropping his purse into the pocket +of her apron; “perhaps we may have occasion for a little more talk +together, since you seem to know so much of what’s been going on at +the Heronry, and I can’t spare a moment to hear it now. Come by all +means, Kitty, and I’ll promise you absolution,” and he once more +quitted her, going back at his swiftest pace to Larches; while Miss +Fillett, after a short struggle with herself, determined to see +Onslow act that night, let the Rev. Mr Fallalove and Co. say what +they might about it. + +Fane entered the drawing-room at Larches, just as Lady Lee was going +out by another door. She turned a pale tearful face towards him, and +was going to give him a distant salutation, when the slight movement +was arrested, and the expression changed to one of surprise, as he +hurried up and seized her hand. + +“I have a long explanation to give,” he said, “and then I think you +will forgive me. But first let me say what has been on my mind for +this long time,” which he did in three words. + +Lady Lee did not carry out her original intention of quitting the +room; in fact, she forgot it altogether. She allowed him to lead +her to a seat, and listened with deep attention. Fane had a turn +for arrangement, and therefore (after the compendious preamble +or overture of three words above-mentioned) he began his tale at +the beginning. He told Lady Lee, with a degree of eloquence that +altogether astonished himself, how he had first admired, secondly +loved her; how her seemingly capricious treatment of him had caused +him to alternate between hope and despair--and of his interview with +Josiah; and to all this her ladyship listened with the sweetest +patience, her eyes being sometimes downcast, sometimes fixed on Fane. +But when he told her of the consent which Sloperton had procured and +exhibited to him, patience gave way to indignation; her eyes, neither +downcast nor fixed on Fane, sparkled with anger, which was presently +quenched in tears. This stage passed, he told of his dreary existence +since, and of his efforts to forget her--of the cause of his coming +to Larches, involving the episode of his cousin Langley and Orelia; +and wound up his epic by swearing he was now the happiest rascal in +existence, and kissing her ladyship’s hand. + +She, too, had a little tale to tell--of her unhappiness and +anxiety--her futile attempts to account for his sudden departure +and continued absence; and it is really enough to make one ashamed +of one’s species, and to cause one to believe in Rochefoucault, +Thackeray, and other cynic philosophers, to know that Fane listened +to this account of her woes with positive pleasure, and was raised +to a state bordering on rapture at hearing that the night before had +been passed by her in sleeplessness and tears. + +They got no farther than this before lunch; but Orelia, seeing at a +glance how things were going, left them alone together after that +meal--and the conclusion they arrived at before dinner was this, +that after an interval granted to Hester’s sorrow, they should be +married--with Bagot’s consent, if that were obtainable by purchase, +or otherwise--if not, they would be married without it, and let him +do his worst. + + +CHAPTER XLIX. + +That building which in Frewenham was now devoted to the drama, bore, +in general, but little resemblance to a theatre. It was a long narrow +room enclosed by four isolated walls, and had been built by an +enterprising master-mason as a speculation. It was the public room of +Frewenham. Here balls took place; here lectures were delivered; here +public meetings were held. It served all sorts of opposite purposes; +and here--where only a few days before an enthusiastic missionary +had collected plates-ful of money from the devout inhabitants of +Frewenham in aid of a project for convincing the Kaffirs, by the +power of moral reasoning, of the advantages of universal peace and +brotherhood, and subsequently forming them into a great South African +Tee-total Society--here such of the pleasure-loving portion of the +townsfolk as could command the price of admission, were now assembled +to witness Sheridan’s comedy. + +One end of this room was divided from the rest, partly by a painted +wooden partition, which stretched across the ceiling and down the +sides, partly by a green baize curtain in the centre of it. In front +of the curtain flared and smoked a row of footlights, diffusing an +odour suggestive at once of train-oil and boiled mutton. + +The stage being on the ground-floor, there was no pit, properly so +called--a row of forms, at a few feet from the footlights, evidently +represented the boxes, inasmuch as their occupants paid highest for +their seats; but this was the only advantage they possessed over the +pit and gallery behind them, except that the vapour of the footlights +was there inhaled in greater freshness and perfection. The orchestra +was raised on one side of the boxes, and consisted of a violoncello, +a serpent, and two fiddles, all belonging to the county militia. +The musicians were perfectly well known to the audience, which was +a great comfort to those impatient persons in the gallery, who had +stormed the door and rushed in about an hour and a half before the +play commenced, for they were enabled to relieve their otherwise +painful suspense by calling to them by name for favourite airs, and +making them the subjects of many playful allusions. “Rub your elbow +with the rosin, Jim,” shouted a wag to the leader of the band, who +was preparing his violin-bow with that substance; “there was too much +rheumatism in that last tune.” “Your serpent’s got a hoaze, Biffin,” +cried another, to the performer on that wind instrument: “put him +in ’ot flannel when you go home, and don’t bring him out no more o’ +nights.” “Cherry ripe!” shouted a chorus of voices. “Music, play +up!” “Polly, put the kettle on!” demanded an opposition chorus--and +faction ran so high between the adverse connoisseurs, that, when +the music struck up, nobody knew what they were playing--while the +gallery, with its darkness visible, and the confusion that reigned +in its obscurest nooks, where the choice spirits had collected, +presented the aspect of an amiable pandemonium, till the rising of +the curtain produced an instantaneous calm. + +Fane had entered early, and stood leaning against the wall watching +the entry of the spectators, who gradually filled the house. The +green baize on the seats in the boxes became invisible foot by foot, +as careful fathers and matrons selected good points of view for +themselves and offspring--as a young ladies’ school entered in a +body, and with demureness, relieved by private titters under each +other’s bonnets, ranged themselves in order--as gay bachelors, who +had been chatting with female acquaintances at a distance, rushed to +secure their places. Cheerfulness and expectation prevailed; but the +person among all the audience, whose feelings Fane envied most, was a +sharp-looking little boy, in a red frock with black specks on it, and +a magnificent feathered hat, who came in with his papa and brothers, +and, being placed on his feet in the front row, gazed round him with +intense delight. Fane remembered that the last time he had been in +such a place he was about that age and size, and he knew that the +scene was, to that little boy, the most charming spot on earth; that +he had dreamt of it for two or three previous nights, at least--that +the smell of the footlights was a sweet savour in his nostrils, +the noise in the gallery solemn music in his ears--the whole place +paradise--and that he would watch the progress of the drama with +breathless interest, and most uncriticising faith. There was an elder +brother of his, too, who appeared, probably for the first time in his +life, in Wellington boots and a shirt-collar, to his great pride and +discomfort; and Fane guessed with considerable correctness that this +youth would conceive an ardent and respectful passion for the lady +who did Lydia Languish. + +Presently, as the place began to fill, a stout gentleman stood up and +blew his nose like a trumpet, and, after replacing his handkerchief +with much ceremony in his pocket, gazed round him with great +sternness and dignity. He was evidently a man of the first importance +in a civic point of view--his bunch of seals was massive, his hair +was brushed ferociously up from his forehead, and his shirt-collars +appeared to be cutting his ears off. As the noise in the gallery +increased, he lifted up his hand majestically, as if to calm the +tumult; still it went on--he shook his head as if at so many noisy +children, when a voice was heard to shout amid the din, “Hark to old +Bribery and Corruption!” which was the nickname the stout gentleman +was known by among his fellow-townsmen, in consequence of some +valuable electioneering qualities--whereupon he turned away redder +than ever, and stooping down, pretended to whisper to another stout +gentleman, who shook his head, frowned fiercely, and said the rascals +had been getting more impudent every day since the passing of the +Reform Bill. + +Fane saw Kitty Fillett steal in, accompanied by her young brother, +and silently seat herself in the pit--a sort of purgatory, or +middle state between the inferno of the gallery, and the paradise +of the boxes. She seemed anxious to avoid notice, but in this she +was disappointed, for she was presently recognised by some vigilant +censors in the gallery. “Won’t Miss Fillett ask a blessing?” cried +one. “No backsliders,” shouted another. “Give her the Old Hundredth,” +said a third, addressing the orchestra--whereat Miss Fillett, +wrapping her shawl nervously about her, looked around, sniffing in +high scorn and defiance. + +Presently a little bell rang, and the curtain drew up. + +Fane recognised the dragoon directly Captain Absolute entered, +and saw in a moment that the high encomium passed by Mr Payne on +Langley’s powers as an actor was no more than just. He infused great +spirit into the part, and made the points tell admirably. He was +dressed in perfect taste, and looked so handsome and high-bred, +that the entire young ladies’ school fell in love with him, and +two teachers began to pine away from that very night; while Lydia +Languish, a showy-looking girl, acted the love scenes with a degree +of warmth that showed she must either be a mistress of that kind of +acting, or else not acting at all. Sir Anthony, too, was remarkably +well acted by an old man, the manager of the company, who called +himself Mr Cavendish. The costumes were correct, and in excellent +taste; and some of the scenes were admirably painted in a style that +Fane at once ascribed to Langley’s pencil. + +The curtain fell at the end of the last act amid great approbation. +Shortly afterwards, old Mr Cavendish made his appearance before the +curtain, to announce that the Infant Roscius was about to appear as +Young Norval, and to request that, however much the audience might +approve his performance, they would refrain from loud applause, as +that would probably put such an inexperienced performer out in his +part. + +Again the bell rang, and the curtain ascended creaking. After a pause +Young Norval entered, clad in full Highland costume. He seemed about +four or five years old, and came in with a sort of mock manliness +in his gait, which at once insured him the sympathies of the female +portion of the audience. In fact, Fane heard one young lady near +pronounce him a “darling” before he opened his mouth, while another +expressed a desire to kiss him. + +The juvenile tragedian having informed the audience, in a bold lisp, +that his name was Norval, and having mentioned the “G_w_ampian hills” +as the place of his paternal abode, was proceeding to describe his +connection with the warlike lord, when a voice in the pit was heard +to exclaim, “Master Juley! O goodness gracious, Master Juley!” + +Young Norval paused with an amazed air--fumbled with his dirk--looked +about him for a moment, and, forgetting his heroic character, began +to cry. Again the voice in the pit was heard. “Master Juley,” it +cried, “come to Kitty!” when the drop-scene suddenly descended, with +great swiftness, and hid him from view. + +A great commotion now took place in the house, especially the pit, +where the fainting form of Kitty Fillett was seen passed from hand to +hand on its way to the open air. Fane, on hearing her exclamation, +had quitted the house, and ran round to the stage-door, which he +entered. The first person he encountered was Captain Absolute, who +was standing with his back towards him, but who turned instantly as +Fane called out “Langley.” + +“You know who I am then?” he said, advancing. “I saw you among the +audience.” + +“I’ve been following you these six weeks,” said Fane, shaking his +hand. “First let me see the child, and I’ll speak to you afterwards.” +At that moment the old manager passed, making for the stage-door, +with Julius kicking and struggling in his arms. Fane, laying one hand +on the shoulder of the old gentleman, lifted the boy from him with +the other. Julius recognised Fane at once, and, calling him by name, +ceased crying. + +Mr Holmes (for the manager was no other than that venerable person) +surrendered the boy at once. “Allow me to speak to you one moment, +sir,” he said, drawing Fane aside by the arm. “Doubtless you +intend to restore him to his friends,” said Mr Holmes, in a calm +business-like tone. + +“Instantly,” said Fane. “But how came he with you, when he is +believed dead by his friends? You will have to account for this.” + +Mr Holmes looked round, to see that no one was within earshot, and, +motioning to Fane to stoop, he whispered in his ear. + +“Good God!” said Fane, as Mr Holmes ceased. “I can’t believe it. And +yet, why not? But this may be a slander of yours, to screen yourself, +and gain time to escape.” + +“Me!” said Mr Holmes, shrugging his shoulders, and spreading out his +palms. “I shall make no attempt to escape. My account of the matter +is plain, so far as I am concerned. I was requested to take charge +of the young gentleman, and accepted it. Then naturally comes the +question. By whom were you requested? And whether a public answer +will be satisfactory to the young gentleman’s family and friends, you +may judge for yourself.” + +“The old scoundrel is right,” muttered Fane. “It cannot be kept too +quiet.” Then he said aloud, “This will be matter for his friends to +decide on; in the mean time, I shall take him to his mother.” + +“One word more,” said Mr Holmes. “I have reason to believe it was +intended to restore the young gentleman to his family very shortly. +It was with that view, I imagine, that I received directions to +proceed to this place; though I didn’t know they were in this +neighbourhood.” + +Fane, still holding Julius in his arms, now went towards the door. +As he passed Langley, he stopped and drew out his watch. “It is now +ten,” said he. “Can you, in an hour from this, meet me, Langley, +at the hotel in Fore Street?” Langley assented, and Fane left the +theatre. + +Miss Fillett having been conveyed by charitable hands into the open +air, had been forthwith surrounded by a circle of her own sex, who +fanned her face, stuffed hartshorn and smelling salts up her nose, +beat her hands, and adopted other established remedies for her +restoration. These had so far recovered her that, on seeing Fane +emerge with Julius, she broke from the sympathetic females around +her, and, snatching the young baronet, cast herself on her knees on +the pavement, and squeezed him in her arms, murmuring hysterically, +and shedding tears over him. + +“Where is the hold villain?” said Kitty presently, looking round in +search of Mr Holmes. “It misgive me, the moment I see him, that I +knew his ugly old face. Let me kim to him. I’ll tear his eyes out.” + +A word in her ear from Fane, however, induced her to defer her +vengeance for the present; and he prevailed on her to come with +Julius, whom she would not let out of her clutch for an instant, to +the hotel, where a conveyance might be got to convey them to Larches; +and thither they accordingly repaired, attended by a considerable +crowd, who had been solacing themselves by listening outside the +theatre to catch stray sounds and music, and obtaining hasty glimpses +of a green baize screen whenever the door was opened. + +A quarter of an hour saw them speeding along in a dog-cart, Fane +driving, and Fillett holding the recovered little baronet in her lap. +He slept there soundly. “Dear soul!” said Fillett, looking down at +him, and covering him with her shawl, “he used to be always a-bed by +eight o’clock. We shan’t get speech of him to-night.” + +They stopt at a little distance from the cottage, and a stable-boy +who sat behind took the reins to hold the horse till the return of +Fane, who now proceeded with Fillett and her charge to the house. + +There was a light in the drawing-room, and Fane, going softly up, and +standing on a flower-bed underneath, peeped in. He was very glad to +see Orelia seated there reading, alone, and, returning to Fillett, +he took Julius from her, and sent her in to prepare Miss Payne for +the strange news of his recovery. + +Fillett went, and Fane heard the murmur of their voices for a minute +or two--when Orelia’s grew louder--the drawing-room door opened, and +forth she came in such tempestuous fashion, that it was fortunate she +ran against nobody in the passage. Seeing Julius asleep in Fane’s +arms as he stood in the porch, and recognising the boy instantly in +spite of his Highland costume, she snatched him eagerly, and covered +him with kisses. “I wonder what Langley would give for one or two of +those,” said Fane to himself, as he followed her to the drawing-room. + +In answer to her breathless inquiries, he told how he had found +Julius, and the reasons which appeared to exist for keeping his +abduction as secret as possible. Then they consulted together as to +the best mode of breaking the news to Lady Lee. “I’ll go and tell her +immediate,” said the excited Fillett. “I ain’t afraid to face my lady +now.” + +“Stay, my good girl,” said Fane; “we mustn’t be rash. Miss Payne, you +could prepare her better than any one.” + +Orelia went away, and, after a short absence, returned to the +drawing-room. + +“Hester is asleep,” said she; “I was afraid to wake her.” + +“Right,” said Fane. “But what do you think, Miss Payne, of placing +Julius, who doesn’t seem likely to wake till morning, by his mother’s +side?” + +“Ho!” said Kitty, “the very thing!--and when my lady wakes, she’ll +think ’tis a dream.” + +“Do you know,” said Orelia, “that strikes me as a happy thought of +yours. I’m resolved it shall be done--yes--it shall.” So saying, she +took up the slumbering Julius, and desiring Fillett to accompany her, +conveyed him to her own room; while Fane quitted the house to rejoin +Langley, saying he would return for news in the morning. + +Arrived in her chamber, Orelia desired Kitty to undress Julius, +an office she was well accustomed to, and gladly undertook. He +fretted a little, in a sleepy way, at being disturbed, and thrust his +knuckles into his eyes; but the moment the disrobing was accomplished +he relapsed into sound slumbers, with a long-drawn sigh. “Bless you,” +said Kitty, “he’d sleep now if you put him standing on his head on +the floor, the dear!” + +Orelia, on her first visit to Hester’s room, had left a light there. +Very softly she now re-entered, bearing her young friend, with his +head against her bosom, his bare legs dangling perpendicularly from +the bend of her arm, and, stealing to the side of the bed, stood +looking at its occupant, while Kitty, with elaborate caution, crept +after. The youthfulness of Hester’s look, as she lay with her face +turned up till her chin approached her upraised shoulder, struck +Orelia--she beheld the Hester of five years before. She stood a +moment gazing at her, figuring to herself the astonishment that +would appear in those eyes when their lids were next raised; then +she motioned to Fillett, who turned down the bed-clothes far enough +to admit Julius, and Orelia, stooping silently down, deposited him +with his head on the pillow near Lady Lee’s. It seemed a matter of +indifference to him what they did with him; he merely rubbed his nose +with his hand, as if something tickled it, made a noise with his lips +as if tasting something, and slept on. Lady Lee, too, slept quietly; +and Orelia, after having once or twice turned to look at them, +withdrew with Kitty. She closed the door softly, then, listening, +thought she heard a noise--re-opened it--it was only Lady Lee turning +in her sleep; she now lay with her face turned to the boy’s, and her +arm across his neck--and Orelia retired to her own room. + +Fane found Langley waiting at the hotel door, and, taking his arm, +drew him into a private room. As he had dined early, and imagined his +cousin had probably done so too, he ordered supper forthwith. “We +should be hungry enough before we had half done talking,” said Fane. +“First, while supper is getting ready, I’ll have my say.” + +Accordingly he told his cousin how he had got a clue to their +relationship by means of the seal ring at the silversmith’s--of his +late visit to their uncle--of his uncle’s smothered affection for +Langley--of the visit with Miss Betsey to his old apartments--of his +conversation with Mr Payne; which last, however, he recapitulated +only so far as it related to the manner in which Langley had first +provoked his uncle, saying nothing at present about the forgery, +which he wished to hear Langley’s own version of. + +His cousin listened eagerly--seemed surprised at the share his ring +had borne in detecting him--smiled at Fane’s mention of Miss Betsey, +and interrupted him to characterise her as a “jolly old woman.” But +the account of the rooms, still preserved in the state he had left +them in, and of his uncle’s nocturnal visits to them, excited deeper +emotion. He rose from his chair, walked about the room, and, when he +resumed his seat, brushed off some moisture from his eyelashes. + +“I believe in my soul,” said Langley, “that he once loved me better +than anything on earth. But his last letter to me was so harsh, +so severe in tone, that I imagined I should not have obtained +forgiveness, even had I sought it. To seek it, however, was far from +my thoughts; my uncle’s condemnation of my conduct was mild compared +with my own, and I had resolved, before his letter came, never to +look on his face again till I could do so without shame.” + +“You must have played the very deuce,” observed Fane, “to call forth +these feelings in him and yourself. ’Twas play, I suppose, that did +it.” + +“Yes,” said Langley, “that finished me; but I had no turn for saving, +and I had, besides, dropt a good deal on a favourite for the Leger. +All my uncle’s allowance went. I asked for more--’twas sent with +some caustic remarks; next time, the remarks were angry, instead of +caustic--then bitter. At last, while playing to win back, I lost +all I had. I sold everything, and was still a hundred pounds short. +This sum I wrote to my uncle for, assuring him ’twas the last time I +should ever trouble him. He evidently didn’t believe me, for, with +the check for a hundred, came the letter I already told you of, the +harshest he had ever written.” + +“Well?” said Fane impatiently, seeing him pause. + +“I paid my gaming debts, in some of which I suspected foul play, +though it would have been difficult to prove that. All paid, I found +myself with about fifteen shillings, and a suit of clothes, as my +sole possessions, to make a fresh start in the world with. I left +London, making my way on foot towards a seaport; and, while making a +meal of bread and cheese, to be paid for with my last remaining coin, +a recruiting sergeant spoke to me, and I enlisted directly. You know +my career afterwards, till I left the Heronry Lodge.” + +“But the last check from my uncle,” said Fane, “I want to hear about +that. To whom did you pay it?” + +“To the man I had lost most to, and who had the greatest share in my +ruin,” said Langley. “He came to my lodgings on the day I received +it. I threw it across the table to him, telling him, calmly enough +outwardly, that I was done for, and that he would never hear of me +more, for that my intention was to quit the country that very day.” + +“And you saw nothing more of him?” said Fane. + +“Never till we met on the day of the review in the Heronry grounds,” +returned Levitt, “when he seemed confused enough at the meeting, as +well he might, for, as I say, Seager had more to do with my ruin than +anybody.” + +“Seager!” exclaimed Fane. “I always thought him a horrible rascal. +’Twas to him, then, you transferred your check?” + +“Yes,” said Langley; “and, at the same time, I showed him the +letter that accompanied it, that he might see the kind of misery +such proceedings as his lead to. He read it--threw it back to me. +‘All up there,’ said he; ‘the old boy’s done with you--what do you +mean to do?’ I told him I should quit the country that very day. He +approved of this design, and offered to pay my passage to any foreign +port I chose. This I declined; and, meeting the recruiting party, I +abandoned my first intention, and enlisted.” + +Fane stood up, leaning his arm against the chimneypiece, his head +upon his hand, deep in thought. “Certainly,” he said to himself, +“Langley is innocent of the forgery--and I think I see who is +guilty--now, to prove it is the point.” + +“Was there any one present when you gave the check to Seager?” he +asked. + +Levitt paused for a minute to think. “I’m not sure,” he replied, +“’twas so long ago; but I rather think Mounteney was present.” + +“And knew the amount of the check?” asked Fane. + +“Probably,” returned Levitt--“indeed, I should say, certainly, if he +was present, as I rather fancy he was. But why do you ask?” + +Fane, however, waived this question; it could answer no purpose, at +present, to show Langley the suspicion he lay under. Supper appearing +at the moment enabled him to change the subject. + +“Your health, Durham,” said Langley; “long may you enjoy my uncle’s +favour, which you deserve better than I did. By Jupiter!” he added, +setting down his glass, “I had almost forgotten the flavour of +champagne. It is long since I tasted it, and ’twill, probably, be yet +longer before I taste it again.” + +“You have told me nothing of your plans for the future,” said Durham. + +“They are hardly definite enough to talk about; but I’m not used to +despond. My one clear purpose is to leave England. Since I left the +service, I have found how difficult it is to make, unassisted, the +first step in the ascent of life. Now, I consider myself rather a +sharp fellow, Durham, as fellows go. I am willing to turn my hand +to any earthly thing it is capable of, in an honest way; and a man +who, though naturally impatient, yet performs three years’ service +in the lower ranks of the army with credit, has some title to trust +his own temper and perseverance. Yet I’ve been for these--let me +see, how many weeks is it since I sold my last sketch?--three, I +think--hovering on the confines of absolute penury.” + +“Good God!” exclaimed Fane. “My dear fellow!” + +“Fact,” said Levitt, with a laugh. “So I resolved to try what virtue +there was in a stout arm and a gay heart, in a country like Canada or +Australia. But the passage-money--there was the rub. I’ve been trying +to raise it, as I came along, by selling sketches to booksellers, +but that hardly kept me in bread and cheese. Arriving here, however, +I found a theatrical company in want of a scene-painter. I offered +myself, was approved of, and tolerably well paid; and four or five +mornings ago, when their walking gentleman was sick, I volunteered +to supply his place. Old Cavendish the manager gave me a benefit +to-night, which has put a few pounds in my pocket, and the day after +to-morrow I start for the New World.” + +“There is only one little point left unaccounted for in your +narrative,” said Fane, smiling. “Frewenham is not exactly in the road +to any point of embarkation for Canada, or Australia either; and you +have not explained what brought you here.” + +He fixed his eyes on Levitt, who, spite of his efforts to look +indifferent, coloured deeply. + +“I’m a confounded fool, Durham--I believe that’s undeniable,” he +said. “And yet, I’m not ashamed to say that I came so far out of +my way to take a last look at a woman. Such a woman, Durham--ah, +you must be, as I’ve been, beneath the very heel of fortune, and +habituated to the sense of appearing to others in a false light, to +know the true value of a charming woman’s sympathy. If I had met her +anywhere, or at any period of my life, I should have preferred her to +all the world--but circumstances have made me positively adore her. I +would not present myself again before her for the world--that could +answer no good purpose--but I could not deny myself one last glimpse +of Orelia.” + +“Though I smile,” said Fane, “don’t think, my dear fellow, ’tis at +your devotion. On the contrary, I honour you for it. I was merely +paying tribute to my own penetration at having guessed what brought +you here.” + +Hereupon there ensued a conversation on the subject of love, its +exacting and engrossing nature, its dreams, its power to excite, its +anxieties, and the astonishing absurdities which even sensible people +commit, without any shame or compunction, under its influence. And as +this was a subject more interesting to the two interlocutors than to +whole-hearted, devil-may-care people like you and me, reader, who are +not yet, heaven be praised, utterly hoodwinked, and have no occasion +to pluck cherry lips and neatly-turned ankles out of our eyes in +order to see clearly--and as, moreover, it has been touched upon by +one or two previous writers, we will merely mention in this place +that the two cousins seemed wonderfully unanimous in their opinions +and feelings, and separated for the night with a very strong regard +for each other. + + +CHAPTER L. + +Next morning Fane wrote a note to Orelia, to say that he wished to +hear from her how Lady Lee had borne the restoration of Julius to her +arms--for that he would not commit the sacrilege of intruding upon +her on a day that ought to be sacred to other feelings than those his +presence could inspire. + +“I slept so little, and so lightly, last night” (wrote Orelia, in +reply, after describing how she had deposited Julius, undiscovered, +by his mother’s side), “that I was easily roused by what I thought +was a cry from Hester. I sat up in bed and listened in silence--then +I stole to her door, and heard such a kind of murmuring within as +a dove might make over its young. I entered. Hester was hanging +over Julius, apparently not quite certain whether she waked or +slept--indeed, she seemed to think it a vivid dream, for she stared +at me as I entered, and passed her hand confusedly across her eyes. I +sat down on the bed, and whispered to her that ’twas all real, and if +she would lie quite still and composed, I would tell her the whole of +the story as far as I knew it. + +“You did right not to come to-day. She is still a little +bewildered--and was quite so till she had a good cry. For some +little time she did what I’m sure you never heard her do--she talked +nonsense. As for the cause of all these tears, he seems tolerably +unconcerned. He submitted to our embraces this morning as coolly as +if he had only been away a week, and is now busy, dressed in his +Highland costume (for there are no clothes of his here), in making +acquaintance with Moloch. This helps to compose Hester, and she is +now able to comprehend her happiness--to-morrow she will be radiant. + +“Come to-morrow as early as you like.” + +This note was brought by Mr Payne; and Fane, after he had read it, +told that gentleman he had seen Langley, and was persuaded of his +innocence in the matter of the forgery. He mentioned Seager as the +person who had received the check, and Mr Payne at once remembered +that to be the name of the person who had presented it, and who +had excited no suspicion of anything irregular, as this was not +the first that had been paid to him. Fane also told what he had +learnt from Lady Lee of the charge of swindling now pending against +Seager, and of the additional probability thus afforded that he +was the delinquent. Mr Payne promptly adopted this view of the +case, and proposed that he should go instantly to town to consult a +legal adviser on the matter, and, if necessary, have an interview +with Seager himself. “You see,” he said, “that what we want, in +this instance, is, not to prosecute or recover, but simply to +establish Langley’s innocence; and if, by confessing, he can avoid a +prosecution, perhaps we may, without difficulty, get Seager to admit +his guilt.” + +After Mr Payne had departed, Fane spent the rest of the day in +investigating Mr Holmes’s account of the abduction of Julius. It +really appeared that Bagot was the instigator of it--and, moreover, +that the Colonel had intended to restore Julius so soon as the +conclusion of the trial should have removed the original inducement +for concealing him, which was to obtain funds wherewith to meet the +trial. + +Lady Lee was, as Orelia had prophesied, all radiant when Fane next +saw her, and looked altogether so cheerful and charming that he +experienced a sudden impulse to embrace her; and, not seeing any +just cause or impediment, had already, with that view, put his arm +round her waist, when she stooped, and, snatching Julius from the +ground, held him before her as a shield. Julius, being fond of +Fane, immediately clung round his neck, and thus covered any little +discomfiture he might naturally have felt at having his intention +defeated. + +This placing of Julius between the lovers involved a kind of +metaphor; for Lady Lee reminded Fane that, though they might have +dispensed with Bagot’s consent on mere pecuniary grounds, yet now, +when Julius’s interests were again at stake, it was imperative to +obtain it. + +Fane, who had in fact come rushing into Lady Lee’s presence with +the full intention of pressing for immediate union, now that her +mourning was thus happily at an end, was fairly staggered by this +consideration, which he had in his eagerness quite overlooked. +But though he could have found resolution to submit to what was +inevitable, it was not in his nature to be patient while any +alternative remained. First, he would go instantly, seek out Bagot, +and demand the consent--would go down on his knees for it, if +necessary, professing himself ready for any amount of baseness and +sycophancy to propitiate the potent Colonel. But Lady Lee, feeling +that Bagot might possibly vent the anger she knew him to entertain +against Fane in some coarse insult, told the latter her reasons for +thinking the Colonel was not to be propitiated. Then he urged that if +Bagot could not be cajoled, he might be threatened or bought--that a +hint of exposure in the business of the abduction might bring him to +terms. + +This certainly seemed feasible; but this hope was put to flight +by a letter from Mr Payne, announcing that, arriving in town on +the last day of the trial, with the intention of seeing Seager, he +found both him and Bagot fled, and the latter had been traced to +France. This was a terrible stroke, affecting so powerfully as it +did the interests both of Fane and Langley. And as this brings us to +the point of Mr Seager’s flight from town, we will now follow that +gentleman in his career. + + +CHAPTER LI. + +Seager, fancying himself dogged at the railway terminus on the day of +his flight from London, took his ticket for the station beyond that +where he intended to alight, to avoid detection. At Frewenham he left +the train and repaired to an inn, a second-rate one, which he had +selected as a less dangerous abode than the principal hotel. + +Keeping up his disguise, he spent two whole days (precious days to +him) in walking about Larches for an opportunity of speaking to Lady +Lee. Fane, or Mr Payne, or Fillett, were for ever there, one or +other of them, and it might be fatal to his plans for any of them to +discover him. He read in the papers, with a good deal of amusement, +the account of the late trial, and was particularly diverted with +the paragraph at the close which announced that the prisoners had +forfeited their bail, and were supposed to be at large on the +Continent. On the third day, however, he saw the coast clear, and +taking off his wig and false mustache behind a hedge, he buttoned his +greatcoat across the splendour beneath it, and, looking like himself, +walked boldly up to the cottage and rang the bell. + +“Give that to Lady Lee,” he said to the servant who opened the door, +“and say I wait for an answer.” + +When Lady Lee opened the note, she read a request from Mr Seager “to +grant him a short interview, on a subject _of the last importance_,” +(these words being underlined.) + +“Something about the affairs of the wretched Colonel, I suppose,” +she said to herself; “shall I admit him? Surely Bagot has forfeited +all right to my assistance.” Her eye fell on Julius, and her heart +softened. After all, Bagot had done her no irreparable injury. “Take +the child away,” she said, “and then admit the person who waits.” + +Mr Seager, in full possession of all his brazen assurance, was +ushered in. Lady Lee’s look was quite composed, and there was +nothing like grief in her aspect. “She’s got over the boy’s loss +pretty quickly,” thought Seager. + +“Time is precious, my lady,” he said, when he had seated himself; +“you’ll excuse me if I come at once to the point, and cut the matter +short.” + +“As short as you please, sir,” said Lady Lee. + +This rather put him out, but he recovered himself as he went on. + +“Perhaps, when you know what I came about, I shall be more welcome. +What if I know of something which nearly concerns you, and which you +would give much to hear?” + +Lady Lee sat upright on the sofa, and her face assumed a look of +anxiety. “What can it be?” she said to herself; and then aloud, “Go +on, sir.” + +“I must explain that I am peculiarly situated just now, my lady--very +peculiarly indeed. I’m leaving the country, and my resources are +running very low. This must be my excuse for attaching a condition +to the revealing of this secret;--in fact, I am compelled to make a +matter of business of it. You can command a good sum, I dare say, +such as would be a vast thing to me, without any inconvenience to +yourself.” + +“But the nature of your information, sir?--the nature of it?” said +Lady Lee, her curiosity excited to an extreme degree. + +“You see,” said Seager, “you may not have the sum I should require in +the house; but I’ll take your note of hand, or I.O.U. I know you’d be +honourable, my lady.” + +“The nature of it?” repeated Lady Lee, anxiously. + +“Hem,” said Mr Seager, clearing his throat, and muttering to himself. +“It does look rather heartless, but it can’t be helped. In a word, +you had a son who passes for dead--what if I could give tidings of +him?” + +Lady Lee gave a sigh of relief, and fell back on the sofa. She saw +his error. Mr Seager took it for a sign of agitation, and went on. + +“You’ll say, of course, Prove your words? Very well; do you know this +handwriting?” He rose, and held a letter before her eyes. + +“Perfectly,” said Lady Lee; “it is Colonel Lee’s.” + +“Well, read a line or two of it,” said Seager, opening it so that one +paragraph was visible. + +She read--“Hester, we shall never meet again, and I will repair an +injury I have done you. Your boy is not dead, he----” + +“There,” said Mr Seager, refolding the letter, “that will satisfy you +of my good faith. Now, if I give this, containing full information of +your son’s whereabouts, what will you give?” + +“But,” said Lady Lee, “have you any right to withhold such +information?” + +“That’s not the question,” said Seager; “we won’t talk about rights. +I’ve no time for humbug. In a word, name your figure, or else I put +the letter in my pocket, and in six hours I shall be in France. Speak +out, and be liberal!” + +At this moment there was a fumbling at the handle of the door. + +“Send ’em away,” said Mr Seager; “this matter must be between you and +me.” + +Lady Lee knew who the intruder was, and going to the door opened it, +and admitted Julius. + +Mr Seager fell a pace back, crying out, “My God! you’ve found him, +then.” + +Lady Lee led Julius to the sofa with something of a smile on her +face, and seated him on her lap. + +“Well, sir,” she said to Seager, “you forgot to mention the price you +set upon a mother’s feelings.” + +“Damnation!” muttered Seager; “it’s no go. I’ll be off. Shall I try +to get some money out of her for Lee? No, she wouldn’t trust me with +it now, and time’s precious. My secret is forestalled,” he said +aloud, with a brazen grin. “I’m sorry we couldn’t have made a bargain +for it. But you needn’t say you have seen me, my lady--promise you +won’t,” he added. “There’s been no harm done, you know.” + +Lady Lee rose and rang the bell. Seager made off towards the door, +opened it, and turned round. “Don’t mention you saw me,” he repeated; +“’twill do no good.” + +He was hurrying off, cursing his ill luck, and resolving to continue +his flight instantly, when he ran full tilt, in the passage, against +the police officer whom he had evaded at the London station. His +delay in the attempt to extort money from Lady Lee had been fatal to +his plan of escape. The policeman addressed him by name, and told +him he was his prisoner. Seager started back, with an exclamation, +followed by a muttered curse. + +“Hush!” he said, “don’t speak loud. How did you find me?” + +“Got on your scent last night, sir,” said the policeman, “and have +been dodging you all the morning. I saw you take off your wig behind +the hedge, and knew you in a minute.” + +Again Seager began a string of curses in a low tone. Presently he +drew forth a pocket-book. “Come,” he said, “you’ll get nothing by my +capture--what shall we say, now, for letting me slip? Nobody need +ever know you found me.” + +The policeman smiled as he put the offered notes aside. + +“Stuff!” said Seager. “Every man has his price. Why shouldn’t you +turn a penny when you can?” + +He was still pressing his point, and the officer was getting +impatient, when the front door near which they stood opened, and Fane +entered from the garden. + +“What! Seager!” he cried, on seeing that gentleman--“the very man I +want above all others. What brought you here! and who is this?” he +asked, looking at the policeman. + +A short explanation from the latter put Fane in possession of the +facts. + +“Be so good as to bring your prisoner in here,” said Fane, opening +the door of a small room. “I won’t detain you long, and you cannot +object to the delay, as it may result in a fresh charge against Mr +Seager.” + +Seager affected to laugh at this, but felt rather alarmed, +nevertheless. His capture had upset all his calculations, and +momentarily shaken his habitual confidence in himself. + +“Please to attend to this conversation,” Fane said to the police +officer. “In the first place, I must tell you, Mr Seager, that your +former victim, my cousin Langley Levitt, is now in Frewenham, and +that Mr Payne is now in London, investigating the circumstances of +the forgery of a certain check on his bank.” + +Seager turned pale. “Well,” he said, “what then?” + +“That check you presented for payment,” said Fane. + +“Ay,” said Seager; “but that doesn’t prove I forged it, or knew it +was forged. Can you prove that?” + +“I think we can. A person was present when Langley gave it you, and +the amount of it was then known. I give you credit for cleverness in +your calculations. You knew Langley was resolved to disappear from +his family and the world--you calculated that when the forgery should +be discovered the matter would be hushed up--and that, while Langley +passed as the forger, the fraud would never be known. But now that he +has reappeared, and is in communication with his friends, the matter +must come to light.” + +Mr Seager sullenly shrugged his shoulders. “Well,” said he, “I’m in a +hole, and no mistake. I can’t show play for it, since this gentleman +has bagged me” (looking at the policeman). “You must take your own +course. But,” he added in a low tone, intended exclusively for Fane’s +ear, “I can’t understand your interest in detecting me. Haven’t you +taken Levitt’s place with your uncle?” + +Fane nodded. + +“And if Levitt is restored to favour, you will lose by it?” + +“In a worldly point of view, yes,” returned Fane. + +“Well, then,” said Mr Seager, “your line is plain enough. You can +say you believe (of course, with great regret), but still, you’re +compelled to believe, that your cousin was the forger. Your uncle +takes your word for it, and drops the matter--Langley goes to the +devil--and you remain sole favourite and heir, don’t you see? So much +for that,” whispered Mr Seager, with the air of a man who has put his +case incontrovertibly. + +Fane smiled as he looked steadily at Seager. “You are a clever +rascal, certainly,” he said, “in a small way. You are well acquainted +with your own side of human nature, but beyond that you’re in the +dark. Dismissing, then, this new and practical view of the case, +allow me to offer a suggestion. Our principal object, of course, is +justice to Langley rather than revenge on you. A prosecution, though +it would probably lead to your conviction, especially now that your +character is blasted, would require time, while your confession would +at once answer the purpose.” + +“But what should I get by confessing?” asked Seager. + +“Nothing,” said Fane. “A bribe would impair the value of your +admissions. But I promise you this, that if you confess, I will +use what interest I possess to stop all proceedings against you on +account of the forgery. Now,” said he, setting writing materials +before him, “take your choice. Silence and prosecution, or confession +and impunity.” + +Mr Seager pondered for a minute; but he was too shrewd not to see +where his advantage lay. He had nothing to lose by confessing--his +character was already gone, and could scarcely suffer farther, while +a conviction for the forgery might entail transportation. After a +very short interval of consideration, he took up a pen. “I’m ready,” +he said; “I’ll do it in the penitent style if you like. Prickings of +conscience, desire to render tardy reparation, and all that.” + +“No,” said Fane, “it shall be simple and genuine; allow me to dictate +it.” + +This he accordingly did, setting forth--first, that the confession +was quite voluntary, and, secondly, admitting the forgery and the +circumstances that led to its commission. Seager signed this, and +the sergeant and Fane witnessed it, and the latter now desired the +officer to remove his prisoner. Mr Seager nodded to Fane, and winked +facetiously as he left the room, made a face at the policeman, who +preceded him out, and then departed to undergo his sentence. + + +CHAPTER LII. + +Fane had already confided Langley’s history to Lady Lee, and he now +showed her the testimony of his innocence, and consulted her as to +the best course to be pursued. + +They agreed it would be best to say nothing, either to Langley or +Orelia, of the matter, until Mr Payne should have apprised Mr Levitt +of his nephew’s innocence, and effected a reconciliation. Fane did +not in the least doubt that his uncle would be eager to extend +forgiveness; but a delay of a day or two would be trifling, and the +pleasure of a first meeting between the lovers would be greatly +enhanced by the removal, beforehand, of every obstacle to their +happiness. + +Mr Payne, coming down from town to report his ill success in the +attempt to discover Seager, was agreeably surprised by Fane’s news. +He posted off without delay to show the document to his friend Mr +Levitt, and, a couple of days afterwards, wrote to tell Fane that the +news had produced the best effect on his uncle’s health, that he was +eager to embrace Langley, and that they would be down together in +person on the following day. + +Fane was seated on a sofa near the fire (it was a cold morning) +whispering into Lady Lee’s willing yet averted ear, numerous reckless +and persuasive arguments for an immediate union. What were riches to +them while they were thus kept apart? He, for his part, would, he +said, dig cheerfully all day, could he be sure of finding her ready +to give zest to his pottage, cheerfulness to his fireside, when he +came home. Let Bagot take her income; and as for Julius, they would +take him and flee to some remote corner of Europe, there to abide +till the Colonel relented, or had drunk himself to death. Lady Lee +smiled at all this display of love, but shook her head. He, Durham, +must be patient, she said. + +“Miss Payne,” called out Fane to Orelia, “be on my side.” Orelia was +sitting in a bay window designing a picture. She seldom came near +the fire, and never felt cold. “I am telling Hester that we ought to +break through the cobwebs that sunder us--scatter the filthy lucre +to the winds--snatch up Julius out of reach of the ogre Bagot, and +try if the wings of Eros cannot shield us against the hardest fate.” + +“Hester has given up much for you already, Captain Fane,” said the +austere Orelia. “Your coming has upset the rarest plan; and now I am +left to walk the path alone.” + +“What was the plan?” inquired Fane. + +“We were going, Orelia and I,” said Lady Lee, with an irreverent +smile, “to daff the world aside--to devote ourselves to good +works--and we actually set out on our thorny path; but I see now, +that if we had continued as we begun, casting as we did so many +glances backward on the vanities of the past, we should, if justice +had been administered now as in the days of the patriarchs, have both +been made pillars of salt.” + +“Speak for yourself, my dear,” returned Orelia, sharpening her pencil +and her tone. “I, at least, was quite resolute to persevere, and am +so still.” + +“Perhaps an equally unworthy excuse, as that which Hester pleads for +changing her mind, may yet avail you,” suggested Fane. + +“Never,” returned Orelia, with the greatest firmness. + +“Do you think she really doesn’t care for Langley?” whispered Fane to +Lady Lee. + +Lady Lee looked towards her friend with an affectionate smile. “She’s +an odd girl,” she said, “and ’tisn’t easy to ascertain her feelings +till they are strongly excited.” + +“I’ll prove them, now,” said Fane, rising, and going to a portfolio +in the room, and taking thence a drawing. “Miss Payne,” he said, “you +are always ready to recognise skill in art. See, here is a sketch I +lately rescued from the oblivion of a bookseller’s shop; what do you +think of it?” + +Orelia took it. No one knew better than she the peculiar touch +and bold outline. She gazed at it earnestly for a minute--looked +up wonderingly and inquiringly at Fane; but, meeting a peculiar +searching glance, she lowered her eyes, and coloured violently. + +“If you like it, and would wish others of the same sort, I think I +could procure you some,” he said. + +Orelia laid down the drawing--glanced aside--again looked at it--then +turned her eye uneasily to Lady Lee, who was smilingly watching +her. “How very heartless to trifle with me so,” thought Orelia, +“particularly of Hester; but I’ll show them they can’t move me. I +won’t be their sport.” + +So she stoically resumed her employment, feeling very fidgety +nevertheless. In her agitation, she shaded a cloud in her sky with +sepia instead of the proper grey tint--dashed a brushful of water at +it--smudged her whole sky irretrievably, as if an eccentric-looking +thunderstorm were brewing--rubbed a hole in the paper in getting it +out, and threw down her brush with an expression of impatience. + +“He’s a very promising artist the person who did this sketch,” +said the unfeeling Fane to Lady Lee. “I feel quite interested in +him.” Lady Lee shook her head while she smiled at him. She saw her +impetuous friend was getting quite excited. “Serve her right for her +hypocrisy,” whispered Fane. “I don’t pity her in the least. They must +be in Frewenham by this time,” he added, looking at his watch; “and, +allowing an hour for the interview between them and Langley, they +will be here to lunch.” + +Orelia’s ears were on the stretch to catch any further information, +which, however, she would have died rather than ask for. + +But the only further talk on the subject was when Fane asked Lady Lee +“if she didn’t think it would be a kind act to take this poor artist +by the hand, and give him an opening to make his way?” + +“Poor artist! Take him by the hand, indeed!” thought Orelia, with a +glance of great scorn; and indeed she would hardly have been content +to vent her indignation in glances, had not Miss Fillett just then +entered, and changed the current of their discourse. Kitty’s manner +was excited, and her eyes were red. + +“Ho, my lady,” cried she, “here’s Noble have come, and he wish to +see your ladyship.” + +“Noble!” cried her ladyship; “did they not say he was with Colonel +Lee?” + +“He was, my lady; but, ho! Colonel Lee”--here Fillett choked. +“Harry’ll tell you himself: come in, Noble, and speak to my lady.” + +Noble, who was waiting at the door, entered, and made his bow. + +“You come from the Colonel--you have a letter for me,” said Lady Lee, +holding out her hand for the expected missive. + +“No, my lady,” said Noble. + +“Speak up, Harry,” said Miss Fillett, with a sob. + +“We started for France, me and the Colonel,” said Noble, clearing +his throat; “and as soon as ever he got ashore, he was took ill in +the same way as he was in London. The doctors said ’twas owing to +his not being able to keep nothing on his stomach on the passage +across--brandy nor nothing--for the water was very rough.” + +“He is ill, then,” said Lady Lee; “not seriously, I trust.” + +“My lady, he’s gone,” cried Fillett. + +“Dead?” said Lady Lee. + +“Dead,” said Noble. “He got quite wild when he was took to the hotel; +and after we got him to bed, he did himself a mischief, by jumping +out of window while he was out of his mind. When we picked him up he +couldn’t speak.” + +“And he died so?” cried Lady Lee. + +“Not immediate,” said Noble, speaking in a deep low voice, and +keeping his eyes fixed firmly on Lady Lee; “he got his speech again +for a little, and knowed me. ‘This is the finish, Noble,’ says he, +‘and I’m glad of it; I wouldn’t have consented to live.’ Them was his +last sensible words. He talked afterwards, to be sure, but not to +know what he was saying. He appeared to be in the belief that he was +back at the Heronry. He talked of the horses there, in particular of +old Coverly, who died of gripes better than six years ago.” + +Lady Lee put her handkerchief to her eyes. She had a tear for poor +Bagot. Death sponged away the recollection of his animosity towards +her, and she remembered only the old familiar face and rough +good-nature. “The poor Colonel,” she said; “the poor, poor Colonel! +And his remains, Noble?” + +“There was two gentlemen as was friends of his in the town; Sir John +Barrett was one of ’em. They was very sorry; they ordered everything, +and went to the funeral; and though it warn’t altogether in the style +I could wish--no hearse nor mourners--yet it was done respectable.” + +Lady Lee wept silently, and Fane thought her tears became her. Both +of them probably remembered that the only obstacle to their union was +removed by Bagot’s death, but the taste of both was too fine to allow +such a thought to be expressed that day in any way. “Leave me now, +Noble,” she said; “I will hear more from you another time.” + +Kitty--who, when Noble reached the catastrophe, had been seized +with an hysterical weeping that sounded like a succession of small +sneezes--opened the door for him, and followed him out. Noble walked +down stairs before her, not turning his head nor speaking. + +“Harry,” said Kitty, with a sniff, when he reached the hall--“Harry!” + +Noble turned, and surveyed her austerely. + +“Ho, Harry,” said Kitty, “haven’t you got a word for a friend?” + +“Yes,” said Harry, “for a friend I’ve got more than a word.” + +“I thought we were friends, Noble,” said Miss Fillett, taking up the +corner of her apron, and examining it. + +“There’s people in the world one can’t be friends with, however a +body may wish it,” replied Noble. + +“And am I one of that sort, Harry?” said Kitty, with a sidelong look. +“Am I, Harry?” + +“Yes,” said Harry, “yes, you be. Look here! I’d have cut off my arm +to do you any good” (striking it with the edge of his hand). “You +know that very well, but I can’t stand your ways--no, I can’t, and I +ain’t agoing to any more.” + +“What ways do you mean?” said Miss Fillett innocently; “I’m sorry my +ways isn’t pleasant, Harry.” + +“Pleasant!” said Harry; “they can be pleasant enough when you like; +but when you drive a man a’most crazy, and make him wish to cut his +fellow-creeturs’ throats, and his own afterwards, do you think that’s +pleasant?” + +Kitty at this tossed up her head, and sniffed with an injured air. +“If I give you such thoughts as them, Mr Noble, of course ’tis better +to have nothink to say to me. I wasn’t aware my conversation made +people murderers.” + +“Look here,” said Noble; “I don’t say I like you the worse for it. +No, cuss it! I like you the better--that’s the cussed part of it; but +what I mean is, that I ain’t going to be tormented and kept awake at +nights, and to lose my meals as well as my sleep, and to go a-hating +my fellow-creeturs, just upon account of your philanderings; and the +best way is not to care who you philander with, and to leave you to +keep company with them as can stand having the life worried out of +’em better than I can.” + +“I’m glad you’ve spoke out, Noble,” said Kitty, who spied relenting +in his look, and who kept up the injured air. “I didn’t know I was +such a rogue and a villain as I’m made out to be by you. If I’d +wished to slay or hang somebody, you couldn’t have spoke worse of me.” + +“Well,” said Noble, “I didn’t mean to vex you, though you’ve vexed me +many a time. I was only saying why it was I warn’t going to be fooled +any longer. Come, I’ll shake hands with you.” + +“Ho, what! take the hand of a young person that wishes people to cut +other people’s throats! I wonder at you,” said Miss Fillett, allowing +him to get only the tip of her little finger into his hand. + +“Come,” said the unhappy victim of female arts, “say you won’t +torment me any more with talking and smiling at fellows, and I’ll be +as fond of you as ever. Look here; here’s some French gloves that I +smuggled over, and was going to put into your bandbox without your +knowing who they’d come from. Let me try ’em on, Kitty.” + +Miss Fillett glanced aside at the packet displayed in his hand. “What +lovely colours!” thought Kitty; “that lilac _is_ genteel, and so is +the straw colour. He never could have chose ’em himself.” But she +still feigned displeasure, and Mr Noble’s desire for reconciliation +was becoming proportionably ardent, when the pair were disturbed by +a carriage driving up to the door, and made off to terminate the +interview in the kitchen. + +The carriage in question contained those whom Fane expected--viz., Mr +Payne, Mr Levitt, and Langley. The latter helped out his uncle (who +appeared to be in much better health) with a care and affection that +showed they were entirely reconciled. At the first meeting Mr Levitt +had attempted to maintain his cynical demeanour, and was highly +disgusted with himself, afterwards, to remember how signally he had +failed. “Till I witnessed that meeting,” said Mr Payne afterwards to +Fane, “I had no idea how much your uncle loved that boy.” + +Fane was looking out of the window, and saw them approach. “Here they +are,” he said--“your papa, Miss Payne, and my uncle; and I see my +cousin Langley is with them. Have you ever heard me speak of him? I +think you’ll like him.” + +“Do you, indeed!” said Orelia stiffly; for she had by no means +recovered her temper since the drawings had been produced by Fane, +and was not disposed to be particularly amiable to her new guests. + +Mr Payne entered first and kissed Orelia. + +“I bring an old and a young friend of mine, my dear. This is Mr +Levitt, and--where’s Langley? Come along, Langley.” + +Langley stept forward and took the young lady’s hand. + +“Onslow!” cried Orelia. + +“Yes,” said the ex-dragoon, in a low voice, and with his well-known +smile, “Onslow and Langley Levitt.” + +“You didn’t know, sir,” said Fane to his uncle, “of the fatted +calf we had ready for your prodigal nephew. He and Orelia are old +friends--I think I may add, something more than old friends.” + +“You don’t say so!” said Mr Levitt, pressing forward and taking both +Orelia’s hands in his. “My dear,” he said, watching Langley’s and her +agitation, “I believe you are going to put the finishing stroke to +my happiness, and I shall like you better even than I expected.” + +“Why, God bless me!” cried Mr Payne, “I never heard a word of this. +The monkey has been extremely sly.” + +Orelia, now a little paler than usual, was regarding her lover with +steady eyes. + +“I shall never call you anything but Onslow,” she said; and she kept +her word. + + * * * * * + +Mr Levitt was in every respect satisfied with the choice of his +nephews, as indeed he had good reason to be. What did the man expect, +I wonder! He was almost as impatient as the young men to put all +future disappointment out of the power of fate by immediate marriage; +and as the ladies did not offer a very spirited resistance, he had +his way. + +Accordingly the courtship was short, and principally remarkable for +a revolution that took place in the opinions of Lady Lee. Formerly, +she had been accustomed, in the moments of dignified cynicism which +occasionally visited her, to be very unsparing in her contempt for +the ordinary forms of love-making; kissing, in particular, she +considered to be a practice even beneath contempt, from its extreme +silliness--fit, she would say, only for children--an opinion she had +occasionally communicated to Sir Joseph when his fondness became +troublesome. + +This, however, with many graver theories, had been upset since she +fell in love with Fane. The first time he kissed her it evaporated +in an uncommon flutter of not unpleasant emotion, which puzzled her +ladyship the more because she perfectly remembered that a kiss from +Sir Joseph had never caused her to feel any greater agitation than if +she had flattened her nose against a pane of glass. + +However, to do justice to her consistency, she didn’t abandon the +theory at the first defeat; but, taking counsel with herself, and +fortifying her mind anew with reasoning on the subject, the next time +he offered to be so childish, she repelled the attempt with a great +deal of dignity. Fane, who had a theory of his own on such matters +(whether the result of intuition or experience, I can’t say), and +knew what he was about perfectly, very wisely let her alone for a +time. Her ladyship grew quite fidgety; and though Fane had never been +more brilliant, she paid very little attention to what he said, and, +when he only shook hands with her at parting, felt half inclined to +quarrel with him. After this, Fane never met with any resistance; +on the contrary, not content with one of these silly proceedings +at meeting and parting, her ladyship would sometimes manœuvre, +artfully enough, for an extra or surplus salute. Such is the singular +superiority of practice over theory. + +Very shocking and humiliating to the philosopher and student of human +nature is the fact, that these two intellectual beings, with their +high imaginations and their cultivated tastes, should sometimes, +during their courtship, demean themselves with no greater regard for +their dignity than a redfaced dairymaid and her sweetheart Robin. But +it is true, nevertheless; and if Fane discovered a fresh charm in his +goddess, it was in the naïve pleasure with which she condescended +(at least he thought it condescension) to express her fondness. And +Langley, for the same reason, was doubly delighted with the warmth +which the outwardly majestic Orelia did not scruple to display +towards the man to whom she had given her heart. This is all I shall +say on this part of the subject, as courtship is of the class of +performances which afford much more satisfaction to the _dramatis +personæ_ than the audience. + +They were married, these two pairs, in the church which Hester’s +father had formerly served; and afterwards Fane and she set off for +the Heronry, where they were quite alone (for Rosa and the Curate +had, before their coming, gone to take possession of the vicarage in +Mr Levitt’s gift which Fane had formerly offered to Josiah, and which +he did not again refuse), while Langley and Orelia stayed at the +cottage. + + +CHAPTER THE LAST + +It is a vile practice that of winding up a story with a marriage, +as if the sole object of all that inkshed was to put a couple of +characters to bed; and I wonder the rigid propriety of our novel +writers and readers doesn’t revolt at it. Besides, considering the +matter on artistic grounds, it is not satisfactory to check, by the +chilling word _Finis_, the ardour of the reader, just excited to a +high pitch at the spectacle of the hero and heroine sinking into each +other’s arms. It is like quitting the opera, as the curtain falls on +a splendid group, tinted with rose light, while the whole strength +of the company sings a chorus; and going splashing home through the +rain to a bachelor’s lodging, where the maid has let the fire out +and forgot the matches, and you have to stumble to bed punchless and +oysterless in the dark. + +A year passed, after the marriages aforesaid, and a party, including +many of our principal characters, was assembled in the little church +of Lanscote to celebrate another wedding. + +Josiah was the officiating clergyman; he had come partly for that +purpose, partly to perform another ceremony. The persons to be joined +together in holy matrimony, on this occasion, were Rosa and Bruce. + +The principal agent in effecting this had been the old antiquary +Mr Titcherly. That lover of inscriptions had now become himself +the subject of a tombstone; and having, as aforesaid, great regard +for Bruce, and having no kindred of his own to bequeath to, had +in his will, after making ample provision for the future editions +of his great work on the antiquities of Doddington, left the rest +of his property, amounting to about £4000, to Rosa, on condition +she married Bruce; and this, together with the solicitations of +his wife, who had been gained over to the other party by Bruce’s +enthusiastic description of Rosa’s excellencies, had melted the heart +of that splendid old fellow the dean of Trumpington. That reverend +personage was now present at the wedding, together with his wife, +and Dr Macvino, who had dined the night before at the Heronry, and +pronounced the port excellent. + +Fane gave away the little magnificent bride, half hidden in an ample +rich veil of white lace sent by Orelia, which cost nobody knows how +much. Bruce was in his dragoon uniform. His mustache had flourished +much in the last year, and Rosa thought him handsomer than Apollo. +Langley was there, and Mr Oates appeared as groom’s man, and the two +Clumbers as bridesmaids. + +The ceremony was over, the bridegroom duly shaken by the hand, the +bride, all blush and bloom and smile, duly kissed. The Curate, +leaving the altar, took up his position beside the antique font, +and the group following him, and ranging themselves round, lost +the gorgeous hues which the one painted window above the altar of +Lanscote Church had shed on them during the marriage ceremony; and, +as the Curate began the baptismal service, they stood in the cheerful +light of the morning sun. + +The principal personage of this second ceremony had been held, during +the first one, in the arms of Miss Fillett in the background. Kitty, +who looked rather staid and matronly, in consequence of having been +married to Mr Noble a few weeks before, and who had hitherto, in this +new capacity, acquitted herself entirely to Harry’s satisfaction, +dandled the infant in the most approved fashion. “Have done, Master +Julius,” said Kitty, giving that young gentleman a good shake as +he attempted to rush up the pulpit-stairs. “Can’t you behave for a +minute, not even when they are a-baptising of your little sister?” + +The preliminary part of the service being read, the infant was handed +to Josiah. He took it gently in his arms, and looked down on its +small face, where he saw the rudiments of Hester’s features. The +service was for a moment at a standstill, and a tear was seen to drop +on the child’s cheek as he bent over it--the first holy water that +touched its face that morning. “Good fellow, old Josey,” thought +Fane, as he noticed it. “Poor dear Josiah!” mentally ejaculated +Hester, with a truer though secret knowledge of the source of his +emotion. + +The dean of Trumpington hemmed impatiently--he wanted his breakfast; +and the sympathetic Doctor Macvino, going behind Josiah, jogged his +arm. The Curate started from his reverie, and looked around. “Name +this child,” he said, proceeding with the ritual. + +“Rosa Orelia,” answered the bride, who officiated as one godmother, +while Trephina Clumber was proxy for Orelia (who was detained at home +by private business of her own.) + +The christening was finished without further delay. Then the assembly +passed forth from the old ivy-covered porch, and, amid the admiration +and applause of the inhabitants of Lanscote, entered their carriages +to drive back to the Heronry. + +The breakfast was pronounced by Dr Macvino, by no means an +incompetent judge, a magnificent affair. Speeches were made +afterwards--one jocosely cynical, and sprinkled with puns, by Mr +Levitt; one gay, fluent, and agreeable, from Captain O’Reilly, a +fresh-coloured man, with white teeth, who had succeeded Tindal in +command of the detachment, and who had practised popular oratory +at various contested elections; one rich and oily, delivered _ore +rotundo_, by Dr Macvino, with some others. + +The newly-married pair had driven off; the guests had dispersed; even +the Curate had, in despite of the urgent entreaties of Hester and +Durham, inexorably departed. Fane and his wife were alone together in +the library. + +“I told you yesterday, Hester,” he said, leaning over the back of her +chair, “of the opening into public life now offered me. My answer +must be written to-night.” + +Hester looked uneasy. “You will refuse it, Durham, won’t you?” + +“I think not, Hester.” + +“I thought we had been very happy this year past. I knew I had, and +I flattered myself you had; but you are weary of me;” and, as she +spoke, the first sad tears since her marriage came into her eyes. + +“I swear to you,” he said, removing the tears in the readiest way +that occurred to him--“I swear to you that I would rather live the +past year over again than the best ten others of my existence. But +what right have I to continue this life of pleasant uselessness, when +I may exert myself?” + +“Uselessness!” said his wife; “do you call being my companion and +instructor uselessness?” + +“You have a new companion now in that young Christian of yours, whom +I hear squalling,” said Fane; “she will prevent you from missing +me. As to the instruction part, I have learnt as much as I could +teach for the life of me. If I have widened your mind, you have no +less refined mine; and, could I but rid myself of a certain uneasy +conviction that we are both of us accountable beings, I would +contentedly let the world slide for ever as softly and easily as now. +But is this unproductive interchange of sentiment, however elevated +and refined, fit to be the sole occupation of a man who can be up and +doing?” + +Hester sighed. “You force me,” said she, “to look at a truth I would +willingly shut my eyes to. One other year would not tire you, Durham; +put it off for one--only one.” + +“But the opportunity would be gone,” said Fane. “Come, make up your +mind to it, and you will acknowledge next year that, in watching +my career, applauding my success, if I meet with it, soothing +my disappointments when they find me, you have new and worthier +occupation.” + +Hester disputed no farther; he wrote the letter of acceptance; and +next year she acknowledged that she was growing more ambitious for +him than he was for himself. + +The Curate did not remain long in the living to which Mr Levitt had +presented him. An incident that occurred in the second year of his +incumbency gave him a disgust at the place. A female parishioner, +of tolerably mature years, made a dead set at Josiah. She had +experiences to impart; she took share in his parochial matters; +she even studied botany; and the unsuspecting Josiah was the only +person who didn’t penetrate her designs on his heart. When the fair +one found these would certainly fail, she brought an action for +breach of promise; and the evidence being about as strong as that +in the celebrated case of Bardell _versus_ Pickwick, the jury, as +Englishmen and fathers, of course found for the plaintiff, with £200 +damages. About that time Dean Bruce, in consideration of the family +connection, managed to get Josiah elected canon of the cathedral; +and in course of time he became a prebend. He has a good house and +capital garden; his study is one of the pleasantest rooms to be found +anywhere, with a cloistered air about it, the pointed window all hung +with ivy, looking on the great window of the cathedral, and on one +of the buttressed towers. He has an ancient married housekeeper, who +looks faithfully after his comforts; he entertains his friends nobly +when they come to see him (his small but choice cellar was laid in by +Dr Macvino); the great library of the cathedral is within a few paces +of his door, where he is treated by the librarian with more deference +than the bishop himself; and when he needs change he goes down to the +Heronry. Time softens the acuteness of his disappointment in love, +and the recollection of it now brings a not unpleasant sadness. + +Poor old Josey!--after all, perhaps the most loveable and respectable +of our _dramatis personæ_--more so, at least, than our heroes, whose +more discursive natures included some corners which they would +probably have been unwilling that even their wives should pry into; +whereas Josiah’s heart might have been turned page by page; and, +while much might have been found to interest, there would have been +little to correct, and nothing to blot. But somehow or other, women +do not seem always to give such unobtrusive merits the highest place +in their affections. Orelia and Lady Lee were, as we have seen, among +the number; and many young ladies will, we doubt not, understand and +sympathise with their errors of judgment. + +A day or two after Rosa’s marriage, Hester got a letter from Orelia. +“Mine is a girl too,” she said, “and I’ve set my heart on her +marrying Julius when they are of a proper age. You must promise to +forward the project, Hester.” And as young persons invariably allow +their parents to choose for them on these points, and never presume +to form any counter predilections of their own, there is, of course, +every prospect that Orelia’s desire will be gratified. + +Major Tindal did not easily forgive Orelia’s marriage, nor forget +his own discomfiture. He remains a sporting, hard-riding bachelor; +and when one of his acquaintances marries, he affects to pity him. +“Poor devil!” he says, “I’ll write and condole with him.” + +Mr Seager, coming out of jail at the end of two years, found himself +without money, friends, or character. He could not, of course, resume +his old position; but Seager was not proud, and fitted himself with +admirable facility to a new one. He started in the thimble-rig line, +that being a profession requiring little other capital than dexterity +and a knowledge of human nature under its more credulous and +pigeonable aspect. He augments the income derived from this source +by that which he earns as a racing prophet. He advertises that he, +Seager, is the only man who can foretell the winners of all the great +events; asserts that he has hitherto been infallible; and professes +his readiness to let correspondents enjoy a lucrative peep into the +future, on their enclosing a specified number of postage stamps. From +such shifts as these he ekes out a living. + +Bagot could not have lived so; and is better as he is, sleeping under +his foreign turf. In the grave he preserves a kind of incognito, +and when called upon to answer for his deeds, may certainly plead +a misnomer; for the French stone-mason who carved his unpretending +tombstone, taking the name of the deceased from dictation, Gallicised +it, and inscribed on the monument “_Ci-gît Monsieur le Colonel +Bagote-Lys_.” + +Another marriage had been celebrated in Lanscote Church a short time +before Rosa’s. Jennifer Greene had brought her arts and experience +to bear with more effect on Squire Dubbley than on the Curate. The +thoroughly subjugated Squire, after being compelled to see all the +females of his establishment, under fifty years of age, replaced by +the most withered frumps to be found in those parts, had yielded to +his fate. His adviser, Mr Randy, had been previously disposed of. + +Jennifer had no sooner established her ascendancy, than she +proceeded to exert it in the expulsion of Mr Randy. Thus alone in +power, she was not long in convincing the Squire that she was quite +necessary to his existence, and his sole defence against a horde of +plunderers. The Squire, moreover, was impressed by the good looks +of the housekeeper, to which the Curate had been so insensible; +and the grand attack, which had only harassed Josiah, had laid the +unprotected Squire at her feet. + +Lady Lee, I am loth to lose you! Not with this page will your form +pass rustling out of sight. But, reader, her independent life has +ceased--her thoughts are now centred in the career of another--and +a chronicle of her deeds and aspirations would be a mere repetition +of, to you, humdrum happiness. Her restlessness, and discontent, and +languor are no more; she has lost even the memory of these since the +event which, like this last sentence of my last chapter, has put a +period to LADY LEE’S WIDOWHOOD. + + + + +NEW READINGS IN SHAKESPEARE. + +NO. III.--CONCLUSION. + + +Before finishing the business of the old MS. corrector, we may be +permitted to dispose of a case, very small, indeed, but somewhat +personal to ourselves, and arising out of these discussions. In +_Notes and Queries_, p. 169 (August 20, 1853), the following remark +occurs: “The critic in _Blackwood_ disclaims consulting _Notes +and Queries_; and it is, no doubt, a convenient disclaimer.” Good +_Notes and Queries_, we simply _regretted_ that it was not in our +power to consult your pages when writing our first article on the +New Readings. We wished to have been able to confirm, or rather +to complete, a reference to you which Mr Singer had made in his +_Vindication of Shakespeare_. But unfortunately your volumes were +not at hand; for you need scarcely be told that we provincials +cannot always readily command the wisdom which emanates from your +enlightened circle. But why was it “a _convenient_ disclaimer?” +Good old ladies, you surely cannot think that we would purloin your +_small savings_; we would sooner rob the nest of a titmouse. No, no; +believe us, we have no heart for that. We did, however, at first, +fear that we had inadvertently picked a small morsel--perhaps its +little all--out of the mouth of a sparrow; and our heart smote us for +the unintentional unkindness. We were prepared to make any amends in +our power to the defrauded little chirper. We have been at some pains +to discover in what we may have wronged any of your mild fraternity, +provocative of the polite insinuation implied in your epithet +“convenient,” and we find that we are as innocent as Uncle Toby with +his fly. We have not hurt, even undesignedly, a single hair upon your +buzzing head. + +We had no doubt, at first, that our offence must have been the +expression of some little hint about Shakespeare in which we had been +anticipated by _Notes and Queries_. And accordingly, insignificant as +the point might be--still knowing what a small nibble is a perfect +fortune to that minute fry--we were prepared to acknowledge publicly +their priority of claim to anything we might have said, and to +stomach their not very handsome appellative as we best might. But +how stands the case?--thus. Some time near the beginning of August, +ICON asks _Notes and Queries_--“Has any one suggested, ‘Most busy, +when least I do?’--(Tempest, iii. i.) _The ‘it’ seems surplusage._” +(The complete line, we should mention, is--“Most busy, least when I +do _it_.”) That is a very plain question, and _Notes and Queries_ +answers it, at first, correctly enough--“Yes,” says he, “this reading +was proposed in _Blackwood’s Magazine_ for August;” that is, some +time before the query was put. _Notes and Queries_ then goes on to +say--“_But_ ICON will also find _the same reading with an anterior +title of nearly three years_, together with some good reasons for +its adoption, in _Notes and Queries_, vol. ii. p. 338.” Here, then, +we had no doubt that we had been anticipated, and were quite ready +to make restitution; for _Notes and Queries’_ answer seems decisive. +But stop a little; just give him time to get his ideas into disorder, +and we shall see what will turn up. He goes on to say--“In the +original suggestion in _Notes and Queries_, there is no presumption +of surplusage; the word ‘it’ is understood in relation to labours.” +So that this is the position of _Notes and Queries_: he is asked--Has +the word “it” ever been left out of a certain line in Shakespeare? +Yes, answers he, it was left out in a reading proposed in our volumes +_three years ago_, and _identical_ with one _lately_ published in +_Blackwood_--the only difference, he adds, _sotto voce_, between the +two readings being, that in ours the word “it” is _not_ left out, +while in _Blackwood’s_ it _is_! + +So that, after all, our whole offence consists in _not_ having been +anticipated in this reading by _Notes and Queries_. But we cannot +help that. Why should he punish us for his own want of sagacity? +We appeal to an impartial public to take up the cause of injured +innocence against this oppressor, throughout whose pages we observe +a good deal of nibbling at the text of Shakespeare. The teeth-marks +of the little vermin are just perceptible on the bark of that +gigantic trunk; and the traces which they leave behind are precisely +such as a mouse might make upon a cheese the size of Ben Lomond. But +_we_ have not, like Shakespeare, the hide of a tree or a rhinoceros; +nor are we, like him, a mountain three thousand feet high. The small +incisor has consequently grazed our outer cuticle, and we should like +to know what can have provoked our puny assailant to question,--not +our competency to review the old MS. corrector, for this too he does, +and this he is at perfect liberty to do; his doing it is a matter +with which we have no concern--but to impeach our disposition to deal +_fairly_ and _honestly_ towards himself and all others interested in +the new readings. This, we say, he is not at liberty to do without +very good cause being shown. Most gladly, to get rid of the little +nibbler, would we have given up to him this reading, and any other +pittances of the kind, to increase his small stock in trade. But he +cannot make out any title to the reading. He tries, indeed, hard +to believe that it is actually his--he coaxes it to come to him, +he whistles to it, but no--the reading knows its own master, and +will not go near him; whereupon he gets angry, and bites _us_. He +charges us with finding it _convenient_ to ignore his wisdom--that +is, with being ignorant of something in his pages, which, however, +he confesses is not to be found within any of their four corners. +But even supposing that all which _Notes and Queries_ implies we are +guilty of could be made out--only conceive its being _convenient_ +for a man not to know--that is, to _pretend_ ignorance--of something +which may have been written on Shakespeare, or on any other subject, +by these commentators on “Here we go, up, up, up,” &c.! There is +a complication of absurdity in the idea which it is not easy to +unravel, and which defies all power of face. For one of themselves +to have said that it might be _convenient_ for a man to know and +profit by their small sayings and doings, would have been ludicrous +enough; but how any man should find a convenience--that is to say, an +advantage--in _not_ knowing, or rather in pretending not to know, how +this innocent people are employing themselves--this is a conception +which, in point of _naïveté_, appears to us to be unequalled by +anything out of Æsop’s Fables. How would it do for them to call +themselves “_Gnats and Queries_?” We recommend _that_ new reading to +their consideration. + +We are not sure, however, that this small community is so very +innocent after all. Connected with this very reading, “Most busy,” +&c., they have been guilty of as much _mala fides_ as can be +concentrated upon a point so exceedingly minute. To propose a new +reading without having the remotest conception of its meaning, is to +deserve no very great credit as a critic; yet this is what _Gnats +and Queries_ has done. He (or one of his many pin-heads symbolised +by A. E. B.), saw (_Gnats and Queries_, vol. ii. p. 338) that the +construction of the line was, “Most busy, when least I do it”--or, +as he explains it, “Most busy, when least employed.” But how does +he explain _that_, again?--he actually makes the word “busy” apply +to Ferdinand’s _thoughts_. He says, “Is it not those delicious +_thoughts_ (of Miranda) ‘most busy’ in the _pauses_ of (Ferdinand’s) +labour, making those pauses still more refreshing and renovating?” +So it seems that the thoughts of Miranda refresh, not Ferdinand’s +_labours_, but his _idleness_; and that he is “most busy” in thinking +upon her, not when he is hardest at work, but when he is sitting +with his hands across. As if that circumstance would have been any +motive for him to go to work: it would have been the very contrary. +It would have kept him from his labour. If this be not the most +senseless reversal of Shakespeare’s plain meaning ever proposed +by any mole-eyed interpreter, we promise to eat Mr Collier’s old +MS. corrector without salt. Yet A. E. B. claims to himself credit +for having, to some extent, anticipated our new reading; to the +extent, that is, of seeing that the word _when_ should be placed (in +construing) before the word _least_. But what does that signify, when +he had not the remotest inkling of the meaning? More than that. +The true and only meaning of the line was thoroughly explained in +_Blackwood’s Magazine_ for August last, p. 186. A. E. B. has seen +that explanation--yet he still not only takes credit for the new +reading, but he makes no apology for his antecedent senselessness. We +call that _mala fides_. And further, he aggravates the criminality +of his dulness by referring to a passage in Cicero (quoted in _Gnats +and Queries_, vol. iii. p. 229), which has no bearing whatever on the +reading, and can only serve to throw the reader off the true scent. +Altogether, for so small a matter, this is as complicated a case of +stupidity, and of something worse, as ever came under the notice of +the public. We may just add, what we only recently discovered, that +Mr Collier had inserted the original text of the line, “Most busy, +least when I do it,” in his edition of Shakespeare published some ten +years ago; but then he deserves just as little credit for this as +A. E. B. does; because his note, as might very easily be shown, and +as will be apparent to any one who reads it along with _Blackwood’s +Magazine_, p. 186, is directly at variance with his text. + +But we have kept the old Corrector too long waiting. Begging pardon, +we shall now attend to _his_ interests, taking him mildly in +hand,--at least at first. + + * * * * * + +TITUS ANDRONICUS.--_Act I. Scene 2._--To change “set abroad” into +_set abroach_ may be permissible; but it is not necessary. In the +following line (_Act II. Scene 1_) the alteration is most decidedly +for the worse:-- + + “The woods are ruthless, _dreadful_, deaf, and dull.” + +“Dreadful” is altered by the MS. corrector to _dreadless_--a very +unpoetical, indeed senseless substitution. + +We cannot accept the corrector’s rhyming phraseology in _Act II. +Scene 2_. No man has any business to rewrite Shakespeare after this +fashion. The liberty which this scourer of the old text here takes +with the play is just another of the numerous proofs that his design +was, not to restore their language, but merely to popularise it. +_Dine_, however, for “drive,” in the line, + + “The hounds + Should _drive_ upon thy new transformed limbs,” + (_Act II. Scene 3_) + +is a very sensible emendation, and one which we are disposed to +recommend for the text, “drive” being very probably a misprint. +Possibly also “breeder” (_Act IV. Scene 2_) may be a misprint for +_burthen_, which the corrector proposes, and to which we have no very +great objection. The best part of the change of the words, “Not far +one Muliteus” into “not far hence Muli lives,” is due to Steevens: +the MS. corrector’s contribution being very unimportant. + +_Act IV. Scene 4._--The flow of the following line, as printed in the +common editions, is much more easy and idiomatic, + + “My lords, you know, _as do_ the rightful gods,” + +than the corrector’s substitution-- + + “My lords, you know, the rightful gods _no less_.” + +Nothing further of any mark or likelihood presents itself in +the corrections of this play. The emendations are generally +insignificant; but in one instance, and perhaps two, they may deserve +some approbation. + + * * * * * + +ROMEO AND JULIET.--_Act I. Scene 1._--We never can accept _puffed_ in +lieu of “purged” in the lines-- + + “Love is a smoke, made with the fume of sighs, + Being _purg’d_, a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes.” + +_Urged_, as proposed by Johnson, is infinitely better than _puffed_; +but no change is required. + +In the following lines, the MS. corrector’s amendment seems to us to +be no improvement either upon the common or the original text. The +text of the quarto 1597 is this (Romeo is speaking of Rosaline)-- + + “She’ll not be hit + With Cupid’s arrow; she hath Dian’s wit, + And, in strong proof of chastity well arm’d, + From love’s weak childish bow she lives _uncharm’d_,” + +that is, _disenchanted_. The ordinary reading is “unharm’d” for +“uncharmed,” and it affords a very excellent and obvious sense. The +MS. corrector proposes _encharmed_--_i. e._ enchanted. But if any +one is dissatisfied with “unharmed,” we think he will do more wisely +to fall back on the primitive reading, rather than espouse the MS. +corrector’s emendation. It seems more natural to say that a person is +_disenchanted_ from the power of love by the shield of chastity, than +to say that she is _enchanted_ therefrom by means of that protection. + +The following remark by Mr Collier puzzles us excessively. _Scene 4_, +in the fine description of Queen Mab, this line occurs-- + + “Sometime she gallops o’er a _courtier’s_ nose.” + +But “courtiers” have been already mentioned. “To avoid this +repetition,” says Mr Collier, “Pope read ‘_lawyer’s_ nose;’ but while +shunning one defect he introduced another, for though the double +mention of ‘courtiers’ is thus avoided, it occasions the double +mention of lawyers. In what way, then, does the old corrector take +upon himself to decide the question? He treats the second ‘courtiers’ +as a misprint for a word which, when carelessly written, is not very +dissimilar-- + + ‘Some time she gallops o’er a _counsellor’s_ nose, + And then he dreams of smelling out a suit.’ + +That _counsellors_,” continues Mr Collier, “and their interest +in suits at court, should be thus ridiculed, cannot be thought +unnatural.” But are not _counsellors_ lawyers? and is not this +precisely the same blunder as that which Mr Collier condemns Pope +for having fallen into? Surely Queen Mab must have been galloping +to some purpose over Mr Collier’s nob, when he forgot himself thus +marvellously. It seems that there must be a repetition, and therefore +it is better to let it fall on the word “courtiers” than on the word +“lawyers,” or its synonym, _counsellors_,--for “courtiers” is the +original text. + +_Act II. Scene 2._--We are so wedded to the exquisite lines about +“the winged messenger of heaven,” + + “When he bestrides the _lazy-pacing_ clouds, + And sails upon the bosom of the air,” + +that it is with the utmost unwillingness we consent even to the +smallest change in their expression. But it seems that “lazy-puffing” +(an evident misprint) is the reading of the old editions; and this +goes far to prove that _lazy-passing_ (the MS. correction) is the +genuine word--the long ſſ having been mistaken by the compositor for +ff. Although as a matter of taste, perhaps of association, we prefer +“lazy-pacing,” still _lazy-passing_ is very good, and we have little +doubt that it is the authentic reading. We agree also with Mr Collier +in thinking that “_unbusied_ youth” for “unbruised youth” (_Act II. +Scene 3_) comes, as he says, “within the class of extremely plausible +emendations.” “_Weak_ dealing” (_Scene 4_), in the mouth of the +nurse, may very well be a _malapropism_ for “_wicked_ dealing,” and +therefore the text ought not to be disturbed. The MS. corrector is, +perhaps, right in his alteration of the line about Juliet’s cheeks +(_Scene 5_), where the nurse says-- + + “They’ll be in scarlet _straight at any_ news.” + +For “straight at any,” he reads, “_straightway at my_.” But the +point would require further consideration before the change can be +recommended, with certainty, for the text. + +_Act III. Scene 2._--In this scene there occurs one of the most +disputed passages in the whole of Shakespeare, and one on which +conjectural emendation and critical explanation have expended all +the resources both of their ingenuity and their stupidity, without +reaching any very memorable result, except in one instance, which +we are about to mention with hearty commendation. The difficulty +presents itself in the lines where Juliet says-- + + “Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, + That _Runaway’s_ eyes may wink, and Romeo + Leap to these arms untalked of and unseen.” + +Who is “_Runaway_”? He is a printer’s (not devil but) blunder, +says the old corrector; we should read _enemies_. Those may read +_enemies_ who choose. _We_ certainly shall not--no, not even at +the bidding of Queen Victoria herself. We shall not turn ourselves +into a goose to please the ghost of an old amateur play-corrector, +though he should keep _rapping_ at us till his knuckles are worn out. +Read _Rumourers_, says Mr Singer. No, Mr Singer, we will not read +_Rumourers_. Read this thing, and read that thing, say other wise +authorities: no, gentlemen, we shall not read anything except what +Shakespeare wrote, and we _know for certain_ that the word which he +wrote was “Runaway’s,” just as it stands in the books; for we learnt +this from a _medium_;--yes, and the medium was the Rev. Mr Halpin, +who, in the “Shakespeare Society’s Papers,” vol. ii., has proved to +our entire satisfaction that the text calls for, and indeed admits +of, no alteration. There could not be a happier-chosen or more +expressive word than “Runaway’s,” as here employed. + +Mr Halpin rather fritters away his argument, and is not very +forcible; but, coupled with one’s own reflections, he is altogether +convincing. The salient points of the argument may be presented +shortly as follows: _First_, “Runaway” holds the text: he has the +title which accrues from actual possession. _Secondly_, there cannot +be a doubt that _Runaway_ is the general and classical _sobriquet_ +for “Cupid.” _Thirdly_, Cupid was a most important personage in +all _epithalamia_. _Fourthly_, important character though he was, +he could not be altogether depended on for secresy; and therefore, +_fifthly_, it was highly desirable, for various considerations (at +least so thought Juliet), that the night should be so dark that even +Cupid should not be able to see very far beyond the point of his own +nose; in order, _sixthly_, that he might not be able to tell tales, +or “talk” of what he had “seen.” + +That is the first or main portion of the argument. It proceeds on +the supposition that Cupid _has eyes_. In that case, says Juliet, it +will be highly proper that he should “wink;” and as there can be no +certainty that the little rascal will do so, unless he _cannot see_, +it is further highly desirable that the night should be as black +as the brows of John Nox himself. The second and merely auxiliary +part of the argument proceeds on the supposition that Cupid has _no +eyes_--“Or,” says Juliet, a little farther on--“_or_ if Love (_i. +e._ Cupid) be blind;” why, then, so much the better; “it best agrees +with night;” in other words, a blind Cupid is fully a safer master of +ceremonies than is, all things considered, one that can see. + +Finally, supposing the Cupid here referred to, to be not a blind +but a seeing one, will any person inform us what can be the meaning +of the “winking Cupids” spoken of in _Cymbeline_, II. 4, unless +“winking” was, at times, a very important duty on the part of this +functionary? Unless this was part of his office, the words referred +to have no meaning whatever. It seems to have been considered by our +poets, and also by the world at large, as highly becoming--indeed, +as absolutely necessary--that a _seeing_ Cupid should possess a +marvellous alacrity in “winking,” brought about either by his +own sense of the essential fitnesses of things, or by what some +moralists have termed the feeling of propriety, or by the darkness +of the circumambient night. The latter was the interposing medium +to which Juliet chiefly trusted. Who can now doubt that _Cupid_ +is “Runaway,” and that “Runaway” was Shakespeare’s word? We have +omitted to say anything in explanation of the classical nickname. One +word may suffice. The urchin was constantly _running away_ from the +apron-strings of his mother Venus, and getting himself into scrapes. + +_Act III. Scene 5._--The MS. alteration of “brow” into _bow_ is by no +means a manifest improvement in the lines where Romeo says-- + + “I’ll say yon grey is not the morning’s eye, + ’Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia’s brow.” + +Why should “Cynthia’s _brow_” be not as unexceptionable an expression +as the “morning’s _eye_”? To take the words, “These are news indeed!” +from Juliet, and to give them to Lady Capulet, is to spoil the +consistency of the dialogue. This alteration proves that the old +corrector has been no very attentive student of his great master. +Lady Capulet says to her daughter Juliet-- + + “But now I’ll tell thee _joyful tidings_, girl.” + +She then informs her that the gallant Count Paris is to make her a +joyful bride “early next Thursday morn.” Juliet protests against the +match, and winds up by exclaiming, “These _are_ news indeed!”--the +most natural and appropriate observation which could be made in the +circumstances. Yet Mr Collier calls the MS. correction which assigns +these words to Lady Capulet a “judicious arrangement.” + +_Act IV. Scene 2._--_Becoming love_ for “_becomed_ love,” is a +specimen of the corrector’s system of modernising the text. + +_Act V. Scene 1._--“If I may trust,” says Romeo, + + “If I may trust the _flattering truth_ of sleep, + My dreams presage some joyful news at hand.” + +The MS. corrector reads-- + + “If I may trust the flattering _death_ of sleep,” + +which Mr Collier defends on the ground of what follows in Romeo’s +speech:-- + + “I dreamt, my lady came and found me dead, + (Strange dream! that gives a dead man leave to think,) + And breath’d such life with kisses in my lips + That I revived--and was an emperor.” + +But if the “death,” of which the corrector supposes Romeo to speak, +has any reference to the death of which he has dreamt, what a +ludicrous and unmeaning epithet the word “flattering” is! Flattering +death! Why flattering? It is the most senseless adjunct that could +be employed in the place. It was his _revival from death_ by the +kisses of Juliet that formed the “flattering” part of his dream. This +emendation, therefore, must be dismissed as a most signal failure. +Mr Singer’s suggestion, though not necessary, is better. He reads, +“the flattering _soother_ sleep.” But the text ought to be allowed +to stand as it is. “The flattering truth of sleep” merely means--the +pleasing truth promised to me in dreams. + +_Scene 3._--We conclude our observation on this play with the remark, +that there is no necessity whatever for changing “outrage” into +_outcry_ in the line where the Prince says-- + + “Seal up the mouth of _outrage_ for a while.” + +All who are present have been driven nearly distracted by the +tragedies they are called upon to witness, and therefore the meaning +undoubtedly is--“seal up the mouth of _distraction_ for a while,” + + “Till we can clear these ambiguities.” + + * * * * * + +TIMON OF ATHENS.--_Act I. Scene 1._--The commentators have been very +generally at fault in their dealings with the following line. The +cynical Apemantus says-- + + “Heavens, that I were a lord! + + _Timon._--What wouldst thou do then, Apemantus? + + _Apemantus._--Even as Apemantus does now--hate a lord with + my heart. + + _Timon._--What, thyself? + + _Apemantus._--Ay. + + _Timon._--Wherefore? + + _Apemantus._--_That I had no angry wit to be a lord._” + +Warburton proposed, “that I had _so hungry a wit to be a lord_.” +Monk Mason suggested, “that I had _an angry wish_ to be a lord.” The +MS. corrector, combining these two readings, gives us, “_that I had +so hungry a wish_ to be a lord.” Dr Johnson says, “The meaning _may +be_--I should hate myself for _patiently enduring to be a lord_. +This is ill enough expressed. Perhaps some happy change may set it +right. I have tried and can do nothing, yet I cannot heartily concur +with Dr Warburton.” Warburton’s emendation is substantially the same +as the MS. corrector’s--and therefore we have Dr Johnson’s verdict +against its admissibility. His own interpretation is unquestionably +right, although he gave it with great hesitation. No change whatever +is required. The passage is perfectly plain if we take “to be” as +standing for “in being.” “That I had no angry wit _in being_ a +lord.” It is the pleasure and pride of my life to cherish a savage +disposition; but in consenting to be a lord I should show that I had +in a great measure foregone this moroseness of nature--and therefore +“I should hate myself, because I could have had no angry wit, no +splenetic humour upon me, when I consented to be a lord.” + +_Scene 2._--Dr Delius (of whom favourable mention has been made in +our second article) deals very sensibly with the following case. +“At Timon’s table,” says he, “Apemantus declares himself to be a +water-drinker, because water, unlike strong drink, never leads a man +into crime. He says-- + + ‘Here’s that which is too weak to be a _sinner_; + Honest water, which never left a man in the mire.’ + +The old corrector, hankering after rhymes, changes ‘sinner’ into +_fire_. But had Apemantus indulged in such an unutterable platitude +at Timon’s banquet, as the remark that _water was not fire_, the +rest of the guests would most assuredly have turned him to the door. +What shall we say when we find Mr Collier seriously believing that +Shakespeare’s word was _fire_!”[14] Well done, Doctor! + +_Act II. Scene 2._--A construction very similar to the one we lately +met with (_to be_, for _in being_) occurs in the following lines, +which certainly require no amendment. Flavius, Timon’s steward, +complaining of his master’s extravagance, says that he + + “Takes no account + How things go from him, _nor resumes_ no care + Of what is to continue. Never mind + Was, _to be_ so unwise, to be so kind.” + +The corrector reads-- + + “Takes no account + How things go from him, _no reserve_; no care + Of what is to continue. Never mind + Was _surely_ so unwise, to be so kind.” + +“To take no reserve” is surely more awkward and ungrammatical than +the language which Shakespeare employs. And as for the substitution +_surely_, it is very far from being required. The construction +is--never did a mind exist, being so unwise, in order to be so kind. + +These two lines as amended by the + +old corrector-- + + “He did reprove his anger, ere ’twas spent, + As if he did but move an argument,” + +seem to be an improvement upon + + “He did _behave_ his anger, ere ’twas spent, + As if he did but prove an argument.” + +The old copies read “behoove.” But it would not be safe to alter +the received text without further deliberation. We cannot accept Mr +Singer’s _behood_. + +_Act IV. Scene 2._--Flavius, when his master is ruined, moralises +thus, + + “O, the fierce wretchedness that glory brings us! + Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt, + Since riches point to misery and contempt? + Who’d be so mock’d with glory? or to live + But in a dream of friendship? + To have his pomp, and all what state compounds, + But only painted, like his varnished friends.” + +If the expression of these verses be somewhat elliptical, they are +quite intelligible, and the MS. corrector certainly does not improve +them. He writes the four last lines thus-- + + “Who’d be so mocked with glory, _as_ to live + But in a dream of friendship, and _revive_ + To have his pomp and all state _comprehends_, + But only painted like his varnished friends.” + +What is the meaning of “to be so mocked with _glory_ as to live but +in a dream of _friendship_?” A man may be so mocked with glory as +to live only in a dream of _glory_. But a dream of friendship is +nonsense--or, rather, the change of “or” into _as_, makes nonsense of +the passage. The other changes are not so irrational, but they are +quite unnecessary, and cannot, in any respect, be recommended for the +text. + +_Scene 3._--To change “a bawd” into _abhorred_, as the MS. corrector +has done, proves that he was unable to construe the English language. +We shall merely refer our readers to Dr Johnson’s note on the place, +which explains it thoroughly. + +In this same scene Timon rebukes Apemantus in these terms-- + + “Thou art a slave, whom fortune’s tender arm + With favour never clasp’d; but bred a dog. + Had’st thou, like us, from our first swath, proceeded + The sweet degrees that this brief world affords + To such as may the passive _drugs_ of it + Freely command, thou would’st have plung’d thyself + In general riot.” + +Mr Collier writes, “‘The passive drugs’ of the world _surely_ cannot +be right. Timon is supposing the rich and luxurious to be, as it +were, sucking freely at the ‘passive _dugs_’ of the world, and an +emendation in manuscript which merely strikes out the superfluous +letter supports this view of the passage, and renders needless Monk +Mason’s _somewhat wild_ conjecture in favour of _drudges_.” Reader, +look out the word “drug” in Johnson’s Dictionary--a work which +does not deal much in _wild_ conjectures, and which, whatever its +disparagers may say, is still the best authority going for the use +and meaning of the English language--and you will find that one of +the meanings of “drug” is _drudge_. There cannot be a doubt that +_drugge_ is the old way of spelling _drudge_, and just as little +can there be a doubt that “drugs” in the passage before us means +_drudges_. To “command” the _dugs_ of the world, would indeed be a +wild way of speaking. + +_Scene 4._--In the following lines, where it is said that it is not +right to take vengeance on the living for the crimes of the dead, +Shakespeare writes, + + “All have not offended; + For those that were, it is _not square_ to take + On those that are, revenge.” + +For “not square” the new reading is “is’t not severe.” This smacks +very decidedly of more modern times--and is a marked instance of our +corrector’s attempt to popularise his author. “Not square” of course +means not just. + + * * * * * + +JULIUS CÆSAR.--_Act I. Scene 2._--In his comments on the corrections +of this play Mr Collier makes an unfortunate commencement. He says, +“The two following lines have _always_ been printed thus-- + + ‘When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome, + That her wide _walks_ encompass’d but one man?’ + +This reading has _never_, we believe, been doubted.” No man can be +expected to have examined all the editions of Shakespeare. But surely +Mr Collier _might_ have been acquainted with Theobald’s (1773), and +the common _variorum_ (1785), in both of which “walls” is printed +in the text, without a word of comment, as requiring none. Or if +he had not examined these editions, surely his remark was somewhat +precipitate that “walks” had been _always_ printed in the text, and +had _never_ been doubted. _We_ have never seen an edition containing +“walks”--but we shall not venture to assert that no such edition +exists. This, however, is certain, that the change of “walks” into +“walls” is news at least a hundred years old, and is a correction +which every child would make the instant the passage was laid before +him. + +We quote the following from Mr Collier for the sake of the remark +with which it concludes. “The MS. corrector,” he says, “requires us +to make another change which seems even less necessary, but, at the +same time, is judicious: + + ‘Brutus had rather be a villager, + Than to repute himself a son of Rome, + Under _these_ hard conditions as this time + Is like to lay upon us.’ + +Under _such_ hard conditions, sounds better, followed as it is by +‘this time,’ but this is perhaps a matter of discretion, and we +have _no means of knowing_ whether the writer of the notes might +not _here_ be indulging his taste.” This implies--and there are +many such insinuations throughout Mr Collier’s book--that we have +the means _of knowing_ that the corrector did not exercise merely +his own discretion, in the majority of his emendations, but had +undoubted authority for his cutting and carving on the text. But what +means have we of knowing this? None at all. Sometimes the corrector +restores the readings of the old quartos and of the folio 1623; but +that is no proof that his other corrections have any guarantee beyond +his own caprice. There is no external evidence in their favour, and +their manifest inferiority to the received text, in almost every +instance of importance, shows that their internal evidence is just as +defective. Indeed, as we shall by and by see, we have the means of +knowing that, in almost every case, the old corrector was “exercising +merely his own discretion,” or rather indiscretion. We admit that in +a few minor instances the changes are slightly for the better, as, +for instance, the alteration of “make” into _mark_ in these lines +(_Act II. Scene 1_)-- + + “This shall _mark_ + Our purpose necessary, and not envious.” + +But wherever our corrector attempts an emendation of any magnitude, +he, for the most part--indeed, we may say always--signally fails, +as has been already abundantly shown; and he fails, because in nine +hundred and ninety-nine apparently doubtful cases out of every +thousand, the text stands in no need of any alteration. + +_Act III. Scene 1._--How vilely vulgarised is Cæsar’s answer to +Artemidorus by the corrector’s way of putting it. Artemidorus, +pressing forward to deliver his warning to Cæsar, says, + + “Mine’s a suit + That touches Cæsar nearer.” + +Cæsar’s dignified answer is, + + “What touches us ourself, shall be last served.” + +The words put into his mouth by the MS. corrector are, + + “That touches us? ourself shall be last served.” + +The _taste_ of this new reading will not find many approvers, we +should think, when it is placed in juxtaposition with the old. + +Perhaps the corrector is right in giving the words, “Are we all +ready,” to Casca, instead of Cæsar, to whom they are usually +assigned; but Ritson had long ago pointed out the propriety of the +change. We can accept _crouchings_ in place of couchings. “_Law_ of +children” for “_love_ of children,” has been already recommended by +Dr Johnson. + +_Act IV. Scene 3._--For “new-added,” Mr Singer suggests _new-aided_, +which is certainly much better than the MS. correction _new-hearted_; +but no change is necessary. + +_Act V. Scene 1._--The old reading, “_sword_ of traitors,” is +infinitely better than the new, “_word_ of traitors.” “Forward” +for “former” is another instance of the corrector’s attempts to +_modernise_ the text. The same may be said of _term_ for “time.” We +admit, however, that “_those_ high powers” reads better than “_some_ +high powers.” + +At the close of the play, Antony says of Brutus, + + “This was the noblest Roman of them all, + All the conspirators, save only he, + Did that they did in envy of great Cæsar; + He, only, in a _general_ honest thought, + _And_ common good to all, made one of them.” + +We are told to read, + + “He only in a _generous_ honest thought + _Of_ common good to all.” + +This, however, is not Shakespeare speaking his own language, +but Shakespeare popularised. “A _general_ honest thought” is a +_comprehensive_ honest thought; and we may be absolutely certain that +“general” is the poet’s word. If the MS. corrector could be brought +to life and examined, we are convinced he would admit that he was +merely _adapting_ Shakespeare to his own notions of the taste and +capacities of a popular assembly. + + * * * * * + +MACBETH.--_Act I. Scene 1._--When Ross enters suddenly, with tidings +of the victory gained by Macbeth and Banquo over the Norwegians, +Lenox exclaims, + + “What a haste looks through his eyes! so should he look + That _seems to speak_ things strange.” + +A hypercritical objection has been taken to the words, “seems to +speak,” inasmuch as Ross has not yet spoken. Dr Johnson, deserted +for a moment by his usual good sense, would read, “that _teems_ +to speak.” “He looks like one that is _big with_ something of +importance”--a phrase savouring much more of the great lexicographer +than of the great poet. The MS. corrector proposes, “that _comes_ to +speak.” This is very flat and prosaic. Mr Singer says that “_seems_ +is to be received in its usual sense of _appears_.” This is worse and +worse. Malone long ago informed us that “to speak” stood for “_about_ +to speak,” and this is undoubtedly right. “To speak” is not the +present, but the future infinitive. “So should he look that seems _on +the point of speaking_ things strange.” No change is required. + +_Scene 4._--The king, on meeting Macbeth after his victory over the +rebels, thus expresses his obligations to him, + + “Would thou had’st less deserved, + That the proportion both of thanks and payment + Might have been _mine_.” + +We believe the meaning of this to be, “that the _larger share_, both +of thanks and payment, might have come from _my_ side. As it is, I +still owe you more than you can ever owe me.” To change “mine” into +_more_ is quite uncalled for. + +_Scene 5._--The MS. corrector proposes _blankness_ for “blanket,” in +the lines where Lady Macbeth, revolving the murder of Duncan, says, + + “Come, thick night, + And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell! + That my keen knife see not the wound it makes; + Nor heaven peep through the _blanket_ of the night, + To cry, Hold! hold!” + +The darkness prayed for is the _thickest_ that can be procured, and +therefore the word “blanket” is highly appropriate. It has a stifling +effect on the imagination, which the general term _blankness_ has not. + +_Scene 7._--The next alteration proposed seems to us to be a case of +great doubt and difficulty--one in which a good deal may be said on +both sides of the question. Macbeth says to his lady, who is pressing +him strongly to commit the murder, + + “Pr’ythee, peace, + I dare do all that may become a man, + Who dares do more is none. + + _Lady M._--What _beast_ was’t, then, + That made you break this enterprise to me? + When you durst do it, then you were a man, + And to be more than what you were, you would + Be so much more the man.” + +The MS. corrector, changing one letter, converts “beast” into +_boast_, whereupon Mr Singer says, “Who could have imagined that +any one familiar with the poet, as Mr Collier tells us he has been +for the last fifty years, could for a moment entertain the absurd +change of ‘beast’ to _boast_ in this celebrated passage?” Here Mr +Singer expresses himself, as we think, a great deal too strongly. In +better taste is Mr John Foster’s defence of the received reading. +He says (we quote from Mr Dyce, p. 124), with great good sense and +propriety, “Here Mr Collier reasons, as it appears to us, without +sufficient reference to the context of the passage, and its place +in the scene. The expression immediately preceding, and eliciting +Lady Macbeth’s reproach, is that in which Macbeth declares that he +dares do all that may become _a man_, and that who dares more _is +none_. She instantly takes up that expression--If not an affair in +which _a man_ may engage, what _beast_ was it then in himself or +others that made him break this enterprise to her? The force of the +passage lies in that contrasted word, and its meaning is lost by the +proposed substitution.” We admit the force of this reasoning, and it, +together with the consideration that _beast_ is the word actually in +possession of the text, rather inclines us, though not without much +hesitation, to prefer the old reading. We strongly suspect that the +contrast of the _beast_ and the _man_ may have been an accident due +to the carelessness, or perhaps an alteration due to the ingenuity +of the printer. There is to our feelings a stronger expression of +contempt, a more natural, if not a fiercer taunt in _boast_ than in +“beast.” “What vain braggadocio fit--what swaggering humour was it, +then, that made you break this enterprise to me?” There is nothing in +Mr Dyce’s objection, that Macbeth had _not_ previously vaunted his +determination to murder Duncan. He certainly _had_ broken the project +to his wife both by letter and in conversation, and that pretty +strongly too, as is evident from her words, “Nor time nor place did +_then_ adhere,” that is, when he first broached the subject, “yet +you would make both”--that is, you would make both time and place +bend to the furtherance of your design, even when they were not +in themselves ripe and suitable. And even though Macbeth had not +announced his project in a boastful manner, it was quite natural that +the lady, disgusted by his vacillation, should, in her excited state, +upbraid him as an empty boaster, and a contemptible poltroon. Tried +by their intrinsic merits, we regard “boast” as rather the better +reading of the two; and if we advocate the retention of “beast,” it +is only on the ground that it, too, affords a very good meaning, and +is _de facto_ the text of the old folios. + +_Act III. Scene 4._--The following passage has occasioned some +discussion among the commentators. Macbeth addresses the ghost of +Banquo, + + “Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, + The armed rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger; + Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves + Shall never tremble; or, be alive again, + And dare me to the desert with thy sword: + If trembling I _inhibit_, then protest me + The baby of a girl.” + +This is the common reading, or at least was so until a comparatively +recent period. “_Inhabit_,” says Henley, “is the original reading, +and it needs no alteration. The obvious meaning is--should you +challenge me to encounter you in the desert, and I, through fear, +remain trembling in my castle, _then_ protest me,” &c. Horne Tooke +(_Diversions of Purley_, ii. p. 55) slightly varies this reading by +placing the comma after _then_, instead of after _inhabit_. + + “Dare me to the desert with thy sword, + If trembling I inhabit then;”-- + +_i. e._, if _then_ I do not meet thee there; if trembling I stay at +home, or within doors, or under any roof, or within any _habitation_; +if, when you call me to the desert, I then _house_ me, or through +fear hide myself from thee in any dwelling-- + + “If trembling I do _house me then_, protest me,” &c. + +Probably, then, the best reading is, + + “If trembling I _inhabit then_, protest me,” &c. + +At any rate, the MS. corrector’s prosaic substitution--“if trembling +I _exhibit_,” _i. e._, if I show any symptoms of trepidation, cannot +be listened to for a moment. + +_Act IV. Scene 1._--The MS. corrector alters very properly +“Rebellious dead” of the old copies, into + + “_Rebellion’s head_ rise never till the wood + Of Birnam rise.” + +Theobald had got the length of changing “dead” into _head_, but the +alteration of “rebellious” into _rebellion’s_ is due to the old +corrector, and it is decidedly an improvement. + +When Macbeth has resolved to seize Macduff’s castle, and put his wife +and children to the sword, he exclaims-- + + “This deed I’ll do before this purpose cool, + But no more _sights_!” + +The MS. corrector proposes _flights_, and not without some show of +reason. Macbeth has just been informed that Macduff has fled to +England, and the escape has evidently discomposed him, as placing +beyond his reach his most deadly enemy. Accordingly, he is supposed +by the MS. corrector to exclaim, “No more flights! I must take care +that no more of that party escape me.” But, on the other hand, +Macbeth, a minute before, has been inveighing against the witches. He +says-- + + “Infected be the air whereon they ride, + And damned all that trust them!” + +So that “But no more sights” may mean, I will have no more dealings +with these infernal hags. The word “But” seems to be out of place in +connection with “flights”--and therefore we pronounce in favour of +the old reading. + +_Scene 3._--Malcolm, speaking of himself, says-- + + “In whom I know + All the particulars of vice so grafted, + That when they shall be _open’d_, black Macbeth + Shall seem as pure as snow.” + +“Here,” says Mr Collier, “as has been said on many former occasions, +‘opened’ affords sense, but so inferior to that given by the +correction of the folio 1632, that we need not hesitate in concluding +that Shakespeare, carrying on the figure suggested by the word +‘grafted’ as applied to fruit, must have written-- + + ‘That when they shall be _ripened_, black Macbeth + Will seem as pure as snow.’” + +But does not Mr Collier see that the metaphor is one which does not +turn upon _fruit_ at all, but that it turns upon _flowers_? And who +ever heard of flowers _ripening_? That the allusion is to flowers is +obvious from this, that Malcolm’s vices are said to surpass Macbeth’s +in their _colour_. “Compared with me, black Macbeth shall seem as +pure _as snow_.” What confusion of ideas can have put _fruit_ into +the dunderhead of the corrector, and what obliquity of judgment +should have led Mr Collier to affirm, that “opened” affords a sense +so inferior to _ripened_, it is very difficult to comprehend. In his +appendix, Mr Collier says, “an objection to _ripened_ instead of +‘opened,’ may be, that Malcolm is representing these ‘particulars of +vice’ in him as already at maturity.” Not at all; that would have +been no objection. His vices _were_ immature, but their immaturity +was that of flowers, and not that of fruits. So that Mr Collier is +equally at fault in his reasons _for_ and in his reasons _against_ +the word “opened.” This is not pretty in a man who has some claims to +be regarded as one of the greatest Shakespearian scholars of the day. + +The MS. corrector in no way redeems his character by suggesting a +decided alteration for the worse in the line where Macduff says to +Malcolm-- + + “You may + _Convey_ your pleasures in a spacious plenty.” + +Read _enjoy_, says the corrector. We have no doubt that “convey” is +the right word--only we had better punctuate the line thus, + + “Convey your pleasures in,--a spacious plenty;” + +_i. e._ Gather them in,--an abundant harvest. + +_Act V. Scene 2._--In the lines in which the unsettled condition +of Macbeth’s mind is alluded to, the corrector proposes a specious +though far from necessary amendment. + + “But for certain, + He cannot buckle his distempered _cause_ + Within the belt of rule.” + +The MS. correction is _course_; _i. e._ course of action, which is +distempered by the shattered condition of his nerves. But “cause” +fits the place perfectly well, if taken for his affairs generally, +his whole system of procedure; and therefore we are of opinion that +the text ought not to be disturbed. + +_Scene 3._ In the line where Macbeth says-- + + “This push + Will cheer me ever, or disseat me now,” + +we approve of the substitution of _chair_ for “cheer,” as proposed +long ago by Bishop Percy, and now seconded by the MS. corrector. But +we see no good reason for changing “stuff” into _grief_, in the line + + “Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous _stuff_ + Which weighs upon the heart.” + +There seems to have been but little _grief_ on the part either of the +tyrant or his lady; and the repetition of “stuffed” and “stuff” is +very much after the manner of Shakespeare. + +_Scene 4._ Malcolm says of Macbeth’s followers-- + + “For where there is advantage _to be given_, + Both more and less, have given him the revolt;” + +that is, where any advantage is held out, or “to be given” to them, +both strong and weak desert Macbeth’s standard. The MS. corrector +proposes “advantage _to be gotten_; a better reading, which has been +often suggested, is “advantage _to be gained_,” and this we regard +as more suitable to modern notions; but we counsel no change in the +text, because the old reading was to a certainty the language of +Shakespeare. + +The latinism of _farced_, _i. e._, stuffed out, for “forced,” has not +a shadow of probability in its favour. Macbeth says of the troops +opposed to him-- + + “Were they not _forced_ with those that should be ours, + We might have met them, dareful, beard to beard.” + +“Forced,” says Mr Singer very properly, “is used in the sense of +_re-inforced_.” Neither can we accept _quailed_ for “cooled,” at the +recommendation of the MS. corrector, in these lines where Macbeth +says-- + + “The time has been my senses would have _cool’d_ + To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair + Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir + As life were in’t.” + +“My senses would have _cooled_”--that is, my nerves would have +thrilled with an _icy_ shudder. The received text is quite +satisfactory. + + * * * * * + +HAMLET.--_Act I. Scene 2._--In consistency with the verdict just +given, we must pronounce the following new reading, at any rate, +reasonable. + +Horatio, describing the effect of the appearance of the ghost upon +Bernardo and Marcellus, tells Hamlet, as the quartos give it-- + + “They _distill’d_ + Almost to jelly with the act of fear, + Stand dumb, and speak not to him.” + +The folios read “bestilled.” The MS. correction is _bechill’d_. And +this we prefer to bestilled. It is quite in keeping with Macbeth’s +expression-- + + “My senses would have _cool’d_ + To hear a night-shriek.” + +Shakespeare probably knew that “jelly” was _gelu_, ice. But +“distilled,” the common reading, affords quite as good a meaning as +_bechilled_, and therefore, as this word has authority in its favour, +which _bechilled_ has not, we advise no alteration of the text. + +_Scene 3._--We think that the old corrector was right, when he +changed “chief” into _choice_ in the lines where the style in which +Frenchmen dress is alluded to-- + + “And they in France of the best rank and station + Are of a most select and generous chef in that.” + +This is the reading of the old copies. The modern editions read more +intelligibly-- + + “Are most select and generous, chief in that.” + +“Chief” for chiefly. But we prefer the MS. correction-- + + “Are of a most select and generous _choice_ in that,” + +both as affording better sense, and as coming nearer the old text +than the received reading does. + +In the same scene, Polonius says to his daughter-- + + “I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth, + Have you so _slander_ any moment’s leisure, + As to give words, or talk with the lord Hamlet.” + +We believe that “slander” here means _abuse_, _misuse_, and therefore +we prefer the received text to _squander_, the reading of the MS. +corrector. + +_Scene 5._--The ghost says-- + + “Thus was I sleeping, by a brother’s hand, + Of life, of crown, of queen, at once _despatch’d_.” + +The margins read-- + + “Of life, of crown, of queen, at once _despoiled_,” + +which may be more strictly grammatical than the other. But +“despatched” is more forcible, and indicates a more summary mode of +procedure. “Despatched,” says Mr Dyce, “expresses the _suddenness_ of +the bereavement.” The quartos read “deprived,” which is quite as good +as _despoiled_. + +_Act II. Scene 2._--Hamlet says-- + + “For it cannot be + But I am pigeon-livered, and lack gall + To make _oppression_ better, or ere this + I should have fatted all the region kites + With this slave’s offal.” + +The margins have the weakness to propose “to make _transgression_ +bitter!” We are glad to perceive that the mild Mr Dyce “lacks not +gall to make _senseless criticism_ bitter.” He says, “This alteration +is nothing less _than villanous_. Could the MS. corrector be so +obtuse as not to perceive that ‘lack gall to make oppression bitter,’ +means lack gall to make me feel the bitterness of oppression?” Mr +Singer proposes _aggression_, which is just one half as bad as +_transgression_. Why cannot the commentators leave well alone? + +_Act III. Scene 3._--To change “prize” into _purse_ in the expression, + + “the wicked prize itself + Buys out the law,” + +simply shows a dogged determination on the part of the old corrector +to be more perversely idiotical than we can believe that his stars +doomed even _him_ to be. The king is speaking of his usurped crown +and dominion as his “wicked _prize_.” Mr Collier having put on livery +in the old corrector’s service, has, of course, nothing for it but to +assent. He says, “We need no great persuasion to make us believe that +we ought to read _purse_.” Do not suppose, Mr Collier, that we are +going to be gulled by that remark--you yourself, we are convinced, +never swallowed so bitter a pill as that new reading, in all your +born days. + +_Act III. Scene 4._--The MS. correction, “I’ll _sconce_ me even +here,” says Polonius, is to be preferred to the ordinary reading, +“I’ll _silence_ me even here.” This reading was also proposed not +long ago by Mr Hunter. + +_Act IV. Scene 3._--In the next, Mr Collier is not quite so sure +of his ground, and well may he distrust it. He says, “The next +emendation is well worthy of consideration, and _perhaps_ of +adoption. The king asks Hamlet where Polonius is at supper, and the +answer is this in the quartos-- + + “Not where he eats, but where he is eaten; a certain + convocation of _politic_ worms are even at him. Your worm + is the only emperor for diet,” &c. + +The corrector treats us to “a convocation of _palated_ worms,” +which is a view of the subject we cannot at all stomach. If there +is any one word in all Shakespeare which we can be more certain of +than another as having been written by himself, the term “politic,” +as used in this place, is that word. The context, “convocation,” +proves this. A convocation is a kind of parliament, and does not +a parliament imply policy? “Politic” here means _polite, social, +and discriminating_. Mr Collier advances a very singular argument +in behalf of _palated_. “If the text had always stood ‘palated +worms,’ and if it had been proposed to change it to ‘politic worms,’ +few readers would for an instant have consented to relinquish an +expression so peculiarly Shakespearian.” That is to say, if we +had the best possible reasons for thinking that Shakespeare wrote +“palated,” we should not be disposed to alter it. True: but in +that case we can assure Mr Collier that our forbearance would be +occasioned only by our respect for the authentic text, and not by +our opinion that “palated” is the better word of the two. _Palated_ +is, in every respect, inferior to “politic”--so inferior, that +had _palated_ been the text, we should strongly have suspected a +misprint, and had “politic” stood on the margin we should certainly +have recommended it for favourable consideration, as we have done +several of the MS. corrections which have not nearly so strong claims +on our approval. The corrector must have been _very old_ (or very +young) when he set down this new reading. + + * * * * * + +KING LEAR.--_Act I. Scene 1._--Regan remarks that in comparison with +her father’s welfare-- + + “I profess + Myself an enemy to all other joys + That the most _precious square_ of sense possesses.” + +The MS. corrector reads “precious _sphere_,” which Mr Singer trumps +by playing out “_spacious_ sphere.” Both of these new readings are +good, considered as _modernisations_ of Shakespeare. But the old text +is not to be doubted: it is quite intelligible, and therefore ought +not to be disturbed. “Square” means compass, _area_. + +In the following passage, too, we advocate the retention of the old +text, though the MS. correction is plausible--is one of the best we +have been favoured with. Cordelia entreats her father to + + “Make known + It is no vicious blot, _murder_, or foulness-- + No unchaste action, or dishonoured _step_, + That hath deprived me of your grace and favour.” + +Mr Collier remarks: “Murder (spelt _murther_ in the folios) seems +here entirely out of place; Cordelia could never contemplate that +anybody would suspect her of murder; she is referring to ‘vicious +blots’ and ‘foulness’ in respect to virtue, and there cannot, we +apprehend, be a doubt that the old corrector has given us the real +language of Shakespeare when he puts the passage thus-- + + ‘Make known + It is no vicious blot, _nor other_ foulness.’” + +But the King of France has just before said-- + + “Sure her offence + Must be of such _unnatural_ degree + That _monsters it_;” + +that is, that makes a monster of it--it can be nothing short of some +crime of the deepest dye--and therefore “murder” does not seem to be +so much out of place in the mouth of Cordelia. _Stoop_ for “step,” as +proposed by the corrector, is still less to be accepted. Had he never +heard of a _faux pas_? + +_Act II. Scene 4._--The fool, declaring that he will not desert his +master, sings-- + + “But I will stay; the fool will stay, + And let the wise man fly. + The knave turns fool that runs away, + The fool no knave, perdy.” + +Dr Johnson proposed to correct the two last lines thus-- + + “The _fool_ turns _knave_ that runs away, + The _knave_ no _fool_, perdy.” + +And the MS. corrector does the same. Mr Singer, however, declares +“that the words _knave_ and _fool_ are in their right places in +the old text.” We wish that he had explained his view; for, to our +apprehension, the new reading is the only one which makes sense. + +One or two very small amendments here present themselves, which +on the score of taste are not altogether objectionable, but the +superiority of which is by no means so undoubted as to entitle them +to a place in the text. The following is one of them--probably the +best--_Act IV. Scene 1_, Edgar, in disguise, says-- + + “Yet better thus, and known to be contemned, + Than still contemned and flattered.” + +The meaning is--’tis better to be thus contemned and known to +one’s-self to be contemned--than contemned, and at the same time so +flattered as not to know that you are contemned. The old corrector +proposes-- + + “_Yes_, better _thus unknown_ to be contemned,” &c., + +a reading (all but the _yes_) suggested long ago by Dr Johnson--but +one in no respect superior in merit to the common text. The common +reading “our mean (_i. e._ our mediocrity) secures us,” is greatly +to be preferred to the MS. correction “our _wants_ secure us.” We +confess, however, a predilection for the “lust-dieted man that +_braves_ your ordinance” (the ordinance of heaven), instead of the +common reading, “_slaves_ your ordinance,” although this is defended +by Dr Johnson against Warburton, who long ago proposed the word +(_braves_) which appears on the margins of the folio. + +_Scene 6._-- + + “Behold yond’ simpering dame + Whose face between her forks presageth snow, + Who _minces_ virtue, and does shake the head + To hear of pleasure’s name.” + +“Who _mimics_ virtue” say the margins, accommodating Shakespeare +to the tastes and understandings of a degenerate period. But, “who +minces virtue” is far finer: it means, who _affects_ a nicety of +virtue. We think that Dr Delius is wrong in preferring _mimics_. + +Edgar, when he discovers that Goneril has a plot upon her husband’s +life, exclaims-- + + “Oh, _undistinguish’d space_ of woman’s will! + A plot upon her virtuous husband’s life, + And the exchange my brother!” + +The corrector’s substitution-- + + “Oh, _unextinguished blaze_ of woman’s will!” + +may be dismissed at once as utterly irreconcilable with the context, +besides being villanous rhodomontade. The context lets us know very +plainly what the meaning of the first line must be. “A plot,” says +Edgar, “on the life of her husband, the best of men! and a marriage +with my brother, the greatest scoundrel unhanged! Oh, workings +of woman’s will, past all finding out--past all distinguishing!” +“Oh, unfathomable depth;” “Oh, unintelligible tortuosity;” “Oh, +undistinguishable limits;” that we believe to be the meaning of +“_Oh, undistinguished space_ of woman’s will.” The text requires no +amendment; and we would merely suggest _ways_ or _depth_ as a gloss, +and not as a substitute for “space.” + +OTHELLO.--_Act I. Scene 1._--The old corrector sometimes passes over +lines which present intolerable difficulties. We wish, in particular, +that he had favoured us with his sentiments on that line which has +baffled all mankind, in which Iago describes Cassio as + + “A fellow almost damned in a fair wife.” + +Difficulty first, Cassio was _not married_! Difficulty second, +Supposing him to be married, why should he be either almost or +altogether damned in a fair wife? Difficulty third, Why, if damned +at all, should he be only _almost_, and not _completely_, damned in +her? These are points on which the old scholiast has not attempted +to throw any light. Cassio, it is well known, had a mistress. Is it +possible, then, that Shakespeare should use “wife” in the sense of +mistress or woman? That supposition might remove the difficulty. As +it is, all attempts to amend the line have hitherto been abortive. It +still stands the _opprobrium criticorum_. + +After trying his hand very unsuccessfully on one or two passages, the +MS. corrector comes to the lines in which Desdemona is described by +Roderigo as + + “Tying her duty, beauty, wit, and fortunes, + In an extravagant and _wheeling_ stranger + Of here and everywhere.” + +Mr Collier says: “Here the commentators have notes upon +‘extravagant,’ but pass over ‘wheeling’ without explanation, although +_very unintelligible_ where it stands.” He then remarks that +“_wheedling_ (the MS. correction for ‘wheeling’) is an important +improvement of the text.” Few people, we imagine, will agree with +Mr Collier in thinking either that “wheeling” is unintelligible, or +that _wheedling_ is an improvement. “A wheeling stranger of here +and everywhere” is as plain, and, at the same time, as poetical a +periphrasis for _a vagabond_ as can be well conceived. We may be +_certain_ that the text as it stands is the language of Shakespeare. + +Proceeding onwards, we meet with nothing which can be recommended +for the text, and little which attracts our attention, until we +come to the expression, “A super-subtle Venetian,” which is Iago’s +designation for Desdemona. The old corrector makes him call her “a +_super-supple_ Venetian”! But, if his own good taste could not keep +the old gentleman right, surely the context might have done so. Iago +says--“An erring barbarian (_i. e._ Othello) and a super-subtle +Venetian” (_i. e._ Desdemona). There is here a fine opposition +between barbarism and subtlety; but what opposition, what relation of +any kind, is there between barbarism and _suppleness_? + +_Act II. Scene 3._--Othello, in a state of excitement, says-- + + “And passion having my best judgment _collied_,” + +for which the MS. correction is _quelled_. Mr Collier says, “There +can hardly be a doubt that this is the proper restoration.” Whereupon +Mr Singer observes pathetically--and we quite agree with him--“I pity +the man who could for a moment think of displacing the effective and +now consecrated word _collied_. Its obvious meaning is _darkened_, +_obfuscated_; and a more appropriate and expressive word could not +have been used.” + +_Act IV. Scene 1._--Othello, when the pretended proofs of Desdemona’s +guilt are accumulating upon him, and just before he falls into a +fit, exclaims, “Nature would not invest herself in such _shadowing_ +passion without some instruction.” Johnson thus explains the place, +“It is not _words_ which shake me thus. This passion which spreads +its clouds over me, is the effect of some agency more than the +_operation of words_: it is one of these notices which men have of +unseen calamities.” How near does that come to Campbell’s fine line, + + “And coming events cast their _shadows_ before.” + +Yet “shadowing” is to be deleted, and _shuddering_ substituted in its +room. No, no, thou shadow--but not of Shakespeare--we cannot afford +to be mulcted of so much fine poetry. + +_Scene 2._--We might have called attention more frequently, as we +went along, to many instances which prove, what we have now not the +smallest doubt of, that these new readings were never at all intended +by the MS. corrector to be viewed as _restorations_ of Shakespeare’s +text; but simply as _avowed departures_ from his language, admitted +innovations, which might better suit the tastes, as he thought, of +a _progenies vitiosior_. That they were designed as restitutions of +the true Shakespearian dialect is a pure hypothesis on the part of +Mr Collier. It receives no countenance whatever from the handiwork +of his corrector, whom, therefore, we exculpate from the crime of +forgery, although his offences against good taste and common sense +remain equally reprehensible. Mr Collier, we conceive, is greatly to +blame for having mistaken so completely his _protégé’s_ intention. As +an instance of a new reading in which the text is merely modernised, +and certainly not restored, take the following, where Desdemona, +speaking of Othello, says, + + “How have I been behaved, that he might stick + The small’st opinion on my greatest abuse?” + +This is the reading of the quartos. The folios have, + + “The small’st opinion on my _least misuse_.” + +The latter of which words the corrector changes into _misdeed_, +as more intelligible to the ears of the groundlings subsequent to +Shakespeare. + +_Act V. Scene 2._--Æmilia, after the murder of Desdemona, declares +that she will not hold her peace, + + “No, I will speak as liberal as the _north_.” + +The old quarto reads _air_. The MS. corrector reads _wind_. “Why, we +may ask,” says Mr Collier, “should the old corrector make the change, +inasmuch as no reasonable objection may be urged against the use of +‘north,’ which he deletes, not in favour of ‘air’ of the quarto 1622, +but in favour of _wind_? We may presume that he altered the word +because he had heard the line repeated in that manner on the stage.” +That is not at all unlikely. Actors sometimes take considerable +liberties with the text of their parts, and they probably did so +in the time of Shakespeare as well as now. A player might use _the +north_, or _the air_, or _the wind_, according as the one or other of +these words came most readily to his mouth. But that proves nothing +in regard to the authentic text of Shakespeare. For this we must look +to his _published_ works in their earliest impressions. We attach +little or no importance to the mere players’ alterations, even though +Mr Collier should be able to prove (what he is not) that many of his +corrector’s emendations were playhouse variations, for these were +much more likely to have had their origin in individual caprice than +in any more authoritative source. + + * * * * * + +ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.--_Act I. Scene 2._--Before changing the +following passage, + + “The present pleasure, + By _revolution lowering_, does become + The opposite of itself,” + +we should require better authority than that of the MS. corrector, +who reads, + + “The present pleasure, + By _repetition souring_, does become + The opposite of itself.” + +This, however, is one of his most specious emendations. But the +words, “by revolution lowering,” are sufficiently intelligible,--and +are indeed a very fine poetical expression for the instability of +human pleasure. + +_Scene 3._--Antony says to Cleopatra, who seems to doubt his love, + + “My precious queen, forbear, + And give true _evidence_ to his love which stands + An honourable trial”-- + +that is, bear true witness to my love. The MS. corrector changes +“evidence” into _credence_, as better suited to the popular +apprehension, though much less pleasing to the discriminating reader. +There cannot be a doubt as to which of the words is Shakespeare’s. + +_Scene 5._--“An _arm-gaunt_ steed” has puzzled the commentators. +Of all the substitutes proposed, _termagant_ is perhaps the best. +_Arrogant_, suggested by Mr Boaden, and adopted by Mr Singer, is also +worthy of consideration. Either of these words harmonises with the +character of the animal “who neigh’d so high.” Sir T. Hanmer and the +old corrector read _arm-girt_. + +_Act II. Scene 2._--In the description of Cleopatra in her barge, it +is said, + + “The silken tackles + _Swell_ with the touches of those flower-soft hands + That yarely frame the office.” + +Mr Collier says, “we ought _undoubtedly_, with the old corrector, to +amend the text to + + ‘_Smell_ with the touches of the flower-soft hands.’” + +Truly there _is_ no accounting for tastes! + +_Scene 7._--“When Antony,” says Mr Collier, “during the debauch, +says to Cæsar, ‘Be a child o’ the time,’ Cæsar replies rather +unintelligibly, + + ‘_Possess it_, I’ll make answer; but I had rather fast + From all, four days, than drink so much in one.’ + +What does he mean by telling Antony ‘to possess it?’” His meaning +is quite obvious; he means, _Be master of it_. “Be a child of the +time,” says Antony. “Rather be its master, say I,” rejoins Cæsar--a +sentiment much more likely to come from the lips of the great +dictator than the paltry rejoinder which the old corrector puts into +his mouth--“_Profess it_”--that is, profess to be the child of the +time. + +_Act III. Scene 4._--Antony, complaining of Cæsar’s unjust treatment, +says, + + “When the best hint was given him, he _not took’t_, + Or did it from his teeth;” + +that is, when the most favourable representations of my conduct were +made to him, he heeded them not, or merely put on the appearance of +attending to them. The corrector reads, “_but looked_;” yet, although +the folio 1623 has “he _not looked_,” we may be pretty sure that the +text, as given above, is the right reading, as it is assuredly the +only one which makes sense. + +_Scene 6._--Cæsar expresses his dissatisfaction with the want of +ceremony with which Octavia has been received on her entrance into +Rome. + + “But you are come + A market-maid to Rome, and have prevented + The ostentation of our love, which left, unshown, + Is often _left_ unlov’d.” + +For “left” the corrector reads _held_, and Mr Singer proposes +_felt_. But if either of these emendations were adopted, we should +require to read, “is often felt _unloving_,” and this the measure +will not permit. We therefore stand by the old text, the meaning +of which we conceive to be--love which is left unshown is often +left _unreturned_. “Wrong led” is better suited to its place than +_wrongèd_, the MS. correction. + +_Scene 11._--Enobarbus, ridiculing the idea that Cæsar will accept +Antony’s challenge to meet him in single combat, says, + + “That he should dream, + Knowing all _measures_, the full Cæsar will + Answer his emptiness”-- + +that is, it is surprising that Antony, who has experienced every +measure of fortune, has drunk of her fullest as well as of her +emptiest cup, should dream that the _full_ Cæsar will answer _his +emptiness_. Here the words _full_ and _emptiness_ prove to a +demonstration that “measure” is the right word; yet the MS. corrector +alters it to _miseries_! Mr Collier remarks, in his supplementary +notes, “Still, it may be fit to hesitate before _miseries_ for +‘measures’ is introduced into the text.” We see no ground for a +moment’s hesitation. _Miseries_ is seen at a glance to be altogether +unendurable. + +In the same scene, somewhat further on, we think that the word +_deputation_ ought to take the place of “disputation.” This was +Warburton’s amendment; and the MS. correction coincides with it. + +_Act IV. Scene 4._--“Antony,” says Mr Collier, “enters calling for +his armour; ‘Mine armour, Eros;’ and when the man brings it, Antony +is made to say in the old copies, ‘Put _thine_ iron on;’ but surely +it ought to be as a manuscript note gives it, ‘Put _mine_ iron on.’” +Not at all; either word will do; but “thine” is more consonant with +ordinary usage. A gentleman asks his butler, not “have you cleaned +_my_ plate?” but “have you cleaned _your_ plate?” meaning, my plate +of which _you_ have the charge. Eros had the charge of Antony’s +armour. We agree with the corrector, that the words, “What is this +for?” should be given to Cleopatra, who is assisting to buckle on +Antony’s armour, and not to Antony, to whom they are assigned in the +_variorum_ edition 1785. “_Bear_ a storm” for “_hear_ a storm,” the +common reading, is a very unnecessary change. + +_Scene 8._--_Gests_ (gesta, exploits) for “guests” is highly to be +commended in the lines where Antony says, + + “We have beat him to his camp. Run one before + And let the queen know of our _gests_.” + +This emendation by the old corrector ought to take its place in the +text: and he should get the credit of it, although, as a proposed +reading, it may be, as Mr Singer says, already well known. + +_Scene 9._--_Fore sleep_ instead of “for sleep,” is also entitled to +very favourable consideration. + +_Scene 12._--_Composed_ for “disposed,” is the text _modernised_, not +restored. + +_Scene 13._--Cleopatra declares that she will never be led in triumph +by Cæsar, as an object of scorn to the proud patrician dames. + + “Your wife, Octavia, with her modest eyes, + And _still conclusion_, shall acquire no honour + Demuring upon me.” + +How good is that expression “still conclusion”! That lady of yours, +looking demurely upon me with her modest eyes, and _drawing her quiet +inferences_, shall acquire no honour from the contrast between my +fate with her own. And yet we are called upon by the MS. corrector +to give up these pregnant words for the vapid substitution of “still +_condition_!” This, we say, is no fair exchange, but downright +robbery. + +When Cleopatra and her women are endeavouring to raise the dying +Antony into the monument, the Egyptian queen exclaims, + + “_Here’s sport indeed!_ How heavy weighs my lord.” + +Johnson’s note on this place is remarkable, as an instance of want +of judgment in a man whose sagacity was very rarely at fault. He +says, “I suppose the meaning of these strange words is, _here’s_ +trifling; _you_ do not work _in earnest_.” No interpretation could +well go wider of the mark than this. Steevens says that she speaks +with an “affected levity.” It would be truer to say that she speaks +from that bitterness of heart which frequently finds a vent for +itself in irony. The MS. corrector reads, “Here’s _port_ indeed,” +which Mr Collier explains by saying, “Here Shakespeare appears to +have employed _port_ as a substantive to indicate weight.” But “it +would astonish me, and many more,” says Mr Singer, “if Mr Collier +should succeed in finding _port_ used for a load or weight in the +whole range of English literature.” We might add, that even although +authority could be found for it, the proposed reading would still be +utterly indefensible-- + + “Here’s _port_ (i. e. _weight_) indeed! how _heavy weighs_ my lord!” + +This is as bad as “_old_ Goody Blake was _old_ and poor.” Mr Singer +proposes, “Here’s _support_ indeed,” which we can by no means approve +of, as it seems to have no sense. + +_Act V. Scene 2._--Although the text of the following lines is not +very satisfactory, we greatly prefer it to the old corrector’s +amendment. Cleopatra, contemplating suicide, says, + + “It is great + To do that thing that ends all other deeds, + Which shackles accidents, and bolts up change; + Which sleeps, and never palates more the _dung_, + The beggar’s nurse and Cæsar’s.” + +“Dung” here is probably used contemptuously, and must be taken in +a wide sense for food in general. As bread is raised from manure, +man, who lives by bread, may be said to feed on manure. The sense +probably is--It is great to do the thing (suicide) which causes us +to sleep, and never more to taste the produce of the earth, which +nourishes alike Cæsar and the beggar. The MS. correction is _dug_, +which was long ago suggested, and which certainly does not mend +matters. This new reading affords no extrication of the construction, +“which sleeps,” which we have ventured to explain as “which _lays us_ +asleep, and _causes us_ never more to palate or taste,” &c. + +_Scene 2._-- + + “A grief that shoots + My very heart at root,” + +is perhaps judiciously altered into “a grief that smites.” The old +copies read “suites.” This emendation was also proposed by the late +Mr Barron Field. + + * * * * * + +CYMBELINE.--_Act I. Scene 5._--“We here encounter,” says Mr Collier, +“the first MS. emendation of _much value_.” Iachimo has remarked, +that the marriage of Posthumus with the king’s daughter, from whom, +however, he has been divorced, tends to raise Posthumus in the public +estimation. “And then his banishment,” says the Frenchman. “Ay,” adds +Iachimo, “and the approbation of those that weep this lamentable +divorce _under her colours_ are wonderfully to extend him;” that +is, his banishment, and the approbation of those _of his wife’s +party_ (this is the meaning of “under her colours”), who weep this +lamentable divorce, help to enhance still further the opinion of his +merits. The old corrector thus disfigures the passage: “Ay, and the +_approbations_ of those that weep this lamentable divorce, _and her +dolours_, are _wont_ wonderfully to extend him.” The old corrector’s +mental vision does not seem to be capable of taking in more than a +quarter of an inch of the text at once. He saw that the verb “are” +required a plural nominative, hence he reads “approbations.” But he +might have avoided this barbarism had he extended his optical range, +so as to comprehend the word “banishment” in the preceding speech. +The two words, “banishment” and “approbation,” are surely entitled to +be followed by the verb “are.” + +Of a piece with this is the next. Posthumus is defying Iachimo to +make good his boast that he will overcome the chastity of Imogen. +He says, “If you make your voyage upon her, and give me directly to +understand you have prevailed, I am no further your enemy.” This is +converted into, “if you _make good your vauntage_ upon her,” &c. And +this is a _restitution_ of the language of Shakespeare! + +_Scene 7._--When Iachimo is introduced to Imogen he exclaims, + + “What, are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes + To see this vaulted arch, and the rich _crop_ + Of sea and land, which can distinguish ’twixt + The fiery orbs above and the twinn’d stones + Upon the _numbered_ beach; and can we not + Partition make with spectacles so precious + ’Twixt fair and foul?” + +In this passage _cope_ has been proposed for “crop,” and _unnumbered_ +for “numbered,” by several of the commentators, and among them +by Mr Collier’s anonymous corrector. We are of opinion that in +neither of the places ought the text to be altered. _Cope_ is a +mere repetition of the “vaulted arch,” and must, therefore, be set +aside as tautological. “Numbered” is more difficult. Let us consider +the bearing of the whole speech. It has a sinister reference to +Posthumus, the husband of Imogen, the lady in whose presence the +speech is uttered. “How can Posthumus,” says Iachimo, “with such a +wife as this--this Imogen--take up with the vile slut who now holds +him in her clutches? Are men mad--with senses so fine that they can +distinguish, or separate from each other, the fiery orbs above; and +also so acute that they can distinguish between the ‘twinned’ (or +closely resembling) stones which _can be counted_ upon the beach; +‘with spectacles’--that is, with eyes--so precious, are they yet +unable (as Posthumus seems to be) to make partition ’twixt a fair +wife and a foul mistress?” The words, “which can distinguish ’twixt +the fiery orbs above and the twinned stones,” do not mean that +we have senses so fine that we can distinguish between stars and +stones, but senses so fine that we can count, or distinguish from one +another, the stars themselves; and can also perceive a difference +in the pebbles on the beach, though these be as like to one another +as so many peas. This interpretation brings out clearly the sense +of the expression, “_numbered_ beach;” it means the beach on which +the pebbles can be numbered; indeed, are numerically separated by +us from each other, in spite of their homogeneousness, so delicate +is our organ of vision by which they are apprehended; “yet,” +concludes Iachimo, as the moral of his reflections, “with organs +thus discriminating, my friend Posthumus has, nevertheless, gone +most lamentably astray.” This explanation renders the substitution +of _unnumbered_ not only unnecessary, but contradictory. We cannot +be too cautious how we tamper with the received text of Shakespeare. +Even though a passage may continue unintelligible to us for years, +the chances are a hundred to one that the original lection contains a +more pregnant meaning than any that we can propose in its place. + +Mr Collier is of opinion that the MS. corrector’s _bo-peeping_ is +preferable to “by-peeping” or “lie peeping.” We cannot at all agree +with him. “By-peeping” is Shakespeare’s phrase, “lie peeping” is +Johnson’s amendment. Either will do; and an editor ought not to go +out of his way to make himself ridiculous.[15] A few lines further +on, the substitution of _pay_ for “play” is quite unnecessary, as Mr +Collier himself admits in one of his supplementary notes. Neither is +_contemn_ any improvement upon “condemn.” + +_Act II. Scene 2._--“Swift, swift,” says Iachimo-- + + “Swift, swift, you dragons of the night! that dawning + May _bare_ the raven’s eye.” + +The MS. correction is, “may _dare_ the raven’s eye”--_i. e._, says +Mr Collier, may _dazzle_ the eye of the raven. Surely the old +commentator must here have been driven to his wits’ end. We have +little doubt that “the _raven’s_ eye” here means the _night’s_ eye. +“May bare the raven’s eye”--that is, may open the eye of darkness, +and thus usher in the day. Has not Milton got “smoothing the _raven_ +down of _darkness_ till it smiled?” This interpretation must be +placed to the credit of Mr Singer (_Shakespeare Vindicated_, &c., p. +304), although it had occurred previously to ourselves. + +_Scene 5._--Instead of the line, + + “Like a full-acorn’d boar--a _German_ one,” + +which is the common reading, the corrector proposes “a _foaming_ +one.” Mr Singer suggests “a _brimeing_ (_i. e._, a rutting) one,” and +this we greatly prefer. _Iarmen_ is the original text--a word without +any meaning. + +_Act III. Scene 4._--The competing versions of the following lines, +in which the MS. corrector’s is pitted against the original text, +have given rise to much controversy and speculation. Mr Halliwell +has written an ingenious, and, we believe, an exhaustive pamphlet on +this single point. He advocates the old reading. We cannot say that +we consider his arguments altogether convincing, or that he has been +able to adduce any very _pat_ parallelism, placing the point beyond +all doubt; but we believe that he has made the most of his case, and +that if he has not produced any such evidence, it is because there is +none to produce. We agree with Mr Halliwell’s conclusion, in so far +as it rejects the MS. correction; but we advocate the retention of +the original reading, simply because it is the text, and because we +know _for certain_ that the old corrector had no authority for his +emendation except his own brains, generally addled, and not enjoying, +in even this instance, a short interval of comparative lucidity. + +The passage is this: Imogen, supposing that her husband Posthumus has +been led astray by some Italian courtesan, exclaims indignantly and +sarcastically-- + + “Some jay of Italy, + Whose _mother was her painting_, hath betray’d him; + Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion.” + +We take it that “mother” here means _Italy_, and that “painting” +means _model_; so that the gloss on the passage should run thus: +Some jay of Italy, to whom Italy (_i. e._ Italian manners) was the +model according to which she shaped her morals and her conduct, +hath betrayed him. That this, or something like it, is the meaning, +is confirmed by what follows--“Poor I am stale, a garment _out of +fashion_;” that is, the new fashions, the new-fangled ways, are to +be found only in Italy, and doubtless that daughter of Italy--that +jay or imitative creature by whom Posthumus is now enslaved--is a +considerable proficient in those fashionable and novel methods of +conquest. This, we conceive, is nearer the meaning than the ordinary +interpretation given by Dr Johnson, which represents this “jay” +as “the creature not of nature but of painting.” At any rate, if +we adopt Johnson’s meaning, we must change _was_ into _is_, and +read--“whose mother _is_ her painting.” + +Again, perhaps the meaning is this: Some jay of Italy,--whose mother, +_i. e._ whose birthplace (the renowned, the fashionable Italy) was +her painting--_i. e._ was the adornment, the attraction, which +allured my husband to her arms,--hath betrayed him. This, on second +thoughts, we consider the best interpretation. But we allow the +other to stand, as a specimen of _groping_ towards the truth. + +The MS. corrector’s version is--“who _smothers her with painting_;” +but if this had stood in the printer’s manuscript, it is exceedingly +unlikely that he would have blundered it into the text as we now have +it. Moreover, there is a prosaic vulgarity about the expression which +smacks much more of the old corrector, and of his notions of what +would suit a popular assembly, than of the genius of Shakespeare. We +may be _certain_ that there is no allusion to _rouge_ in the passage; +and therefore we contend for the retention of the original text, as +neither irreconcilable with good sense, nor alien, but rather the +reverse, from Shakespeare’s occasional modes of expression. + +When Imogen says that Posthumus had made her + + “Put into contempt the suits + Of princely _fellows_,” + +she means, of princely _equals_. This is undoubted. Posthumus +was beneath her in rank; yet, for his sake, she had declined the +proposals of suitors as highborn as herself. “Fellows” is modernised +into _followers_. The change of “_pretty, and_ full of view,” into +_privy, yet_ full of view, is a sensible emendation, yet we hesitate +to recommend it for the text. Pisanio tells Imogen that when she +disguises herself as a youth she must “change _fear_ and niceness +into a waggish _courage_.” The word “fear” here seems to prove that +“courage” is the right reading. The MS. correction is “waggish +_carriage_.” + +_Scene 6._--Imogen, disguised, says, + + “I see a man’s life is a tedious one, + I have _tired_ myself; and for two nights together + Have made the ground my bed.” + +“Tired” should be _’tired_--_i. e._ altered myself like a boy. But +this is not a new reading. The word is the same, whether printed +_tired_ or _’tired_. + +_Act IV. Scene 1._--Cloten speaking of Imogen, says, “Yet this +_imperseverant_ thing (_i. e._, Imogen) loves him (_i. e._, +Posthumus) in my despight.” “Imperseverant” is explained by Messrs +Dyce and Arrowsmith to mean _undiscerning_. The latter, says Mr +Singer, “has adduced (in _Gnats and Queries_, vol. vii. p. 400) +numerous instances of the use of _perseverance_ for _discernment_.” +The MS. substitution of “_perverse errant_” seems, therefore, to be +quite uncalled for. + +_Scene 2._--Arviragus says that the redbreast will bring flowers-- + + “Yea, and furred moss besides, when flowers are none, + To winter-ground thy corse.” + +That is, the corse of Imogen, who is supposed to be dead. “To +_winter-ground_ a plant,” says Steevens, “is to protect it from +the inclemency of the winter season by straw, &c.” This is quite +satisfactory, and renders the correction _winter-guard_ unnecessary. +The change of “so” into _lo_ may be accepted in the speech of Imogen +when she awakens from her trance. + +_Act V. Scene 1._--The last passage on which the old corrector tries +his hand is this. He can make nothing of it, nor can we, nor, so far +as we know, can any one else. Posthumus, addressing the gods, says-- + + “Alack, + You snatch some hence for little faults; that’s love, + To have them fall no more; you some permit + To second ills with ills, each _elder_ worse, + And make them _dread it_, to the doer’s thrift.” + +There is no difficulty with “elder;” it, of course, means, each crime +being worse than its predecessor. “And make them dread it,” &c.; this +may mean--and make them go on inspiring dread, to the profit of the +doer; or, as Steevens explains it, “To make them _dread it_ is to +make them _persevere in the commission of dreadful crimes_.” This, +it must be confessed, is not satisfactory; but we like it quite as +well as the MS. emendation. “And make _men_ dread it, to the doer’s +thrift.” But whatever may be the merit of this new reading, the +change of “elder” into _later_ is, at any rate, quite uncalled for. +Neither can we assent to Mr Singer’s amendment of the place, which +is-- + + “You some permit + To second ills with ills each _alder-worst_; + And make them _dreaded_ to the doer’s _shrift_.” + +On the whole, it is certainly safest to let the old text stand as it +is, until something better can be suggested. + + * * * * * + +Having now washed our hands as clean as we possibly could of the +old MS. corrector, we must, in proceeding to dry them--that is, to +sum up--first of all notice whether there be not very small specks +of dirt still sticking to them. We are sorry to say that there are +several. In our anxiety to do every justice to the old scholiast, +and in our determination to redeem to the uttermost the pledge which +we came under to him and to our readers--namely, to bring forward +everything which told in the remotest way in his favour--we find +that we have somewhat overshot the mark; we have fulfilled our +obligation in terms too ample; we have been too indulgent to this +shadowy sinner, whose very skeleton Apollo and the nine muses are +now, no doubt, flaying alive in Hades, if they have not done so long +ago. In a word, we have something to retract: not, however, anything +that has been said _against_ him, but one or two small things that +have been said _for_ him. And, therefore, as we are not altogether a +character like old Kirkaldy of Grange, whom the chronicles describe +as “ane stoute man, and always ready to defend at the point of the +sword whatever he had said,” we may as well eat in our leek at once, +without more ado. + +We speak at present only of those readings (and fortunately they +are very small and very few) which we countenanced or recommended +for the text on the authority of the old MS. corrector. In most +cases, any mere favourable opinion which we may have expressed of +some of the new readings we shall allow to stand, for such opinions +are unchanged, and the expression of them was very far from being a +recommendation of these readings for the text. It is only the text +which we are now solicitous about; and, therefore, insignificant as +the sentiments of any humble reviewer may be, still, for the credit +of the periodical in which he writes, and also lest the text of +Shakespeare should run any risk of being compromised at his hands, it +is his duty to retract his opinions to whatever extent he may feel +that they have been rather inconsiderately advanced. + +We approved, in the first instance, of “get” for _let_, +(_Blackwood’s Magazine_, Aug., p. 188); that approbation we retract. +“Portent-like,” the common reading, is better than either _potent +like_ or _potently_, (_Blackwood’s Magazine_, p. 195). “Sheer ale,” +and not _shire ale_, (_Blackwood’s Magazine_, p. 198), should hold +the text. Katherine’s answer to Petruchio (_Blackwood’s Magazine_, +p. 199) is all right and ought not to be changed. “Supplications in +the quill” ought to keep its place in the text against Mr Singer’s +_in the coil_, (_Blackwood’s Magazine_, September, p. 315). “In the +quill,” simply means _in writing_, as Steevens long ago told us. We +observe nothing more that we feel called upon to retract. + +This deduction leaves, as nearly as we can count them, _thirty_ +new readings at the credit of the old corrector. We believe that +the whole of these might be placed in the text without the risk of +damaging it in any very perceptible degree; a few of them would +improve it: indeed, some of the best of them were introduced into +it long ago, while others have been suggested independently of the +old corrector. So that his contributions to the improvement of +Shakespeare are, after all, not very considerable. The only two +really valuable and original emendations which he has proposed seem +to us to be--_these welling heavens_, for “the swelling heavens,” +(_Blackwood’s Magazine_, p. 310), and _thirst_ complaint, for “first +complaint,” (_Blackwood’s Magazine_, p. 321.) + +This, then, is all that we obtain after winnowing this old savage’s +“elements of criticism:” _two_ respectable emendations out of _twenty +thousand_ (for at that figure Mr Collier calculates them) blundering +attempts, all of which, except these two and a very few others, hit +the nail straight upon the point, instead of right upon the head. +One thing we at any rate now know, that the conjectural criticism +of England must have been at its lowest possible ebb during the +seventeenth century, if this nameless old Aristarchus is to be looked +upon as its representative, or was president of the Royal Society of +Literature. + +The concluding question is,--What rank is this scholiast entitled +to hold among the commentators, great and small, on Shakespeare? +And the answer is, that he is not entitled to hold any rank at all +among them. He cannot be placed, even at a long interval, behind +the very worst of them. He is blown and thrown out of the course +before he reaches the distance-post. He is disqualified not only by +his incompetency, but by his virtually avowed determination not to +_restore_ to Shakespeare his original language, but to _take away_ +from Shakespeare his original language, and to substitute his own +crudities in the place of it. We are as certain that this was his +intention and his practice, as if we had been told so by himself. +That he was an early scholiast is certain. It is also in the highest +degree probable--indeed, undoubted, as Mr Knight has suggested--that +he was in his prime (_his_ prime!) during the Commonwealth, when +the Puritans had the ascendancy, and the theatres were closed. That +he had been a hanger-on of the theatres in bygone days, and that +he hoped to be a hanger-on of them again, is also pretty clear. So +there he sat during the slack time polishing away at Shakespeare, +“nursing his wrath to keep it warm,” biding his time till Charlie +should come over the water again, and theatricals revive. We can have +some sympathy with that, but none with the occupation in which he was +engaged--paring and pruning the darling of the universe--shaving and +trimming him; taming down the great bard in such a way as to make +him more acceptable to the tastes, as he thought, of a more refined, +if not a more virtuous generation. For this kind of work we have no +toleration. This critic was evidently the first of that school of +modernisers of the text of Shakespeare which, commencing with him, +culminated and fell in Davenant and Dryden, never more, it is to be +hoped, to rise. + +With regard to Mr Collier we shall just remark, that although he has +obviously committed a mistake (“to err is human,” &c.) in attaching +any value to these new readings, and has plainly been imposed upon +in thinking them _restorations_ of Shakespeare, still his mistake is +not irretrievable, and ought not to make the public forgetful of the +antecedent services which he has rendered to our genuine Shakesperian +literature. His learning is undoubted; and his judgment, if not +very acute, is sound, if he will but allow it fair play, and obey +its behests as faithfully as he formerly did, when he adhered with +the tenacity of a man of sense to the authorised and undoubted text. +This now appears to us, and, we should imagine, to every one else who +has attended to the new readings, as greatly less corrupt than, on a +slighter inspection, we have been in the habit of supposing. We can +only answer for ourselves; but this we can say, that the ineffectual +operations of the old MS. corrector have opened our eyes to a depth +of purity and correctness in the received text of Shakespeare, of +which we had formerly no suspicion; and _that_ is the true good which +the proceedings of this old bungler have effected--they have settled +for ever the question as to the purity and trustworthiness of the +ordinary editions of Shakespeare. We now believe that the text of no +author in the world is so immaculate as that of our great national +poet, or stands in less need of emendation, or departs so little +from the words of its original composer. Mr Collier, too, thought +so once--let him think so again, and his authority will instantly +recover: this transient cloud will pass away. + +In regard to his edition of Shakespeare, which, we believe, is +by this time published with the MS. corrector’s perversions +inserted in the text, that is now a blunder past all mending. We +can only say this of it, that effectual precautions having been +now taken by others, and by us, to prevent this publication from +ever becoming the _standard_ edition of Shakespeare, we do not +grudge it any amount of success which may fall to its share. We are +rather desirous to promote its interests, knowing that it can now +do no harm, and will not speedily come to a reprint. Even now it +must be a very singular book. Hereafter it will be an exceedingly +remarkable book--one entitled to take high rank among the morbid +curiosities of literature, and to stand on the same shelf--fit +companion--with Bentley’s edition of Milton. The serious truth is, +that no Shakesperian collection can be complete without it. Every +Shakesperian collector ought, beyond a doubt, to provide himself +with a copy. People who intend to be satisfied with only _one_ +Shakespeare, ought certainly not to take up with this edition; +but those who can indulge themselves with several copies, ought +unquestionably to purchase it. We say this in all seriousness and +gravity, notwithstanding the riddling which we have thought it +incumbent on us to inflict on the old MS. corrector. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[14] Vide _Alte handschriftliche Emendationen zum Shakespeare_.--P. +93. + +[15] The attempts made by a judicious foreigner to amend the text of +our great dramatist are interesting, and deserve notice, even though +not altogether successful. Herr Delius proposes _thereby_; but we +must give the whole passage. The false Iachimo, endeavouring to bring +Posthumus into discredit with Imogen, says, “Had _I_ such a wife, I +certainly would not do as Posthumus does, + +Join gripes with hands Made hard with hourly falsehood (falsehood as +With labour), _then by_ peeping in an eye, Base and illustrious as +the smoky light That’s fed with stinky tallow.” + +“Then by” is the original text, but it is ungrammatical. For “then +by” Dr Delius proposes to read _thereby_ (_dabei_, _unterdess_--that +is, besides, meanwhile). But this attempt, though creditable, is not +successful. _Thereby_, as here used, is very nearly, but it is _not +quite_ an English idiom, and was certainly not Shakespeare’s word. + + + + +RAIL AND SADDLE IN SPAIN.[16] + + +The proceedings of the bankruptcy courts occasionally make public +painful cases, in which long-suffering parents have been compelled +to cut adrift incorrigible prodigals. In vain have the generous +“governors” and affectionate mothers bled themselves, pelican-wise, +to supply the cravings of extravagant youth; in vain have they +compounded with Jews, satisfied tailors, paid long accounts for +London-made port and indigenous champagne, met bills of whose “value +received” twenty per cent had been given in cash, the remainder in +green spectacles, paving stones, and stuffed birds. There is a limit +to human patience, a bottom even to paternal pockets; indulgence +becomes imbecility when impudence is added to insolvency, and at last +further aid and countenance are withheld. The spendthrift grumbler +sulks, swears he is the most ill-used of mortals, and is finally +lodged in a sponging-house or enlisted in a dragoon regiment. Such +appears to us to be the present relative position of England and +Spain. For nearly half a century John Bull has been “better than a +mother” to the cashless, helpless, graceless Spaniards. He has fought +their battles, filled their treasury, helped them to constitutions, +assisted them with advice, which they have sometimes been too proud +to take, at others too silly to profit by. The seed thus sown has +produced an abundant harvest of ingratitude. We have acted the part +of Aunt Cli to the scape-grace, Jonathan Jefferson, and we have met +the same reward. The Spaniard has used us, and now he abuses us. + +Has the day really dawned upon which English capitalists are to +be proof against Spanish swindlers? We almost, although with +difficulty--for there is no more gullible animal than your capitalist +on the look-out for an investment, with his pockets stuffed with +cash, and consols at par--believe that it has. Spain can hardly +credit the fact, and is rabid at the apprehension. The fright +has driven her from her propriety. She proscribes our newspapers, +forbids us to bury our dead, and vents mysterious but awful menaces +in the columns of the respectable Madrid journal, whose editor +is the Spanish Home Secretary, its purveyor of funds the Spanish +Queen-mother. A nameless something, we have lately been repeatedly +assured by the _España_, is to be done, if the English press +continue its denunciations of Spanish schemes and roguery; and the +same journal wrote wrathfully and ominously when a warning was +given to the British public that, if they chose to intrust their +money to Peninsular speculators and peculators, they must look to +themselves alone, and not to their government, for aid in recovering +it. “Spain,” then wrote the Rianzares journal, “will know how to +vindicate her honour, as on former occasions.” If this means anything +beyond an ebullition of petulant spleen, it probably refers to the +brief notice to quit given to Sir Henry Bulwer. Lord Howden had +better look to himself, and keep his portmanteau packed, for he is +evidently exposed to receive his passport at any moment, because his +stubborn ungrateful countrymen decline making further advances upon +such flimsy security as Spanish bonds--as depreciated and worthless a +pledge as Spanish honour. + +The whole history of Spain’s transactions with her foreign creditors +may be made plain, in few lines, to the meanest capacity. Spain +owed a large sum of money, and a good deal of interest upon it. She +went to her creditors and said, “I am at war, troops must be paid, +my treasury is empty; I want some more money. I am fighting for +freedom from an odious tyranny; you, free men, cannot but sympathise +with me; lend me the cash. We will add the amount to what I already +owe you; capitalise the over-due _coupons_, the whole will make +a nice round sum, upon which I bind myself regularly to pay the +interest.” Spain has always been seductive and smooth-tongued; her +fine, sonorous, knightly language--the sole remnant of chivalry she +has retained--inspires confidence by its high-sounding phrases and +noble expressions. The creditors believed her assurances, and, in an +incautious hour, parted with their money, a portion of which was duly +applied to the first one or two dividends, and then payment again +stopped, and was not resumed. Years passed on, the war terminated, +Spain was at peace and comparatively prosperous, her revenue largely +increased, notwithstanding the absurd tariffs that grievously +restricted her exports; still no effort was made to remove from the +national character the stigma of ingratitude and insolvency. At last, +when it was supposed that the creditors, weary of waiting, would +accept almost anything for the sake of a settlement--when, it has +been said and believed by many, a considerable amount of bonds had +been bought for Spanish government account, at the wretched price +to which the government’s refusal of payment had sunk them in the +market--a disgraceful compromise was offered, and finally forced upon +the creditors, who could not help themselves, and who looked in vain, +whilst thus swindled, for efficient advocacy and support, to those +Whig statesmen and fervent admirers of constitutional government in +the Peninsula, whose smiling approval and countenance had been given +to the transfer of good English money to faithless Spanish pockets. +The results are known to the world, and may be briefly summed up. +The same people who, in the Peninsular war, did their utmost to +rob British troops of their laurels, claiming, to this very day, +the glory of victories in which not a battalion of their _bisoños_ +figured, except in the rear, or to be routed; and insinuating, upon +occasion, that Wellington’s army was a sort of auxiliary corps +to their own heroic legions--repaid our military intervention +and enormous pecuniary aid in their subsequent civil discords, +by betraying us for an Orleanist alliance, grossly insulting our +government in the person of its ambassador, and insolently snapping +their fingers in the face of the British holder of Spanish bonds. +We have no desire to resuscitate defunct questions; but certain it +is, that many very sensible people--whom, as they are not members +of the Peace Society, there is no reason to consider particularly +belligerent or disposed to “crumple up” countries on light +grounds--throughout England, and especially in the city of London, +are of opinion that, upon more than one occasion during the last six +years, the imposing force which in 1851 menaced for a doubtful claim +the paltry capital of a petty state, would have been better employed +off Cadiz, in insisting on an equitable adjustment of the very large +debt rightfully and unquestionably owing to thousands of British +subjects. This, of course, is a mere ignorant, common-sense view of +the case; we have no doubt it could be quickly demonstrated from +Vattel, and other great authorities, that common sense is the only +good quality it possesses, and that it is utterly opposed to wise +statesmanship and international law. Meanwhile, however, like the +Count in the _Nozze_, the creditor dances to Figaro’s fiddle; Spanish +ministers and financiers, who, but the other day, had scarcely a +dollar to pay for a dinner, are as rich as Rothschild; Spanish +dowager-queens hoard millions upon millions, and are prepared with +princely dowries for their numerous progeny by handsome guardsmen; +but the poor, long-suffering Spanish bondholder, defrauded of his +due, and cut down to a fraction per cent, vegetates in penury, or +inquires the way to the Union. + +These, in round terms, and stripped of unnecessary details, are +the facts of the case--facts that defy refutation; these are the +disreputable circumstances under which Spain, having, as the +Orientals say, made her face white--that is to say, having acted +as her own commissioner of bankrupts, and whitewashed herself upon +the most favourable terms--once more, with unblushing effrontery, +presents herself in the character of a borrower. The pretext this +time is a different one; the ingenious Peninsula has got “a new +dodge.” Formerly the guineas were handed over to the sound of +martial music and clashing arms, amidst cries of “Down with the +Inquisition!” and “_Viva la constitution!_” Now it is the clink of +the hammer we hear, and a vivid panorama unfolds itself before us. +It is of the nature of a dissolving view. In the first instance we +behold a rich and fertile country, a land flowing with milk and +honey, or, better still, teeming with corn, and wine, and oil. But +its prosperity is crippled for want of communications. Behold yonder +shirtless and miserable peasant, issuing from his filthy tumble-down +habitation! Abundance surrounds him; wine is more plentiful with him +than water; not all the efforts of himself and family, aided by the +pigs and by that sedate-looking jackass, suffice to consume a fourth +part of the delicious fruit produced by his orchard, with so little +painstaking on his part. How gladly would he exchange a cart-load +of wine and fruit for a shirt to interpose between his tawny skin +and his garments of coarse woollen cloth, for a light linen jacket, +for cool neat dresses for his wife and daughters, for a few of those +articles of furniture which the poorest English cottage possesses, +but in which his dwelling is so lamentably deficient! But how can +he do this? His neighbours are either as well supplied as himself +with the produce of the soil, or they have neither money to buy it +with, nor goods to barter for it. For leagues and leagues around, +there is neither town nor village in whose overstocked market his +commodities would find a sale, or have more than a nominal value. +True, at the coast there are people waiting, red-haired barbarians +from foreign parts, addicted to strong drinks and plum-puddings, and +perfectly willing to take his wine and raisins, and to give him, in +return, clothing suited to his climate, crockery for his kitchen, a +better knife to prune his vines, and an implement of tillage somewhat +superior to that extraordinary antediluvian plough, which in England +would be put under a glass case, and exhibited as an Aztec curiosity. +He has heard that there are such people, and bethinks him how he can +convey to them his fruit and wine-skins. It is very far from his +hamlet to the nearest _camino réal_, and in the interval there is no +road much better than a bridle-path. Carriers there are none; of +canals he has never heard; he looks at his jackass, but the _burro_ +sagaciously shakes his ears, as if to decline so distant a journey. +So the poor peasant leans upon his spade, and wipes away a tear, in +the midst of his useless abundance; pours out upon the ground the +wine of last year, to make room for the better vintage of this one, +and purchases, at an exorbitant price, of the _contrabandista_, the +smuggled manufactures, whose original cost has been quadrupled by the +danger and difficulty of their introduction, and by the long journey +on mule-back from the coast. + +This affecting picture now melts away, the scene changes--we have +all witnessed the sort of thing at the Polytechnic, and those who +have not will find something very like it in most Spanish railway +prospectuses--and we are transported into a country where on all +sides is to be traced the gratifying progress of industry, commerce, +and prosperity. “’Tis _Spain_, but _slothful Spain_ no more!” All +is bustle and movement. Busy towns, improving villages, a thriving +peasantry, sharp misery disappearing, comfort and civilisation +rapidly advancing. The secret of the change, the charm that has +wrought it, is to be found in one word, and that word is RAILWAY. +Diverging from _la corte_, from that capital of the civilised world, +_the_ court _par excellence_, by Spaniards never sufficiently to be +lauded--from sandy, treeless, waterless Madrid, in summer a furnace, +in winter an ice-house--long iron lines extend in all directions, to +every frontier, throwing out branches right and left as they proceed, +and finally joining other lines which run parallel to the sea-board. +That which gold--when it flowed, in a broad continuous stream, from a +newly-discovered continent--was powerless permanently to bring about +in the prosperity of Spain, is now effected and assured by the ruder +agency of iron. The very nature of the Spaniard is transformed; he is +no longer indolent and procrastinating, but active and prompt; the +most go-ahead Yankee might take a lesson from him. He has abolished +his suicidal tariff, and is applying himself, heart and soul, to the +amelioration of that which must long constitute his country’s true +wealth--the olive and vine, the corn-field and orchard, the fleece +and the silkworm. The stimulus has spread throughout the land, and is +felt by all classes. The peasant, whom we lately beheld hungry and +half naked in the midst of abundance, is now a prosperous farmer, and +annually sends coastwards many a good cask of wine and case of fruit. +The contrabandista has turned stoker; and the lazzaroni lad whom we +saw, in the last picture, crouched in the shadow of a crumbling wall, +and pursuing entomological researches in the interior of his tattered +vest, is hardly to be recognised in that active chap, in a glazed cap +and uniform jacket, who is hard at work greasing the wheels of the +locomotives. + +It is impossible to deny the immense superiority of the latter over +the former of these two pictures. The pre-railroad one is sketched +from life; the post-railroad is the offspring of the imagination of a +Spanish railway projector. The former might be signed, “Truth,” the +latter, “Salamanca.” The artists, it will be noticed, are of very +opposite schools. + +The question of Spanish railways is to be contemplated and examined +under two distinct points of view. First, as regards their probable +effects upon the state of the country, its trade, prosperity, &c.; +secondly, with respect to the prospect of profit, and chances of +repayment of those foreigners who may be induced to embark in any +of the numerous schemes propounded. The first of these two points +may be succinctly disposed of. “The general poverty of Spain is very +great,” wrote a good authority on the subject in 1845.[17] Since then +eight years have elapsed, years of peace and of a tranquillity almost +uninterrupted; yet, within the last few weeks, we have been assured +by recent travellers in the country, and by Spaniards--who cannot +deny the wretched condition they deplore and feel ashamed of, but are +impotent to improve--that Spanish poverty and misery are in no degree +diminished. The want of means of communication must be reckoned, +if not amongst the causes of that unfortunate state of things, at +least amongst the obstacles to its removal. And there can be no +reasonable doubt that the establishment of an extensive system of +railroads would be productive of great improvement and advantage to +Spain. These _would_ not be so rapidly manifest as in more populous +and industrious countries, and amongst a more energetic race. Years +might be required to do what months have accomplished elsewhere. +But ultimately the irresistible power of the greatest invention of +this century must make itself felt. “Nothing,” says an accomplished +English lady, and intelligent observer of Spain, of whose interesting +work, the result of three years’ travel and sojourn in that country, +we shall presently speak, “could tend more to improve Spain than +the establishment of great main lines of railway.” Whilst agreeing +in this respect with Lady Louisa Tenison, we think it desirable to +extend our investigation a little farther than she has done, and to +examine the probable position of the persons who may be induced to +advance money for the construction of those important arteries. + +The mountainous character of Spain has been frequently and justly +urged as a great, if not an insuperable, obstacle to the formation +of long lines of railroad in that country. Ford, in his usual +lively and satirical strain, long ago denounced these as impossible +of construction.[18] The subject, however, is too serious to be +jocularly dismissed in a couple of amusing pages. We readily admit +the extreme difficulty and expense of tunnelling “mighty cloud-capped +_sierras_ which are solid masses of hard stone;” but a little +perseverance and investigation sometimes enables one to turn a +difficulty which he could not hope to level, and we have been assured +by practical Englishmen, whose attention has been particularly +directed to the subject, that, in some of the most formidable of +Peninsular mountain-chains, research brings to light defiles through +which a moderate amount of labour would enable the locomotive to +wind or incline its way. Then long tracts of level in the interior +of the country offer some compensation for costly work in mountain +districts; and, upon the whole, and at a proximate compensation, +Spanish railroads would probably not be so expensive in construction +as has been believed and affirmed by many. The most costly and +difficult of all would be the Northern Line, about which such a stir +has lately been made, which has caused such agitation and convulsions +in the Spanish Cabinet, and led to such unpleasant exposure of the +greedy manœuvres and reckless cupidity of the Rianzares gang, and +of that very slippery gentleman, Señor Salamanca. The Northern Line +(two hundred and fifty miles long, as now projected) would have to +make its way through two tremendous mountain barriers--the Somosierra +range and that continuation of the Pyrenees which extends through the +whole of the north of Spain to Cape Finisterre. Whoever is acquainted +with the Basque provinces knows that they are little else than one +mass or agglomeration of mountains, through which any railway must +pass that is to communicate with Bayonne. As a set-off to this, it is +urged that, in the Castilian plains, there would be little else to do +than to lay down the sleepers and rails. In railway matters it is not +easy to see how impossibilities are to be compensated, consistently +with the completeness of a line; and certainly, in the words of Ford, +“any tunnels which ever perforate _those_ ranges will reduce that at +Box to the delving of the poor mole.” The projected Northern Company +has contracted (rather prematurely) with Mr Salamanca, to make the +line for about six millions sterling, or £24,000 a-mile; but little +dependence will be placed, by sane persons, upon Spanish estimates, +contracts, and contractors; and meanwhile, pending the sanction by +the Cortes of the royal decree authorising the line, the project is a +mere bubble, a _château en Espagne_, as the French say. + +Supposing, however, the Cortes to be bullied, tricked, or wheedled +out of their consent, the mountains bored, the tunnels made, the +line opened--all for the stipulated six millions--what are the +probabilities of a return to the shareholders in this precious +speculation? In the first place, it must be observed that the Spanish +government, which has just fobbed off its creditors with a shilling +or two in the pound, proposes, with that honourable consistency +and good faith that habitually characterises it in all financial +and most other matters, to guarantee to the shareholders in this +and several other extensive railways six per cent interest on the +capital advanced. It is the old story. The capitalist gets the first +dividend or two (paid out of his own money, of course), and then, +when all calls are paid up, the Spanish treasury sports its oak, and +the finance minister of the day, looking lugubriously through the +vasistas, posts up “no effects.” The shareholder perhaps consoles +himself with the reflection that in a year or two the line will be +open; and that then, when the proceeds of a lucrative traffic pour +in, there can be no pretext of inability to pay, and he will get both +dividend and arrears. To satisfy him as to his prospects, we shall +quote two highly competent authorities-- + + “Speculators will do well to reflect that Spain is a land + which never yet has been able to construct or support even + a sufficient number of common roads or canals for her poor + and passive commerce and circulation. The distances are + far too great, and the traffic far too small, to call yet + for the rail. The outlay will be on an inverse ratio to + the remuneration; for the one will be enormous and the + other paltry. The Spaniard, a creature of routine and foe + to innovations, is not a locomotive animal;--local, and a + fixture by nature, he hates moving like a Turk, and has a + particular horror of being hurried.”--FORD, p. 799. + +Thus far the Handbook man. We turn to an interesting and important +letter on the subject of Spanish railroads in the journal whose +untimely revelations have procured it the hard sentence of exclusion +from Spain. + + “It cannot be too often urged that ‘Royal decrees’ have + no legal force until confirmed by the Cortes, and even + then, in questions of finance, they usually exceed the + capabilities of the country; therefore, however strong the + desire of Spain to see locomotives crossing the country, + it is impossible for the finances to pay six per cent + interest, even upon lines already guaranteed. If such were + possible, it would be additionally disgraceful, whilst the + interest on the national debt is not paid. There are many + legitimate and profitable means of employing capital in + Spain, independently of the delusive guarantee of ‘Royal + decrees,’ or the guaranteed interest, which will be paid + only so long as it suits the present temporary object of + drawing forth foreign capital. Many instances could be + given of the success that has attended glass, iron, lead, + and other works, when established in proper localities, + which give a return of 30, 40, and, I am assured, of even + 50 per cent per annum, without any protection from the + government. Until railways can also be established on + their own intrinsic merits, relying exclusively on the + traffic to remunerate the shareholders, it is not safe + to attempt them, as, at the first unfavourable change in + Spanish finances, the interest is sure to remain unpaid. + It is very easy, as in the case of the Northern line, to + make a brilliant prospectus, and trace a line upon the + map, passing through numerous towns; but those who have + travelled in Spain do not forget that there is not enough + passenger traffic between Madrid and France to fill a + diligence throughout the year. Neither Valladolid, Burgos, + Vitoria, nor any of the other towns mentioned, contain a + locomotive population; and, in the entire distance, until + the industrious Basque provinces be approached, there is + scarcely a manufacturing village.”--_Paris Correspondence + of the Times_, 30th August 1853. + +The greater part of what is here truthfully and forcibly stated is +equally applicable to all long lines of railway in Spain. It is +unnecessary to pile up facts, or to expend more time in demonstrating +the risk, or rather the certain loss incurred by all who lend money +to the thriftless, faithless Spaniard, for the carrying out of his +new mania for _ferro-carriles_. His object is to supply himself with +railroads at foreign cost. He has not the remotest intention of +paying interest, when the lines are once completed; so that, if the +traffic does but pay its expenses, he has the property for nothing. +We do not hesitate to denounce the whole scheme of Spanish railroads +as an impudent and gigantic attempt at a wholesale national swindle. +The only persons who would be benefited by it, in case of its +success, would be that sprightly Wizard of the North, Mr Salamanca, +and a few other speculators of his kidney, Queen Christina, the Duke +of Rianzares, and their particular friends and adherents. + +We should be sincerely glad, for the sake of the Spanish nation, +whose many good qualities we (whilst utterly condemning, contemning, +and abominating their dishonest government, their intriguing +licentious royal family, their greedy dishonest speculators, and +their useless lazy army of _empleados_) highly and justly admire, +to see their land lapped to-morrow in an iron network, could it be +done by stroke of fairy-wand or touch of Aladdin’s lamp. But that +the fifty millions sterling (we are informed that is the sum needed +for the whole scheme of Spanish railway) should be filched from +British pockets, into which Don Spaniard has so repeatedly, and on +such various pretexts, dipped his digits--never withdrawing them +empty--is what we most decidedly object to. The only lines for which +there is at present room in Spain, and that are likely to give a +profit to the shareholders, are short lines in the most populous and +industrious districts. And these should only be gone into when they +are got up by private companies, and without government intervention +of any kind. The directors should be able to head their prospectus, +as Paris shopkeepers head their advertisements, with the words, +“_Sans garantie du gouvernement_.” No reliance can be placed on +anything in which a Spanish government has a right to interfere: a +feeling now pretty prevalent, and which has swamped, at least for +the present--and we hope for a long time to come--the schemes of +the Spanish Hudson. Lines like the Madrid and Aranguez, (did it +belong to a company, instead of to the state), like the Barcelona +and Mataro--a private line, paying a good interest--and like the +proposed eighteen-mile line, connecting Cadiz, Port St Mary’s, and +Xerez, are those that may safely be gone into. The last named (which +is, if we are not mistaken, independent of the government) ought, +with decent management and reasonable economy, to be one of the most +profitable bits of railway in Europe. And it is strong evidence of +the wholesome distaste at present entertained in this country for +everything Spanish, that the London committee appointed to allot a +portion of the shares in this certainly most promising enterprise +received scarcely a single _bona fide_ application, and were fain +to abandon the idea of distributing any in England. So that there +seems some hope that John Bull, who usually buys his experience dear, +and who has only lately become fully convinced how very insolvent +a virtue is Spanish patriotism, will not wait till he burns his +fingers, to make up his mind as to the very rotten nature of Spanish +railroads. + +Enough upon this head. In Spanish phrase, we place ourselves at +the feet of the fair authoress of the remarkably handsome volume, +two lines in which have led us into the foregoing reflections, +and ask her pardon for our want of gallantry in allowing our own +lucubrations to take precedence of her strong claims to notice. Lady +Louisa Tenison furnishes us with practical proof that, if “great +lines of railroad” be a desideratum in Spain, they are by no means +indispensable in order that delicately-nurtured dames should visit +with safety and enjoyment the most beautiful, and some of the wildest +districts of the Peninsula. The romance of travel is evidently at +an end, as far as Europe is concerned, when English ladies ride +through Spain for months together, encountering as few adventures +as though their palfreys pranced in Hyde Park. What, not one brush +with banditti, or narrow escape from ambushed assassins! Not a single +midnight alarm in the lonely _venta_, or hand-to-hand conflict with +ferocious _contrabandistas_, in the gloomy _sierra_, or on the wild +_despoblado_? We grieve to say, not one. Persons there are who, +having rambled more or less in Spain, and desiring to perpetrate a +book, deem it their duty to the public, and to their publishers, +to give spice to the volume by blending fiction with fact. They +carefully note exaggerated tales, and polite hoaxes, put upon them +by waggish muleteers, or at Madrid _tables-d’hôte_; embellish them +to the best of their ability, and, the cookery complete, present +the comical _olla_ to British palates. Ladies and gentlemen taste, +and wonder, and vow that Spain shall be the last division of the +earth’s surface in which _they_ will set foot, to be carried off +to the mountains for ransom, or shot at round corners by lurking +bravoes. For our part, we entertain no dislike to the gasconading +class of travellers in Spain, whom we hold to be rather amusing than +otherwise; and all we would beg of them is to sail under their true +colours, to call their books “A Romantic Tour,” or “Imaginative +Wanderings,” and so give their readers a chance of sifting the chaff +from the grain. It seems an article of faith with them, that a plain, +intelligent narrative of what they saw and observed will not satisfy +the public; that they must invent, if they would be read. In this +respect, Lady Louisa Tenison’s volume will prove them mistaken. It +is an unaffected and highly interesting record of her observations +on Spain and its people. Three years’ abode, and a good knowledge +of the language, should surely qualify so intelligent a person as +Lady Louisa evidently is, to write a book on any country free from +even an approach to error. Of all countries, however, Spain is the +most difficult of which to acquire a thorough knowledge. That Lady +Louisa may have fallen into some slight misconceptions is very +possible, and ill-conditioned critics, who prefer detecting the flies +to admiring the amber, may perhaps note them; but we are acquainted +with no book on Spain, by an Englishman, of which the same may not +be said. Captain Widdrington (Cook) is one of the most uniformly +accurate, temperate, and impartial writers on the Peninsula with whom +we are acquainted; but we daresay an enemy, bent on picking holes in +his coat, might catch him tripping. Even Ford, who has treated the +subject more _in extenso_, and in greater detail, and who may be said +to have daguerreotyped Spain, fixing his tints with a slight racy +dash of Chili vinegar, which makes Spaniards (who, whilst concealing +their thin skin under a cloak of superb indifference and disdain, +are sensitive to the opinion of foreigners) smart extremely, has not +altogether escaped blunders, especially when touching upon modern +Spanish politics. Of the book now before us we can say, with great +truth, that very few of the many upon the same subject that have +appeared within the last fifteen years have given sketches of Spain +and Spaniards at once so fair, so sensible, and so generous. + +To see Spain, there is nothing like the saddle. Ford and Borrow +have emphatically told us this, and all who have been in the +country will confirm their decision. Long rides may at first be +attended with some weariness of limb and loss of leather; but +these soon yield to custom, and, moreover, when persons travel for +pleasure, they seldom need to make forced marches. Let them select +an easy-pacing Spanish horse and a commodious saddle, and be sure +that, in a fine climate and over rough roads, the advantages of this +mode of progress more than balance its disagreeables. Lady Louisa +Tenison, during her various journeys and excursions, frequently +got to horse, riding English fashion, greatly to the admiration of +the natives of the more remote places she passed through. Thus she +avoided the tedious confinement of _galeras_ and other essentially +Spanish and especially wearisome vehicles, and saw many things +and much country which she could not possibly have got at except +on horseback. No less astonished, we dare to swear, than at her +riding-habit and sidesaddle, were the good people of Castile and +Andalusia at the English lady’s appearing at all in the heart of +their sierras, in their remote villages and unfrequented posadas. +Prodigiously must they have been puzzled to conjecture her motives +for quitting the comforts of Cadiz and Malaga, to endure hardship +and encounter fatigue; for, as she truly says, “As to any enthusiasm +about beautiful views, or undergoing any fatigue or trouble in +their pursuit, such nonsensical things are classed amongst the +other eccentric fancies of the very mad English. A person drawing +for the mere love of art is hardly considered in his senses. I have +often been asked for how much I would sell my drawings; and, when I +replied that they were done merely for amusement, a smile of mingled +incredulity and pity convinced me that I was considered not over +wise or candid; and, upon one occasion, in the Court of the Lions, +whilst copying the arabesques, some inquisitive visitors came to +the conclusion that I was painting new patterns for fans!” And at +Grazalema, in the sierra of Ronda--a little town plastered, as Ford +says, “like a martlet’s nest on the rocky hill,” and one of the +places where the inhabitants, unused to the intrusion of foreigners, +thronged the streets to gaze and wonder at the amazons--the balcony +on which Lady Louisa stationed herself with her sketch-book was +escaladed by an adventurous youngster, bent on ascertaining the +nature of her mysterious proceedings. “Nothing could be more amusing +than the tone of contemptuous surprise in which he exclaimed to the +crowd, ‘_Nada particular; todo blanco!_’ an announcement which was +received by his friends with evident signs of disappointment. The +excitement spread even to the upper classes in Grazalema, and I had +an embassy from some young señoritas, who wished to see what I had +been doing--a request I could not well comply with, for the best of +reasons, that, at that early stage, there really was nothing to be +seen.” However unsatisfactory to the Grazalema critic, the result +of Lady Louisa’s sketches at that place has been one of the best of +the charming views and characteristic illustrations, of which nearly +fifty are distributed through her volume. + +Most travellers in Spain, possessed of an eye and a taste for the +national and characteristic, deplore the Frenchification that country +has for some time past undergone, and whose progress becomes annually +more rapid and apparent. + +On landing, Lady Louisa Tenison was unpleasantly impressed by +this--at Malaga, where she dwelt for the winter after her arrival in +Andalusia. We must not wonder if some of a lady’s first observations +are about a bonnet. She regrets to see this comparatively unbecoming +covering creeping in--even in the south, and supplanting the +graceful mantilla--Parisian fashion ousting Spanish grace. Spanish +ladies ought to understand that the rich masses of their abundant +hair--their _opulente chevelure_, as a French novelist would call +it--are unfavourable to bonnet-wearing. Parisian women, upon the +other hand, who have generally thin hair, offer excellent polls +whereupon to perch the masterpieces of milliners. But it is quite +horrible to think of a dark-eyed, olive-complexioned Andalusian +maiden covering her exuberant tresses, which, when unbound, descend +to her very heels, and drape her like a garment--so that she might +ride, a second Godiva, unabashed through Coventry’s or Cadiz’ +streets--with a rose-coloured _capote_, in lieu of the beautiful veil +of black or white lace which, as Lady Louisa justly remarks, lends +her a peculiar charm that cannot be rivalled. Then, in choice of +colours, the daughters of Spain, it appears, are lamentably deficient +in taste. + + “The gaudy colours which now prevail have destroyed the + elegance that always accompanies black, in which alone, + some years since, a lady could appear in public. No further + proof of this is required than to see the same people at + church, where black is still considered indispensable, + and on the Alameda with red dresses and yellow shawls, or + some colours equally gaudy, and combined with as little + regard to taste. The love of brilliant and showy colours + appears a ruling passion in the present day, and offers a + singular contrast to the fashion of twenty years ago, when + a lady who should have ventured into the street dressed in + anything but black, would have been mobbed and insulted by + the people.”--(_Castile and Andalucia_, p. 8–9.) + +And at Seville, we grieve to learn, “the fan is rapidly giving way +to the parasol.” Surely the monkeys on Gibraltar rock are not more +imitative than the charming Sevillanas and Malagueñas. The men, too, +have laid aside the graceful and dignified _capa_, to adopt that +most odious and abortive invention--dreamed by some puny French +tailor after a heavy supper--the paletot! How is it that Spaniards, +who boast of their _Españolismo_, who consider it an insult to be +called _Afrancesados_, and who scorn their northern neighbours as +_gavachos_, scruple not eagerly to adopt every French mode? Colbert +once said that the fashions were to France what the mines of Peru +were to Spain. They have since been proved to be a much more durable +and valuable possession. Potosi is lost to Spain; but France still +keeps, and is likely long to retain, the monopoly of frippery and +finery, and Andalusian ladies, albeit no rich galleons now bear +the treasures of another hemisphere into the port of Cadiz, find +the wherewithal to become tributary to Parisian bonnet-makers. At +Seville, however, Lady Louisa was glad to observe few bonnets--few +enough to attract notice when seen, and to enhance, by the contrast, +the beauty of the mantilla. Her first visit to the theatre, at +Malaga, confirmed an impression she had taken up on landing, +that Spanish beauty has been exaggerated by poets, painters, and +travellers--three classes of persons to whom license in that respect +is generally accorded. “My first disappointment was the almost total +absence of beauty amongst the Spanish women.... They have magnificent +eyes, beautiful hair, and generally fine teeth; but more than that +cannot be said by those who are content to give an honest and candid +opinion.” The admissions are liberal; and the three things named, if +they do not constitute beauty, at any rate go a very long way towards +it. But let us visit the Malaga theatre. + + “All the best people were there, but only two or three + very pretty faces were to be seen in the boxes. The pit, + divided into seats, each having its own number, is wholly + appropriated to gentlemen. When first we arrived, the + Alcalde, or one of the Ayuntamiento, always presided in + the centre over the royal box; but this practice has been + discontinued lately, and the audience may now indulge in + applause or disapprobation unrestrained.... One of the + pieces which had the greatest run was a Spanish comic + opera, called the ‘Tio Caniytas,’ which has taken immensely + the last two years. An unhappy Englishman is the hero of + the play; and his endeavours to cultivate the society of a + youthful gipsy, in order to acquire with more facility the + Gitano language, afford the Spaniards a good opportunity of + turning our countrymen into ridicule; and he is victimised, + in turn, by the old uncle and by the lover of his dark + instructress. There are some very pretty airs introduced, + and a characteristic dance called the Vito.” + +Let the reader here turn to page 183 for an extremely spirited sketch +of this gipsy dance, and for an equally graphic prose description +of its peculiarities. Then return to the Malaga theatre, to look +on and laugh at “a piece called the _Mercado de Londres_, (the +London Market), brought out whilst we were there, and illustrating +the adventures of a Spaniard in London. The incidents were not +very flattering to our national pride, as the story turned on the +interesting subject of a man selling his wife--an event which they +seem to think of common occurrence in _Soberbia Albion_.” + +The belief that in England men frequently sell their wives, and that +such sale and transfer are perfectly legal and binding upon the +three persons implicated in the transaction, is prevalent in various +Continental countries, and is rather strengthened than destroyed by +the indignant logic with which simple-hearted Englishmen are apt to +combat it. Even if they thereby succeed in dissipating the absurd +notion (which is not often the case), the foreigner, for the most +part, affects to abide in his conviction, in order to tease the +John Bull. Less civilised or less prosperous nations are delighted +to find or fancy a stain on the scutcheon of one whose superiority +they cannot but feel, although they may not admit it. The only way +to treat them in such cases--particularly Spaniards, who are very +satirical, and quick at hitting upon a “raw”--is to out-herod them +at once, to gallop far a-head of their ridiculous assumptions, and +assure them that if they go to England, they will find, upon every +market-day and market-place, rows of women tethered and ticketed +for sale. They soon discover that they are made game of, and end by +discrediting that which they at first were inclined to believe. But +we shall quit the theatre, and step across with Lady Louisa Tenison +to the Protestant cemetery. “It is beautifully situated on the slope +of the hills just below the fortress, and was a great boon obtained +by the late Mr Mark, British Consul at Malaga. The intolerance of +the Spanish nation in not allowing followers of any religion but +their own to receive Christian burial in their country, is indeed +disgraceful. At Cadiz, Malaga, and still more recently at Madrid, +exceptions have been made; but everywhere else in Spain none but +Catholics can be buried in consecrated ground.” The manner in which +the exception at Madrid was made has lately been the subject of +so much comment and discussion, that not much remains to be said +about it. The intolerance, that Lady Louisa justly stigmatises as +disgraceful, is to be laid at the door of the Spanish government, +rather than at that of the nation, and perhaps is to be imputed +less to the ministry of the day than to certain occult monkish +influences. We cannot bring ourselves to believe that the present +prime minister of Spain, General Lersundi, who began his military +career twenty years ago as a private volunteer in the ranting, +roaring, hard-fighting, loud-swearing corps of Chapelgorris--fellows +who would as soon have robbed a church as a larder, and from whose +hands few convents (or nuns either) that ever came in their way +escaped unscathed--can approve or sympathise with the ridiculous +stipulations, worthy of Spain’s blackest days of bigotry, which he +was compelled to annex to his permission of Protestant interments +at Madrid. But he was doubtless compelled to yield to the combined +weight of the priest and the palace. How is the virtuous Isabella +to obtain pardon for her peccadilloes, for the _péchés mignons_ to +which she is infamously addicted, if she does not atone for them +by a double dose of piety, and, above all, by proving herself the +“Most Catholic” of queens, and saving her capital from the scandal +of witnessing the sober ceremonial of a Protestant funeral? The +unchristianlike uncharitableness that is breathed by almost every +line of General Lersundi’s well-known letter to Lord Howden, must, +we are convinced, be disapproved by numbers of Spaniards, and by +all enlightened Roman Catholics, whatsoever their nation. Early in +the sixteenth century, when France had but recently emerged from +the semi-barbarism and bloody religious persecutions of the middle +ages, a French sovereign, Louis XIII., published an edict forbidding +his Catholic subjects to apply to the Huguenots the offensive name +of heretics. The Reformed Church had its places of worship, its +cemeteries--everything, in short, which is refused to it two hundred +and forty years later, upon the soil of that Spain which may be said, +without exaggeration, to owe its very existence as an independent +state to Protestant blood and treasure. In Spain, Protestants are +still heretics and outcasts--ay, in the mouths of many, _Judios_, +(Jews), included through ignorant bigotry with those despised +children of Israel whom, notwithstanding their accursed descent, +Spanish governments are often very glad to have recourse to, and +to flatter and make much of, when pinched for coin, and anxious +for an advance on quicksilver mines or Cuban revenue. For Spanish +ministers are of that family of saucy dogs who do not scruple to eat +unclean puddings, and profess a most Vespasianic indifference to +the source of gold, so long as they get it into their hands; for, +as the Spanish proverb says, money is always orthodox. And let us +see what says, on this head, witty and hard-hitting Master Ford, who +is always worth listening to, whether he be discoursing of Spain or +gibbeting the addle-brained absurdities of an Urquhart. He bids us +“visit, by all means, the Protestant burial-ground (the same of which +Lady Louisa Tenison has just spoken), not because it is a pleasant +‘traveller’s bourn,’ but because it was the first permitted, in our +time, for the repose of heretical carcases, which used to be buried +in the sea-sands, like dead dogs, and beyond the low-water mark; +and even this concession offended orthodox fishermen, who feared +that the soles might become infected; but the _Malagueños_, even +to the priest, never exhibited any repugnance to the dollars of +the living Lutheran Briton, for _el dinero es muy catolico_. This +cemetery, which lies outside the town to the east, was obtained and +laid out by our friend Mr Mark, father of the present consul, who +planted and enclosed the ground, and with great tact placed a cross +over the portal, to the amazement of the natives, who exclaimed, +‘_Con que estos Herejes gastan cruces!_’ (“So, then, these heretics +use crosses!”) (_Handbook for Spain_, p. 354.) _Con que_, we quit +the subject, sincerely wishing, with the Christian charity that +characterises us, that the authors, whosoever they be, of the recent +ordinances respecting the burial of Protestants at Madrid, may never +come to be buried either in the sea-sands, or at a cross-road, nor +be smuggled to their graves, as it appears Englishmen are to be who +have the ill-luck to give up the ghost within the precincts of “_la +corte_.” And we return to Lady Louisa Tenison, from whom we have +again been unconsciously wandering--certainly a most unjustifiable +want of taste on our part. We re-open her book at a passage which +makes us laugh outright--_réir a carcajadas_. “Spain,” says her +ladyship, “wants means of developing her resources, under the +guidance of a wise and honest government.” Truly, that does she, but +where are we to look for the government in question? And if she got +it, by a miracle, could one reasonably expect her to keep it? Judging +from the past, assuredly not. One honest government, in our own day, +Spain has had--when Espartero was regent. Its capacity was, perhaps, +not equal to its probity; at any rate, the nation would not endure +it; and its members have relapsed into private life, no richer--a +rare fact to find in the annals of Spanish cabinets--than when they +took office. Wisdom and honesty are indeed an uncommon combination in +the land beyond the Pyrenees. Until some modern Diogenes succeeds, +after long wandering lantern in hand over Spanish hill and valley, in +discovering them united, we may look in vain for such a government as +that which Lady Louisa Tenison, for Spain’s sake, desires to behold. + +We will not close this paper without giving a longer exemplification +than we as yet have done of the agreeable tone and style of the +authoress of _Castile and Andalucia_. We select an amusing sketch of +the Spanish court. + + “The whole style of everything connected with the + court in Spain is on a scale of great magnificence, as + far as outward appearance is concerned. The palace is + beautifully furnished; and the hall of the ambassadors, + or the throne-room, as we should call it, is gorgeous. + The drawing-rooms held by the Queen are called ‘Besa + Manos,’ as all Spaniards kiss hands every time they visit + the sovereign, and not only on presentation, as with us. + They are held of an afternoon, the gentlemen’s Besa-manos + concluding before that of the ladies begins. Foreigners + are more generally presented at a private audience, and + Spaniards themselves prefer it. The drawing-room is + rather a fatiguing undertaking for the Queen; for, after + the general circle has dispersed, all the members of the + household, down to the lowest dependant in the palace, are + admitted to kiss her hand. The balls are on a scale of + great magnificence; and, although the Queen’s ardour for + dancing has somewhat abated, she is still passionately fond + of it, and keeps it up till four or five in the morning, + her partners finding that the qualification of dancing well + is a greater recommendation than rank or station. + + “She has now grown immensely stout; and, with the most + good-natured face in the world, has certainly nothing to + boast of in elegance of manner or dignity of deportment. + She looks what she is--most thoroughly kind-hearted, liking + to enjoy herself, and hating all form and etiquette; + extremely charitable, but always acting on the impulse of + the moment, obeying her own will in all things, instead + of being guided by any fixed principles of action. She + dispenses money with a lavish hand, whilst her finances are + not, by any means, in a flourishing condition. Her hours + are not much adapted to business-like habits; she seldom + gets up till four or five o’clock in the afternoon, and + retires to rest about the same hour in the morning. She has + one most inconvenient fault for a queen, being always two + or three hours behind time. If she fixes a Besa-manos at + two o’clock, she comes in about five; if she has a dinner + party announced at seven, it is nine or ten before she + enters the room; and, if she goes in state to the theatre, + and the performances are announced for eight, her Majesty + makes her appearance about ten.” + +What innumerable mute maledictions must courtiers, cooks, and +managers heap upon her unpunctual Majesty of Spain. Punctuality, it +has been said, is the politeness of the great. In sovereigns, it is +both politic and a duty. How great a contrast between the slip-shod, +lie-abed practices of the Spanish Queen, and the early-rising, well +regulated, active habits of our own royal family. + + “The interior arrangement of the palace at Madrid would + rather excite surprise in the minds of those accustomed + to the regularity of the English Court. Isabel Segunda + generally dines alone, and the ladies-in-waiting never + reside in the palace, only going when specially summoned. + The Queen and her husband are now apparently on good + terms. He is a most insignificant-looking little man; the + expression of his countenance, however, is not unpleasing, + but his figure is mean and awkward--a counterpart, in this + respect, of his father, the Infante Don Francisco de Paula. + + “The court circle is completed by the Queen-Mother, whose + former beauty has now disappeared, as she has grown very + stout; but she possesses still the same fascinating voice, + the same bewitching manner, and the same syren smile, which + make all who speak to her bow before the irresistible charm + which she knows so well how to exercise. Queen Christina + might have worked an immense amount of good for this + unhappy country, had she devoted her talents and energies + to the improvement of the nation; had she exerted her + powerful influence in a good and noble cause, how much + might she not have accomplished! but instead of earning a + reputation which would have called forth the admiration of + posterity, she preferred sacrificing the interests of the + kingdom for the sake of gratifying her own inordinate love + of wealth, and has, in fact, proved merely worthy of the + family from which she sprang.” + +The account of the Queen of Spain’s habits derives particular +pungency from the fact of its being derived from the writer’s +personal observations. Of course Lady Louisa Tenison could but skim +the surface; minutely to investigate and describe the manner of life +of Isabella, would require a far bolder and more unblushing pen than +it would beseem an English lady to handle. The remarks on Queen +Christina are exceedingly just. No queen ever had a finer opportunity +of benefiting her country, making herself adored by her people, and +immortalising her name. Her popularity was once great, her talents +are undeniable, her powers of fascination, the influence she acquires +over all who come in contact with her, are precisely such as have +above been told. Popular as the representative of anti-Carlism and +of constitutionalism, she might have made herself beloved for her +own sake. A large majority of the Spanish nation--which has ever +been noted for its loyalty and monarchical predilections--asked no +better than to esteem and respect her, and not to look upon her +as a mere necessity, a sort of _pis-aller_, imposed upon Spain by +circumstances, and accepted because anything appeared better than +the vacillating, priest-ridden Carlos, and the tyranny he aimed +at restoring. But it was soon discovered that, whilst professing +to combat absolutism, and to represent liberal principles, Maria +Christina was at heart an absolutist and a tyrant, that all her +political tendencies were retrograde, and that she was utterly +selfish, degradingly sensual, and unboundedly covetous. And, to her +shame be it spoken, she brought up her child to be no better than +herself. The opprobrious epithet shouted at the mother by the Carlist +guerillas, during the civil war, was muttered by the Madrileños, +but a very few years later, as often as the daughter showed herself +in the streets of her capital--and with equal truth. The gross +irregularities of Isabella are, at this moment, as notorious in her +capital and throughout Spain as anything of the kind possibly can be. +Christina, having now considerably passed her prime, has taken up, +“for a good old gentlemanly vice,” with avarice. She has a numerous +family by Mr Muñoz, for which she cannot hope, unless she dowers +them very richly, to obtain such brilliant alliances as her ambition +aspires to. So she speculates, accumulates, and hoards; and there +is no saying to what exorbitant figure her fortune has by this time +attained. + +When such bright examples are set by royal personages, it is truly +wonderful that any morality or honesty remains in Spain. The quantity +is not large, and it must not be sought amongst the statesmen of the +country. + + “One or two instances, out of a thousand, may show the + manner in which ministerial influence is exerted. In Pinos + de la Valle, in the province of Granada, the Alcalde, whose + office it is to preside over the elections, was suspended + by the Governor as being adverse to the Government + candidate; and a claim against the town of two hundred + pounds was remitted, in consideration of the ministerial + candidate being returned. In the town of Orgiba, in the + same province, a fine of like amount was imposed, and a + further one threatened, should the ministerial candidate + not be returned; and, as if this were insufficient, the + Alcalde was suspended, the second Alcalde was put aside, + and a friend of the candidate named to conduct the voting, + although a criminal suit was actually pending against him. + It may be asked how a government can be allowed to exercise + so shameful and baneful an influence? The discussion is a + wide and difficult one; but one predominating cause may be + found in that insatiable rage for government employment + which pervades Spain. It is essentially a nation of two + classes--‘_empleados_,’ or persons holding offices, + dependent on the Government for their very bread, and + ‘_pretendientes_,’ or seekers after place. Had Le Sage + written in the middle of the nineteenth, instead of at the + commencement of the eighteenth century, he could not have + depicted the system more to the life. Public employment + is the primary resource of every needy man who can read + and write, as well as of thousands who cannot; the very + doorkeepers and porters, who encumber the public offices, + being legion.” + +There is no gainsaying this. The _empleomania_, the rage for place, +is at the bottom of much of Spain’s misery and degradation. It +reduces numerous classes, which, in other countries, apply themselves +industriously and profitably to professions, arts, and trades, +to the mean condition for whose designation Spaniards employ two +contemptuous and expressive words, whose satirical force can hardly +be rendered in English--_ojalateros_ and _pordioseros_, wishers and +beggars. + +Lady Louisa Tenison’s illustrations prove her as skilful with the +pencil as she is pleasant with the pen, and materially enhance the +attractions of her book. There is novelty in her choice of subjects, +taste and artistical feeling in the manner of their treatment. The +mechanical getting up of the work reflects credit on all concerned; +and, as for Mr Bentley’s binding, it is so brilliant that we were +almost afraid to touch it, and have been obliged to cover it whilst +reviewing, lest our critical judgment should go astray after the +gilding. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[16] _Castile and Andalucia._ By Lady LOUISA TENISON. London: 1853. + +[17] FORD’S _Handbook_, first edition, p. 172. + +[18] _Handbook for Spain_, p. 789. + + + + +THE WANDERER. + + +INTRODUCTORY. + + The throng of Earth’s slow struggles seek not here, + Nor pomp, nor circumstance, nor moving tale; + But whatsoever of that angelic scale, + Whose feet are Earth-set, whose tops touch the Sphere, + By its own splendours may be rendered clear, + Shall show one soul, whether she rise or fail: + Faith’s sympathetic vision will prevail + To see more true things than to sense appear: + The soul sees with the eye as through a glass, + And, if God wills, without it; be it not said, + “This,” or “that is,” or “is not;” shadows pass + Before us: O! ere long may we be made + To own the temporary things we see + A mere penumbra of Eternity! + + +I. + +PROEM. + + A barren heath, with bitter east-winds piping, + A garden full of sunshine and of bees, + A village school, a wandering home, a boyhood + Perplexed and various, shot with sin and shame, + A hot and wayward youth, led by false lights + To sloughs and bogs of danger and contempt, + A vague uneasiness, and ignorance-- + For knowledge opens but to one key, Love, + The which I partly sought, but found it not-- + Such were the earlier hours of Life’s drear night. + + +II. + +A VOICE. + + Oft in the dumb hour that precedes the dawn, + Before the cock crows to the waning stars, + When men sleep soundest, and the world is still, + A voice of strangest import came to me-- + A welcome, but an awful voice. It came + From hills and green lanes, woods and dewy lawns; + It breathed of innocent pleasures, now not known, + Or, known, not loved; of feverish regret + For things perchance but little valued then, + Now lost for aye, and bitter to the heart; + It was a moaning and a warning voice; + A moan for Eden lost, a boding vague + Of coldness coming on, as if it said, + “God’s Spirit will not always strive with flesh.” + + +III. + +THE PATH. + + Fast fade the fields, yet not so fast as fade + The memories of childhood; fades from me + The misty distance of the Hampshire fields; + England is lost already to my heart, + And half the bitterness of death is past. + The moon has made a path upon the waves + Which will be mine to-morrow--toward the East-- + The land that bred me cannot nourish me, + And I go forth. I will not mourn the chance. + + +IV. + +SETTING-OUT. + + We parted in the sunshine and the crowd, + The inquisitive gaze of noon; the busy hum + Of man about the port; with strangers by; + And cold Convention, with her tyrant forms, + Removed the solace, and drove home the sting. + We should have sundered on a lonely shore, + Where slowly broadened o’er a misty sea + The shimmer of a large, low-lying moon; + My vessel should have loomed against the night, + Nor shown impatience but by one flapped sail, + And in that hour we should have known a noise + Of water crawling gently up the stones, + And falling softly back with silver sound. + Such noise I hear; not now, tho’ tones of night + There are, which, in unquestioned diapason, + Accompany the murmurs of my soul. + By daylight nature jarred with jangling keys, + But now, all mingles well, the sounds are sad, + And I am sad to find myself alone. + So, standing hand in hand upon the beach + We should have parted, you gone back--ah me!-- + To your sweet home, to muse upon the past, + I, to my Destiny beyond the sea, + With a heart touched, not torn, beyond a cure. + + +V. + +THE SAME. + + I muse upon your lingering words of love + In search of any comfort, as a child + Might play with desperate hand on his own hurt. + As “May the Eldorado that of old + Haunted your lonely visions, and your speech, + Be found a truth by you!” Or thus, “Alas! + I cannot hope that you shall be exempt + From the common lot;” or, “There is but one land + Whereto we send our dearest in all hope, + And doubt not that to follow them were bliss.” + And in a bygone letter “A poet’s heart + Is in your breast, though little uttered yet. + When the Sun leaves the Earth at eventide, + His glory-beams, which shone alike on all, + Leave but the higher hills; slowly withdrawn, + They linger long upon the peaks, till night + Wraps all alike in irrespective darkness: + And on the spirit of man there dwell at first + Beams of his native Heaven, and deck the child. + None but the higher natures keep those rays + Till Death brings night to all;” and “O love Truth, + But never deck her statuary limbs + With the presumptuous garb of paradox.” + Ah me! not even your partial words can cheer + My burthened soul to-night--hark! the ship’s bell + Marks the beginning of another day, + The day on which I sail! Whate’er I do, + Where’er I go, the world turns round the same, + And the great Universe’s pulses beat, + And He alone who is the Governor + And Centre of the circle of all spheres, + Knows what I am, or heeds; and when I die, + The stars will shine, and the whole globe turn round, + And the great Universe’s pulses beat, + And He alone will heed. + So runs the world-- + You there, I here, God only everywhere. + + +VI. + +THE HYPHEN. + + I am weary of the ocean, emblem of Eternity. + Boundlessness is too ideal. Time and space suffice to me. + Life at sea is but the shadow of the life we led on land, + And the weary glass of Chronos hardly seems to drop a sand. + Life at sea is life suspended in a Present evermore, + All the Past is dim behind us, all the Future vague before. + ’Tis an isthmus leading on from continent to continent, + Where the spirit, worn with waiting, sometimes dreams it is content. + For I dream, cast out from action, nothing more remains to do, + Gazing at the sky and ocean, looking up from blue to blue. + Watching in night’s constellations circles of the wheeling mast, + Nourishing a moody fancy with the visions of the Past; + Or if visions of the Future sometimes dimly glide between, + ’Tis when memory shapes the To be, by reversing what has been; + That which was was dark and gloomy, clouds of doubt, and storms of sin, + Till I thought ‘Perchance the outer lends its shade to that within; + But the country which is coming is the home of warmth and light, + And the soul may spread her pinions there more beautifully bright.’ + Still I erred; I know that change of climate is not change of soul; + Every ship has care for cargo, wheresoe’er the billows roll, + Where storms toss, or calms entrance her, from the line to either pole. + Let what will be, there is nothing wherewithal I may not cope. + Thus I sing between the lands of disappointment and of hope; + Thus I sing, the night wind freshens in the rigging, loft and low, + Fills the canvass, drives the light spray--on our destined path we go. + + +VII. + +Ἀγνωστῳ Θεῳ. + + Oh, sought of old on misty mountain-tops, + And by the well-heads of long reverenced streams-- + Places in which the cool air lapped men so, + And the all-coloured wavings of the trees, + And the soft, dark-blue distance, and the stir + Of black and white upon the ancient stems, + That they forgot their individual heats, + Merging them in the universal; sought + In frozen caves beneath the purple lights! + THEE, not the sounds of timbrel or of yell + In tropic palm-groves, lone among the waves + Displease; THOU dost not shun the narrow faith + That sees thee in misshapen human forms, + Wrought by artificers from fire-wood trunk; + Nor dost THOU hide THEE from the larger pomp + Of stole and alb, and censer-swinging lads, + And aged men who pray in alien tongues, + And fluted swell of organ, when the vaults + Reverberate the clamour, and the heavens + Blush through the tinted oriel, and all else, + Sight, sound, and deed, be ignorant or vain; + And THOU art found by those, austere and hot, + Who sunder from their brethren, and devote + A simple and unsumptuous rite to THEE, + In open field or tabernacle stern: + With each and all I will believe thou art, + Because with each the shrine is still the same, + The matchless temple, made without hands--man. + Life without THEE is life inanimate; + And better far false gods than none at all; + Yet, with them, is it but a fevered sleep + With vague and unintelligible dreams. + Come THOU to me, all lonely; Lo, my heart + Is empty, swept, and garnished, and I bring + There, to thine altar foot, my wingèd thoughts, + My hornèd resolutions, fruits and flowers-- + Worthless, unless thy beams have quickened them: + Lo! what I have I sacrifice to THEE. + + +VIII. + +AD SODALES. + + The stars are clear in heaven, and all the slopes + Are slumbering in the silence of the night; + I hear a distant noise of waterfalls; + Far to the northward the great hills of snow + Thrust up their moon-kissed pinnacles; deep peace + Is on the happy world--the peace of God. + The peace of God! when comes there such to me? + Yet life has changes; brothers, we know that, + Even from the bygone lustre; did we dream + (When first, amid the glimmer of the moon, + And the unnumbered laughings of the sea, + We launched our little vessel five years past)-- + Dream of the voyage before us? Ah, since then + How many barks, as full of hope as ours, + And tended by as favourable winds, + Have perished from our knowledge; some gone down + To darkness, bearing, to the last, the hues + And beams of their destruction; some--ah, worse, + Still drift among the breakers of despair, + Without a compass--mastless, floating wrecks. + While, thanks to God--for surely not of us + The merit or the claim upon His love-- + Our path is still upon serener waves, + Our rigging stout, our needle pointing true, + And our eyes fixed upon the Polar Star. + + +IX. + +RESIGNATION. + + And is it true? can such sweet dreams not lie? + O true Egeria of a crownless lord! + Not by cool waterfall and mossy grot, + Beneath the mild light of a temperate sun, + With nature for a temple, do we meet; + But, as we parted, in a busy town, + Among the selfish throng of commerce; here, + Where alien schemers buy a chance of fortune + With sacrifice of all; we meet again-- + And I who was the worst and least of those + Learned life’s sweet lesson from thy lips of love, + Young Alchemist, whose heaven-directed search + Has found the great Magistrum, oft denied + To wise men and to prophets of the world. + “Thou didst not think to teach me.” What of that? + Feeling is more than knowledge, thought than speech. + The lesson much I needed, and do still; + My life is not as I would; a dull round + Of trivial cares, and sordid, worldly aims, + Intrench’d by poverty, and sunder’d far + From all my spirit values; I, God wot, + To toil long years in this distemper’d clime, + Cut off from art and sweet commerce of books, + When, in the converse of congenial hearts, + A glorious work had crown’d my sinking head. + It was a dream; yet who is there can say, + “I have awakened, and will dream no more”? + Yet here is work too, though the end be far; + And here, even in exile, is a home-- + For some short years a home; while yet I see + The roses not all wither’d on your cheek, + Our little ones still round their mother’s knee; + The sunshine of a hearth, though mostly cold, + And Love, that waits on Virtue--here is home. + + +X. + +PEACE. + + Call not our mission exile; who shall dare + To carp at independence, or to rail + Because his fate suffers him not to share + The nippings and the throngings of the mart, + The wrestlings of our overcrowded home-- + That other far-off home beyond the seas? + Oh, ’tis the poor man’s Paradise to know, + That day succeeding day shall still provide + Its never-failing sustenance for those + His heart is knit to; and to feel that heart, + Uncheck’d by old Convention, freely beat + And thrill with generous thoughts that link mankind, + And worship its own God, nor be coerced + Hither and thither with prescriptions hard, + And oft-resolved tenacious usages, + That loosen’d cling again at every turn + In that maternal isle. + Oh, proudly swell, + Thou breast of every free man--proudly rise, + Thou voice--for none shall check thine utterance; + And though thy hearers may seem few to thee, + Know, that the aftertime may warm thy words, + Till some of them shall ripen into deeds: + Know this in faith, and it shall be to thee + For an abiding sense of deathlessness. + And yet one would not die here; none can be + Without some vision of a cottage home, + Or in the pastures of the fields, or where + The tide of civilised life is eddying round + Some quiet nook, where men of thought repose, + Nursing the labours of their younger brains, + In great, imperial London. + Mine should be + Some rural spot, whence I could see afar + The cloud that rests for ever over her; + And the black towers of that minster old, + Where kings and poets (kings of their own souls), + Sown by the sedulous hand of Goodman Death, + Await the harvest-time HE will not see. + And I would have the immemorial Thames + To sparkle through my tall, surrounding trees; + And I would have the village church hard by, + That I might see the undulating green, + Where I and some of those I loved should lie. + Ah, foolish heart, that it should better thee + To know, that when thy flutterings shall have still’d-- + The first repose that they shall ever know-- + Thou shouldst rot here or there; the time shall come + (Ay, and is now), when thoughts like these shall be + Less vivid, less important than the dreams + Of long-forgotten slumbers, than the thoughts + Of prememorial childhood--almost less + Than the faint echoes of a former birth; + And thou, O heart, shall be like one of these, + Or as thou hadst been never--Peace, O Peace! + + H. G. K. + + + + +THACKERAY’S LECTURES--SWIFT. + + +A good librarian, as well acquainted with the insides of books as the +outsides, made the other day this shrewd observation--that in his +experience every third work he took up was defective, either in the +title or the first sentence. “What,” he continued, “for example, is +the meaning of the word ‘humourist?’ By what authority is it applied +to a writer?--is it not misapplied to a wit? unless it be meant to +degrade him. ‘The wit,’ says Addison in the _Spectator_, ‘sinks +imperceptibly into a humourist.’ A humourist is one whose conduct, +whose ways, are eccentric, ‘his actions seldom directed by reason +and the nature of things,’ says Watts. It is best the word should +be confined according to our dictionaries, to actions, not extended +to authorship. The title of Mr Thackeray’s Lectures would lead a +lover of plain English to expect narratives of eccentricities taken +from real life, and perhaps from the acted buffooneries of itinerant +boards, the dominion of Mr Punch’s dynasty--like other dynasties in +this age of presumed matter of fact, becoming a ‘dissolving view.’” +Mr Thackeray’s English is generally so good, so perfectly to be +understood, of such acceptable circulating coinage, that we are +surprised at this mistake in the title of his book. Montaigne would +head his chapters with any title--as we believe he ushered in one +as “On Coach-horses”--and said nothing about them; and we readily +admit that the privilege of “_Every Man in his Humour_” may be a +fair excuse for the author of _English Humourists of the Eighteenth +Century_. + +We wish we could say that this little volume were unobjectionable +in every other respect--but we cannot. We do not see in it a fair, +honest, truth-searching and truth-declaring spirit; yet the style +is so captivating, _so insinuating_ in its deceiving plainness, so +suggestive of every evil in its simplicity, so alluring onward, even +when the passages we have read have left unpleasant impression, that +it is impossible to lay down the book, though we fear to proceed. The +reader may be like to the poor bird under the known fascination: he +never loses sight of the glittering eye--but it looks, even in its +confident gaiety, too much like that which charms, and delights in, +a victim. We did not, it is true, expect from the author of “_Vanity +Fair_” any flattering pictures of men and manners, nor of the world +at large, of any age; but we were not prepared for his so strongly +expressed dislike and condemnation of other people’s misanthropy as +these pages exhibit, particularly in his character of Swift. + +And here we think we have a right to protest against Biographical +Lectures. It is hardly possible for a lecturer to be fair to his +subject. He has an audience to court and to please--to put in +good-humour with themselves--to be flattered into a belief of their +own goodness, by a bad portraiture of the eminent of the earth. He +has to dig out the virtues from the grave to show what vices cling +to them--how they look when exhumed in their corruption. Praise is +seldom piquant--commonplace is wearisome--startling novelties must +put truth to a hazard. If the dead must be called up to judgment of +an earthly tribunal, let it not be before a theatrical audience. The +lecturer is under the necessity of being too much of an accuser; and +if from his own nature, or from some misconception of the characters +he takes up, he be a willing one, he has a power to condemn, that the +mere writer has not. + +In many passages of the book before us there are examples both of the +lecturer’s danger, and of his power: many things said because of his +audience; and as such audience is generally largely feminine, what +advantage has the over-moralising and for the time over-moralised +lecturer against the dumb and bodiless culprit called up from his +mortal dust, should there be a suspicion of want of tenderness, or +doubt of a fidelity and affection, some hundred and fifty years ago, +and unpardonable for ever? The lecture-table is no fit place, nor +does it offer a fit occasion, to discuss the wondrous intricacies +of any human character. It is not enough that the lecturer should +have thought--there should be a pause, wherein a reader may think; +but an audience cannot: nor is the lecturer, however deeply he may +have thought, likely to have such disinterested self-possession and +caution, in his oral descriptions and appeals for praise or blame, as +are absolutely required for a truthful biographer. It is a bold thing +to bid the illustrious dead come from the sanctity of their graves, +and stand before the judgment-seat of the author of _Vanity Fair_--to +be questioned upon their religion and their morals, and not allowed, +even if they could speak for themselves, to answer. The lecturer +holds in his hand all their written documents, and all that have been +written by scribes of old against them, and he will read, but what he +pleases--he, the scrupulously moral, religious man, doubly sanctified +at all points for his hour’s lecture in that temporary professor’s +garb of proprieties, which he is under no necessity of wearing an +hour after he has dismissed his audience. We are not for a moment +insinuating any dereliction of all the human virtues and graces, as +against Mr Thackeray--but as a lecturer he must put on something of +a sanctimonious or of a moral humbug; he is on his stage, he has to +act his part, to “fret his hour.” He must do it well--he will do it +well; that is, to secure present rapturous applause. The audience is +carried away quite out of its sober judgment by the wit, the wisdom, +the pathos--and even the well-timed bathos--the pity, the satire, and +the satire of all satire, in the pity. The ghosts are dismissed--sent +back, as they should be, in the lecturer’s and audience’s estimation, +to their “dead men’s bones and all rottenness,” no longer to taint +the air of this amiable, judicious, and all-perfect nineteenth +century--epitomised in the audience. + +Give Professor Owen part of an old bone or a tooth, and he will on +the instant draw you the whole animal, and tell you its habits and +propensities. What Professor has ever yet been able to classify +the wondrous varieties of human character? How very limited as yet +the nomenclature! We know there are in our moral dictionary the +religious, the irreligious, the virtuous, the vicious, the prudent, +the profligate, the liberal, the avaricious, and so on to a few +names; but the varieties comprehended under these terms--their +mixtures, which, like colours, have no names--their strange +complexities and intertwining of virtues and vices, graces and +deformities, diversified and mingled, and making individualities--yet +of all the myriads of mankind that ever were, not one the same, and +scarcely alike: how little way has science gone to their discovery, +and to mark their delineation! A few sounds, designated by a few +letters, speak all thought, all literature, that ever was or will +be. The variety is infinite, and ever creating a new infinite; and +there is some such mystery in the endless variety of human character. +There are the same leading features to all--these we recognise; but +there are hidden individualities that escape research; there is a +large _terra incognita_, hard to find, and harder to make a map of. +And if any would try to be a discoverer, here is his difficulty--can +he see beyond his own ken? How difficult to have a conception of +a character the opposite to one’s-self! What man is so gifted? We +are but portrait-painters, and no portrait-painter ever yet painted +beyond himself--never represented on canvass an intellect greater +than his own. In every likeness there is a something of the artist +too. We look to other men, and think to find our own idiosyncracies, +and we are prepared to love or hate accordingly. As the painter +views his sitter in the glass, he is sure to see himself behind +him. You biographers, you judges, self-appointed of other men, what +a task do you set yourselves!--have you looked well into your own +qualifications? You venture to plunge into the deep dark--to bring up +the light of truth, which, if you could find it, would mayhap dazzle +all your senses. It is far safer for your reputation to go out with +Diogenes’s lantern, or your own little one, and thrust it into men’s +faces, and make oath you cannot find an honest one; and then draw the +glimmer of it close to your own foreheads, and tell people to look +there for honesty. But this is our preface, not Mr Thackeray’s. He +is too bold to need one. He rushes into his subject without excuse +or apology, either for his own defects of delineation, or of his +subject’s character. If you would desire to see with what consummate +ability, and with what perfect reality in an unlikeness he can paint +a monster, read the first life of his Lecture, that of the great +man--and we would fain believe, in spite of any of his biographers, a +good man--Dean Swift. + +If we may be allowed to judge from a collection of contradictory +statements respecting Swift, no man’s life can be more difficult +for a new writer to undertake, or for any reader to comprehend. If +we are to judge from the unhesitating tone of the many biographers, +and their ready acceptance of data, no life is so easy. The +essayist of the _Times_ makes Swift himself answerable for all the +contradictions; that they were all _in_ him, and that he was at all +times, from his birth to his death, mad. This is, indeed, to make +short work of it, and save the unravelling the perplexed skein of +his history. Another writer contends that he was never mad at any +period, not even the last of his life. That he was always mad is +preposterous, unless we are to accept as insanity what is out of and +beyond the common rate of men’s thoughts and doings. We certainly +lack in the character of Swift the one prevalent idea, which pervades +and occupies the whole mind of the madman. Such may have one vivid, +not many opposites in him. + +But the contradictions ascribed to Swift are more like the +impossibilities of human nature--if they are to be received as +absolute characteristics, and not as occasional exceptions, which are +apt, in the best of mankind, to take the conceit out of the virtues +themselves, and to put them into a temporary abeyance, and mark them +with a small infirmity, that they grow not too proud. + +The received histories, then, tell us that Swift was sincerely +religious, and an infidel; that he was the tenderest of men, a brute, +a fiend, a naked unreclaimable savage; a misanthrope, and was the +kindest of benefactors; that he was avaricious, and so judiciously +liberal that he left no great fortune behind him. Such is the +summary; the details are both delightful and odious. The man who owns +these vices and virtues must indeed be a monster or a madman! These +are characters very hard to fathom. Shakespeare has delineated one, +and he has puzzled all the world except Shakespeare, who chose to +make his picture more true by leaving it as a puzzle to the world. +Hamlet has been pronounced mad from his conduct to Ophelia, mainly +if not solely. It is a ready solution of the incomprehensible. Swift +was a Hamlet to Stella and Vanessa; and as there are two against him, +_versus_ Hamlet’s one love, critics pronounce him doubly mad. It is +a very ingenious but not very satisfactory way of getting out of the +difficulty. Mad or in his senses, he is a character that provokes; +provoked writers are apt to be not fair ones; and because they cannot +quite comprehend, they malign: _damnant quod non intelligunt_, is +also a rule guiding biographers. Shall he have the qualities “that +might become an angel,” or shall his portrait be “under the dark +cloud, and every feature be distorted into that of a fiend?” You +have equal liberty from the records to depict him as you please. The +picture, to be seen at large by an assembled lecturer’s audience, +must be strong and coarse in the main, and exhibit some tenderer +tones to the near benches in front. + +“For a man of my level,” says Swift of himself, “I have as bad a +name almost as I deserve! and I pray God that those who give it me, +may never have reason to give me a better.” He does not, you see, +set up for perfection, but through his present maligners he slaps +his after-biographers in the face, who, if they be hurt, will deny +the wit or omit it, and prefer instanter a charge of hypocrisy. +Angel or fiend! how charitable or how unmerciful are lecturers and +biographers! and, being so able to distinguish and choose, how very +good they must be themselves! Did the reader ever happen to see a +life of Tiberius with two title-pages, both taken from historical +authorities; two characters of one and the same person; made up, +too, of recorded facts? He is “that inimitable monarch Tiberius,” +during most of his reign “the universal dispenser of the blessings +of peace,” yet “he permitted the worst of civil wars to rage at +Rome!” We may venture to use the words of the essayist, speaking of +Swift--“We doubt whether the histories of the world can furnish, for +example and instruction, for wonder and pity, for admiration and +scorn, for approval and condemnation, a specimen of humanity at once +so illustrious and so small.” We have, from perfect authorities, +Tiberius handed down for detestation and for universal admiration. +The testimonies are not weak; they are alike strong, and equally +accepted standards of historical evidence and literature. “Swift +stood a living enigma.” It should seem there have been many such +enigmas. Shakespeare, who knew all nature, gave the world one to +make out as it can.[19] Grave history offers another. The novelist, +M. de Wailly, has tried his hand at this enigma--Swift; but the +Frenchman, like most French novelists, went altogether out of nature +to establish impossible theories. A dramatist might reduce the tale +within the limits of nature, if he could but once, for a few moments, +be behind the scenes of truth’s theatre--if he knew accurately all +the facts, or perhaps one or two facts, that time has concealed, +and perhaps ever will conceal; and which, discovered, would solve +the enigma at once. Of course, the great enigma lies in Swift’s +amours. These apart, no man would ever have ventured to assert the +life-long madness of Swift. Great men and little have had, and, +as long as the world lasts, will have their amours, honest ones +and dishonest; but, excepting for romance-writing and gossiping of +a day, such themes have been thought unworthy history, and to be +but slightly notable even in biography. Their natural secresy has +hitherto covered the correct ones with a sanctity, and the incorrect +with a darker veil, that it is better not to lift; nor is it easy +at all times to distinguish the right from the wrong. The living +resent the scrutiny: we do not admire the impertinence, nor easily +admit the privilege of an amatorial inquisition upon the characters +of the dead. And what has curiosity gathered, after all, which ought +to justify honest people in maligning Swift, Stella, or Vanessa? +A mass of contradictions. They cannot all be true. Even Stella’s +marriage, stated as a fact by so many writers, is denied, and upon +as fair evidence as its supposition. The first account of it is +given as many as seven years after Swift’s death, and twenty-four +years after Stella’s. There are two versions with respect to the +dying scene, and supposed dialogue regarding the marriage. They +contradict each other; for, in the one, Swift is made brutally to +leave the room, and never to have seen her after; in the other, to +have desired to acknowledge the marriage, and that Stella said, “It +is too late.” Who knows if either be true? and what means “it is +too late?” Do those few simple words, overheard, necessarily imply +any such acknowledgment? But there is proof that one malicious +statement is false. “This behaviour,” says Mr Thomas Sheridan (not +Dr Sheridan, the friend of Swift, for whom he has been mistaken, and +weight accordingly given to his statement), threw Mrs Johnson into +unspeakable agonies; and for a time she sunk under the weight of so +cruel a disappointment. But soon after, roused by indignation, she +inveighed against his cruelty in the bitterest terms; and sending +for a lawyer, made her will, bequeathing her fortune, by her own +name, to charitable uses.” It is said this was done in the presence +of Dr Sheridan; but the narrator was a mere lad when his father, +from whom he is said to have received it, died. But this very will +is, if not of Swift’s dictation, the will he had wished her to make +(compare it with Swift’s own will--the very phraseology is strongly +indicative of his dictation); for he had thus written to Mr Worral +when in London, during Stella’s severe illness: “I wish it could be +brought about that she might make her will. Her intentions are to +leave the interest of all her fortune to her mother and sister during +their lives, afterwards to Dr Stevens’s hospital, to purchase lands +for such uses as she designs it.” Upon this Mr Wilde, author of _The +Closing Years of Dean Swift’s Life_, remarks most properly: “Now, +such was not only the tenor, but the very words of the will made two +years afterwards, which Sheridan (Thomas, not Dr Sheridan) would +have his readers believe was made in pique at the Dean’s conduct.” +Then it follows, that if this paragraph in the tale, and told as a +consequence of the previous paragraph, is untrue, as it is proved to +be, the first part, the brutal treatment, falls to the ground. In any +court the evidence would be blotted from the record. It is curious, +and may have possibly some bearing upon the Platonic love of Swift +and Stella, that she should, in this will, have been so enamoured of +celibacy, that she enjoins it upon the chaplain whom she appointed +to read prayers and preach at the hospital. “It is likewise my +will that the said chaplain be an unmarried man at the time of his +election, and so continue while he enjoys the office of chaplain to +the said hospital.” This will is also curious, and worthy of notice, +in another respect. Among the slanders upon Swift and Stella, it had +been circulated that she had been not only his mistress, but had had +a child by him; and an old bellringer’s testimony was adduced for the +fact. There may be in the mind of the reader quite sufficient reasons +to render the story impossible; but one item of the will is a bequest +to this supposed child by name. “I bequeath to Bryan M‘Loglin (a +child who now lives with me, and whom I keep on charity) twenty-five +pounds, to bind him out apprentice, as my executors, or the survivors +of them, shall think fit.” Now, this is the great case of cruelty +against Swift, and we think it is satisfactorily disposed of. Have +we any other notice given that Swift behaved brutally to Stella? +None. Where is there any evidence of her complaining? but there is +evidence of the tenderest affection on Swift’s part. Stella’s letters +have never seen the light; but, if we may judge by the answers to +them, there could have been no charge of cruelty brought against him +by her. The whole is an assumption from this narrative of Sheridan +the son, and, as we have shown, altogether a misconception or a +dream of his. Even with respect to Stella’s parentage authors do not +agree--yet each speaks as positively as if he had been at the birth. +Swift himself says that her father was a younger brother of a good +family in Nottinghamshire, and her mother of a lower degree. Some +assert that she was the natural daughter of Sir Wm. Temple. Johnson +says, the daughter of Sir Wm. Temple’s steward; but, in contradiction +to this, it is pretty clear that her mother did not marry this +steward, whose name was Mosse, till after Sir Wm. Temple’s death, +when Stella was in Ireland. Sir William left her a thousand pounds, +and, it is said, declared to her her parentage. A writer in the +_Gentleman’s Magazine_ for 1757, who knew Stella’s mother, and was +otherwise well acquainted with facts, is urged, in indignation at the +treacherous and spiteful narrative by Lord Orrery, to write a defence +of the Dean. From this source, what others had indeed suspected +is strongly asserted--that Swift was himself the natural son of +Temple. He thus continues: “When Stella went to Ireland, a marriage +between her and the Dean could not be foreseen; but when she thought +proper to communicate to her friends the Dean’s proposal, and her +approbation of it, it was then become absolutely necessary for that +person, who alone knew the secret history of the parties concerned, +to reveal what otherwise might have been buried in oblivion. But was +the Dean to blame, because he was ignorant of his natural relation to +Stella? or can he justly be censured because it was not made known +to him before the day of the marriage? He admired her; he loved her; +he pitied her; and when fate placed the everlasting barrier between +them, their affection became a true Platonic love, if not something +yet more exalted.... We are sometimes told, that upon the Hanoverian +family succeeding to the throne of Great Britain, Swift renounced all +hopes of farther preferment; and that his temper became more morose, +and more intolerable every year. I acknowledge the fact in part; +but it was not the loss of his hopes that soured Swift alone; this +was the unlucky epocha of that discovery, that convinced the Dean +that the only woman in the world who could make him happy as a wife, +was the only woman in the world who could not be that wife.” Delany +also entertained a suspicion in agreement with this account. The +supposition would seem to throw light upon a mysterious passage in +Swift’s life, and to be sufficient explanation of all his behaviour +to Stella. “Immediately subsequent to the ceremony (the marriage) +Swift’s state of mind,” says Scott, “appears to have been dreadful. +Delany, as I have heard from a friend of his relict, being pressed +to give his opinion on this strange union, said, that about the +time it took place, he observed Swift to be extremely gloomy and +agitated--so much so, that he went to Archbishop King to mention +his apprehensions. On entering the library, Swift rushed out with +a countenance of distraction, and passed him without speaking. He +found the Archbishop in tears; and upon asking the reason, he said, +‘You have just met the most unhappy man on earth, but on the subject +of his wretchedness you must never ask a question.’” Sir Walter +Scott does not admit this story in the _Gentleman’s Magazine_, but +we doubt if the reason of his doubt, or rejection of it, be quite +satisfactory. “It is enough to say that Swift’s parents resided +in Ireland from before 1665 until his birth in 1667, and that +Temple was residing in Holland from April 1666 until January 1668. +Lord Orrery says until 1670.” Dates, it appears, are not always +accurately ascertained. We cannot determine that ambassadors have no +latitude for a little ubiquity; but there is one very extraordinary +circumstance with regard to Swift’s childhood, that seems to involve +in it no small degree of mystery. “It happened, by whatever accident, +that Jonathan was not suckled by his mother, but by a nurse, who +was a native of Whitehaven; and when he was about a year old, her +affection for him was become so strong, that, finding it necessary to +visit a relation who was dangerously sick, and from whom she expected +a legacy, she found means to convey the child on shipboard, without +the knowledge of his mother or his uncle, and carried him with her to +Whitehaven. At this place he continued near three years; for when the +matter was discovered, his mother sent orders not to hazard a second +voyage, till he should be better able to bear it. The nurse, however, +gave other testimonies of her affection to Jonathan, for during his +stay at Whitehaven she had him taught to spell, and when he was five +years old he was able to read a chapter in the Bible.” + +This undoubted incident is no small temptation to a novelist to spin +a fine romance, and affiliate the child according to his fancy. It +is a strange story--a very poor widow not suckling her own child! +kept three years away from a parent, lest, having borne one voyage +well, the young child should not be able to bear a second! The said +novelist may find sufficient reason for the mother in after years +recommending him to Sir Wm. Temple, and perhaps weave into his story +that the nominal mother was one intrusted with a charge not her +own. Stella’s mother’s connection with the Temple family may be as +rationally accounted for. The writer in the _Gentleman’s Magazine_, +already quoted, seems to have had this account of Johnston from the +widow herself. “This gentlewoman (Stella’s mother) was the widow +(_as she always averred_) of one Johnston a merchant, who, having +been unfortunate in trade, afterwards became master of a trading +sloop, which ran between England and Holland, and there died.” Then, +again, to revert to the entanglement of this mystery, although it +is received that there was a marriage--a private marriage, as it +is said, in the garden, by the Bishop of Clogher--are there really +sufficient grounds for a decision in the affirmative? It is traced +only to Delany and Sheridan (who could not have known it but by +hearsay), and the assertion, on suspicion, of the worst of all +evidences with regard to Swift, Orrery (he only knew him in his +declining years, as he confesses); but Dr Lyon, Swift’s executor, +denied it; and Mrs Dingley, who came to Ireland, after Sir William +Temple’s death, with Stella, and lived with her till her death, +laughed at it as an idle tale. Mrs Brent, with whom the Dean’s +mother lodged, and who subsequently was his housekeeper, never +believed it, and often told her daughter so, who succeeded her as +housekeeper. It is said the secret was told to Bishop Berkeley by +the Bishop of Clogher. “But,” says Sir Walter Scott, “I must add, +that if, as affirmed by Mr Monck Mason, Berkeley was in Italy from +the period of the marriage to the death of the Bishop of Clogher, +this communication could not have taken place.” With evidence +so conflicting even as to the marriage--so uncertain--and if a +marriage, as to the relationship between the parties--as to the +time of discovery--and with that maddening possibility of Swift’s +physical infirmity alluded to by Scott; it does appear that it is +the assumption of a very cruel critical right, to fasten upon the +character of Swift a charge of fiendishness and brutality towards +Stella. Where there are so many charitable ways of accounting for his +conduct, most of which might well move our admiration and our pity, +and where the tenderness of the parties towards each other cannot +for a moment be doubted (_vide_ Swift’s diary in his letters, and +his most touching letter speaking of her death and burial), there +is nothing more improbable, nothing more out of nature, than the +acquiescence of both Swift and Stella in a condition which might +well have driven both mad, if that condition had been avoidable. We +have a hesitation in believing in self-made monsters. Novelists, +romance-writers, and dramatists, conjure them up for their hour on +the stage, but it is a novelty to admit them into a biography which +professes to be true. As to Lord Orrery, the first slanderer of Swift +after his death, we have a perfect contempt for his character. He +sought the aged Swift for his own ends. His father had bequeathed +away from him his library; in his vexation he thought to vindicate +himself by an ambition to become a literary character. As Alcibiades +sought Socrates, not for Socrates’ virtues, but because his wisdom +might aid him in his political schemes; so Lord Orrery took the +leading literary characters of the day, and especially Swift, into +what companionship he might. He cajoled and flattered the old man, +and at his death maligned him. There was hypocrisy, too; for it was +contemptible in him to have pretended a friendship so warm, with a +man whom he designated as a tyrant, a brute, and irreligious. The +world are keen to follow evil report. The ill life which is told +by _a friend_ is authentic enough for subsequent writers, who, like +sheep, go over the hedge after their leader. The writer in the +_Gentleman’s Magazine_ for November 1757, speaks as one intimately, +and of long continuance, acquainted with all the circumstances of the +case. He says significantly that he thinks _there are some living who +have it in their power, from authentic materials_, to throw light +upon the subject. That he was well acquainted with her mother we +learn from the following passage: “I saw her myself in the autumn +of 1742 (about a year before her death), and although far advanced +in years, she still preserved the remains of a very fine face.” He +minutely describes Stella’s person as one who had seen her. “Let +those judge who have been so happy as to have seen this Stella, this +Hetty Johnston, and let those who have not, judge from the following +description”--and as one who had conversed with her: “Her mind was +yet more beautiful than her person, and her accomplishments were +such as to do honour to the man who was so happy as to call her +daughter.” He tells the anecdote (for which he says “I have undoubted +authority”) of her presence of mind and courage in firing a pistol +at a robber on a ladder about to enter her room at night. He tells +the time, and implies the cause of her leaving Moor Park to reside +in Ireland. “As soon as she was woman enough to be intrusted with +her own conduct, she left her mother, and Moor Park, and went to +Ireland to reside, by the order of Sir William, who was yet alive. +She was conducted thither by Swift; _but of this I am not positive_, +as I am that her mother parted with her as one who was never to see +her again.” Upon that fact, then, he is positive, and scrupulous of +assertion where not so. May it be conjectured he had the information +from the mother herself, when he saw her so near the time of her +death? He asserts that Sir William often “recommended her tender +innocence to the protection of Swift, _as she had no declared male +relation that could be her defender_;” that “from that time when +they received the proper notice of the secrets of the family, they +took care to converse before witnesses, even though they had never +taken such precaution before.” “Can we wonder,” he adds, “that they +should spend one day in the year in fasting, praying, and tears, +from this period to her death? Might it not be the anniversary of +their marriage?” “Swift had more forcible reasons for not owning +Stella for his wife, than his lordship (Orrery) has allowed; and +that it was not his behaviour, but her own unhappy situation, that +might perhaps shorten her days.” The contributor, who signs himself +C.M.P.G.N.S.T.N.S., writes purposely to vindicate the character of +Swift from the double slander of Lord Orrery, who impeaches “the +Dean’s charity, his tenderness, and even his humanity, in consequence +of his hitherto unaccountable behaviour to his Stella, and of his +long resentment shown to his sister.” Lord Orrery had said that Swift +had persisted in not owning his marriage from pride, because he had +reproached his sister for marrying a low man, and would never see +her or communicate with her after her marriage. That as Stella was +also of low origin, he feared his reproaches might be thrown back +upon himself. Then follows an entire contradiction of this unlikely +statement or surmise of Orrery--for that, “after her husband’s +and Lady Gifford’s death, she (the sister, Mrs Fenton) retired to +Farnham, and boarded with Mrs Mayne, Mrs Mosse boarding there at +the same time, with whom she lived in the greatest intimacy; and as +she had not enough to maintain her, the Dean paid her an annuity +as long as she lived--neither was that annuity a trifle.” Another +correspondent in the same Magazine--for December 1757--as desirous +of vindicating the Dean, yet, nevertheless, points out a supposed +error with regard to the passage in which mention is made of “the +unlucky epocha of that discovery,” being that of the accession of +the Hanoverian family, and the loss of Swift’s hopes. “But this,” +he says, “is inconsistent with Swift’s marrying her in 1716, as (in +page 487) we are told he did; or in 1717, in which year, I think, +Lord Orrery places this event.” We think this is being too precise. +Lord Oxford was impeached and sent to the Tower in 1715, which +is sufficiently near to be called the same epocha. Or even if we +take the accession from the death of Queen Anne--August 1714--the +disappointment must have been rankling in the mind of Swift, still +fresh, at the time of the other event. He likewise notices that Sir +Wm. Temple was abroad at and before Swift’s birth; but, for reasons +we have given, we think this objection of no importance. No mention +is made of Vanessa in the article in the _Gentleman’s Magazine_. The +author seems cautiously, conscientiously, to abstain from every item +of Orrery’s narrative, but such as he was assured of from his own +knowledge. + +Johnson, in his life of Swift, speaks disparagingly of Stella’s wit +and accomplishments. It was displeasing to the great lexicographer +that a woman should spell badly. Bad spelling was, we apprehend, the +feminine accomplishment of the day. Dr Drake, in his essay on the +literature and manners of that age, says, “It was not wonderful that +our women could not spell, when it may be said that our men had not +yet learnt to read.” + +We prefer Swift’s account of this matter. She was “versed,” he says, +“in Greek and Roman history--spoke French perfectly--understood +Platonic and Epicurean philosophy, and judged very well of the +defects of the latter. She made judicious abstracts of the books she +had read,” &c. Of her manners: “It was not safe nor prudent in her +presence to offend in the least word against modesty, for she then +gave full employment to her wit, her contempt, and resentment, under +which stupidity and brutality were forced to sink into confusion; +and the guilty person, by her future avoiding him like a bear or a +satyr, was never in a way to transgress again.” She thus replied to +a coxcomb who tried to put the ladies in her company to the blush: +“Sir, all these ladies and I understand your meaning very well, +having, in spite of our care, too often met with those of your sex +who wanted manners and good sense. But, believe me, neither virtuous +nor even vicious women love such kind of conversation. However, I +will leave you, and report your behaviour; and whatever visit I make, +I shall first inquire at the door whether you are in the house, +that I may be sure to avoid you.” “She understood the nature of +government, and could point out all the errors of Hobbes, both in +that and religion.” This letter of Swift’s is full of her praise; +but we know nothing more touching than the passage which speaks of +his sickening feelings at the hour of her burial. “_January 30, +Tuesday._--This is the night of the funeral, which my sickness will +not suffer me to attend. It is now nine at night, and I am removed +into another apartment that I may not see the light in the church, +which is just over against the window of my bed-chamber.” Were these +words written by a _cruel_ man!! Well, if so, we must admire a +woman’s saying--as it is put by Mr Thackeray: “Ah, it was a hard fate +that wrung from them so many tears, and stabbed pitilessly”--(alas, +Mr Thackeray, why will you put in that odious _pitilessly?_)--“that +pure and tender bosom! A hard fate; but would she have changed it? +I have heard a woman say that she would have taken Swift’s cruelty +to have had his tenderness.” And why, Mr Thackeray, will you say +of such a man, when he was writing that they had removed him into +another apartment, that he might not see the light in the church, +and was praising her and loving her when he could speak or write a +word--why, we ask, should you say, “in contemplation of her goodness, +his _hard_ heart melts into pathos.” Your own heart was a little +ossifying into hardness when you wrote this. Ah! did you wish your +female audience to think how much more tender you could be yourself? +and so did you offer this little apology for some hard things in your +novels? We wish you had written an essay, and not read a lecture. You +would have been both less _hard_ and less tender,--for, in truth, +your tender passages in this life of Swift, are very well to the +purpose, to catch your audience; but they are “nihil ad rem.” And +your appeal to the “pure and tender bosoms,” all against poor Swift, +as a detestable cannibal,--how, in his _Modest Proposal_, “he rages +against children,” and “enters the nursery with the tread and gaiety +of an ogre,” how he thought the “loving and having children” an +“unreasonableness,” and “love and marriage” a “folly,” because in his +Lilliputian kingdom the state removed children from their parents +and _educated_ them; and you wind up your appeal so lovingly, so +charmingly, so devotedly, so insinuatingly to your fair audience, +upon the blessings of conjugal love and philoprogenitiveness, that +you must be the dearest of lecturers, the pet of families, the +destroyer of ogres; and, as to that monster Swift, the very children +should cry out, as they do in the _Children in the Wood_, “Kill him +again, Mr Thackeray.” And this you did, knowing all the while that +the _Modest Proposal_ was a patriotic and political satire--one of +real kindness to the people, whose children he supposes, in the +depth of his feeling and his satire and bitter irony, the Government +should encourage the getting rid of, rather than, in defiance of all +his (the Dean’s) schemes for the benefit of Ireland, they should be +made a burthen to their parents, and miserable themselves. All this +you knew very well: it was shabby and shameful of you by your mere +eloquence to make this grave irony appear or be felt as a reality +and a cruelty, and tack on to it an importation from Lilliput of +a state edict, as if it were one in Swift’s mind with the _Modest +Proposal_. Yes,--you knew, the while these your words were awakening +detestation of Swift, you were oratorising a very great sham--all +nonsense--stuff--that would never pass current but through the +stamp of lectureship. You knew how the witty Earl Bathurst, a kind +father with his loved children about him, as good-naturedly as you +should have done, received Swift’s benevolently intended satire. “A +man who has nine children to feed,” says Lord Bathurst to Swift, +“can’t long afford _alienos pascere nummos_; but I have four or five +that are very fit for the table. I only wait for the Lord Mayor’s +Day to dispose of the largest, and shall be sure of getting off +the youngest whenever a certain great man (Sir R. Walpole) makes +another entertainment at Chelsea.” Here are your false words to win +all feminine sympathy. “In fact, our great satirist was of opinion +that conjugal love was unadvisable, and illustrated the theory by +his own practice and example--God help him!--which made him about +the most wretched being in God’s world.” How cruel was this in you, +under some of the probabilities, and all the possibilities that may +be, ought to be, charitably referred to Swift’s case--in his loves +or his friendships, be they what they will, for Stella and Vanessa. +Vanessa--have we then all this while forgotten Vanessa? Hers is +indeed a curious story. It is told in Swift’s poem of “Cadenus and +Vanessa,” and published after her death, at the dying orders of +Vanessa herself. + +At the time Swift was moving in the higher circles in London, he +appears to have been remarkable for the gracefulness of his manners +and his conversational powers. These accomplishments won for him many +friendships in the female society in which he found himself. Indeed, +in his letters, his female correspondence possesses a great charm, +and speaks very highly in favour of the wit and accomplishments of +the really well-educated women of the day. Swift lived in great +familiarity with the Vanhomrighs. The eldest daughter (another +Esther), ardent by nature, and desirous of improving her mind, +earnestly gave herself up to Swift’s converse and instruction. The +result on her part was love, on Swift’s friendship: it is possible +he may have felt something stronger; but, with an inconsistency, +those who charge him with a tenderer feeling deny him the power of +entertaining it. The story is too well known to be repeated here. +She confessed her passion, and he insisted upon friendship only. +She followed him to Ireland. She so expressed her state of mind to +him by letter, that Swift had certainly reason to apprehend fatal +consequences, if he altogether broke off his intimacy. If it be true +that Swift was by nature cold, it is some excuse for imprudence +that he did not easily suspect, or perhaps know, the dangerous and +seducing power of an attachment warmer than friendship. It is evident +_he_ professed nothing more. Whatever be the case in that respect, +there is no reason to charge upon either an improper intimacy. Mr +Thackeray thinks the two women died, killed by their love for, and +treatment by, Swift. It is possible love, and disappointed love, +may have hastened both their deaths, and made the wretchedness of +Swift. On all sides, the misery was one for compassion, and such +compassion as may charitably cover much blame. But even the story +of Vanessa is told differently. There is little certainty to go +upon, but enough for any man who pleases to write vilely on. Lord +Orrery is very unmerciful on the character of Vanessa. He, in +downright terms, charges her with having thrown away her virtue and +her religion, preferring passion to one and wit to the other. This +certainly gives him a good latitude for maligning his friend. Did he +ever give his friend Swift a piece of his mind, and say to him, he +thought him a rascal, and would discontinue his friendship? Oh, no; +it was pleasanter and very friendly to tell all his spiteful things, +after the Dean was dead, to “his Ham,” that they might be handed +down to the world from “father to son,” and so the world must know +“you would have smiled to have found his house a constant seraglio +of very virtuous women, who attended him from morning till night, +with an obedience, an awe, and an assiduity, that are seldom paid to +the richest or the most powerful lovers; no, not even to the Great +Seignior himself.” Yet the facetious father of “my Ham” never saw +Stella, and knew perhaps as little of the seraglio. Sir Walter Scott +says, as others also, we believe, that, upon Vanessa’s applying to +Stella herself to know the nature of the undefined connection between +her and Swift, she received from Stella an acknowledgment of the +marriage. If this were true, it would of course settle that question; +but Lord Orrery, from whom the first statement of the marriage came, +and who would readily have seized such a confirmation of his tale, +says no such thing. On the contrary, he says Vanessa wrote the letter +to Cadenus, not to Stella, and that Swift brought his own written +reply, and, “throwing down the letter on her table, with great +passion hastened back to his horse, carrying in his countenance the +frowns of anger and indignation.” How are we to trust to accounts so +different? “She did not,” he adds, “survive many days (he should +have said weeks, but days tells more against _his friend_) the letter +delivered to her by Cadenus, but during that short interval she was +sufficiently composed to cancel a will, _made in Swift’s favour_, and +to make another,” &c. Who will not ask the question,--_Was_ there a +will made in Swift’s favour? It is against probability; for be it +remembered, that the same story was told with respect to Stella’s +will, and it has been clearly proved that her will was such as +Swift wished her to make. Nor was it at all consistent with Swift’s +character, proud as he was, and always so cautious to avoid any +scandal on Stella’s account, that he would have allowed _her_ to make +a will in his favour; and it would have been still more revolting to +his pride to have accepted a legacy from Vanessa. + +Orrery treats poor Vanessa worse even than he does his friend. He +conjectures her motives as against Swift, and writes of her death, +“under all the agonies of despair,” which, unless he were present +at the last scene, he is not justified in doing, and reviles her +with a cruel uncharitableness. The worst that ought to be said of +this miserable love and perplexing friendship is said by Scott--“It +is easy for those who look back on this melancholy story to blame +the assiduity of Swift or the imprudence of Vanessa. But the first +deviation from the straight line of moral rectitude is, in such a +case, so very gradual, and on the female side the shades of colour +which part esteem from affection, and affection from passion, are so +imperceptibly heightened, that they who fail to stop at the exact +point where wisdom bids, have much indulgence to claim from all who +share with them the frailties of mortality.” + +More than a hundred and fifty years ago this sad tale, whatever it +was in reality, yet now a mystery, was acted to the life in this +strange world. The scandal of few real romances seldom lasts so long. +It is time to cease pursuing it with feelings of a recent enmity; +it is a better charity to hope, that all that was of difference, of +vexation, of misery, nay, of wrong, has become as unsubstantial as +their dust, and that they are where all that was of love is sure +to be, for love is eternal. Poor Vanessa’s dust may still rest in +peace. Swift’s and Stella’s have not been allowed the common repose +of the grave. Their bodies have been disturbed. The phrenologists +have been busy with the skulls, and their unhallowed curiosity has +been rewarded with a singular refutation of their doctrine. The +peculiarities of Swift’s skull are--“the extreme lowness of the +forehead, those parts which the phrenologists have marked out _as the +organs of wit, causality, and comparison, being scarcely developed +at all_, but the head rose gradually from benevolence backwards. The +portion of the occipital bone assigned to the animal propensities, +philoprogenitiveness and amativeness, &c., appeared excessive.” + +There is something very shocking in this disturbance of the dead. +We are inclined to join in Shakespeare’s imprecation on the movers +of bones. Swift’s larynx has been stolen, and is now, they say, in +possession of the purloiner in America. We wish it had Swift’s human +utterance, that the thief might wish he had no ears. An itinerant +phrenologist is now hawking about Pope’s skull. Matthews’ thigh-bone +has circulated from house to house. If ghosts ever visit nowadays our +earth, we could wish them to come armed each with a stout stick, and +act upon the phrenologists the “Fatal Curiosity.” + +Johnson’s line-- + + “And Swift expires a driveller and a show,” + +if it was not justified, as it certainly was not, during the Dean’s +last years, in his melancholy state, may be justified as a prophecy, +and fulfilled when his skull was handed about from fashionable house +and party, and exhibited as a show. + +Before we entirely quit the subject of Swift’s amours, it is +necessary to mention a serious offer of marriage which he certainly +made, about the year 1696. The lady--Miss Jane Waring--did not +at first receive his advances very warmly. After four years +the courtship came to an end. It seems Miss Waring became more +complying as Swift cooled. In a letter he complained of her want +of any real affection for him. It is so worded as to imply some +doubts of her temper and judgment. He writes as a man would do who +considers himself rather bound in honour than by love, and still +offers marriage--upon terms. These terms, those who profess to be +conversant in love proprieties, as in other branches of criticism, +say no woman could comply with. We do not profess to determine cases +of that nature. We apprehend all kinds of terms have been complied +with on both sides without impeachment in the Court of Love. This +offer of marriage, however, militates against Sir Walter Scott’s +hypothesis of physical unfitness, and rather strengthens the argument +and statements of the writer in the _Gentleman’s Magazine_. We +believe the exact date of the supposed marriage has not been given. +If it did take place, what if it should be possible it was on the +day--his birthday (or what he pleases to call his birthday)--at the +recurrence of which he bewailed his birth by reading the chapter in +Job? Nor must we omit, as it shows the shallow grounds upon which +defamation often rests, a charge of violation made against Swift at +Kilroot, because such a charge was found to have been really made +against one J. S., as it appeared in a magistrate’s books. J. S. +might have stood for Jonathan Swift--let him, therefore, bear the +iniquity. It might have been fastened upon any or all of the numerous +family of Smith, or any other J. S. in the world. It is curious +that the first propagator, who, possibly with truth, denied having +made the charge, as he might have said the letters J. S. only--as +did the register--and unwittingly left the appropriation to his +listeners;--it is curious, we observe, that this man became raving +mad, and was an inmate in Swift’s hospital. The idle tale has been +disproved, and but one of his worst maligners repeats it. + +There are no passages in this portion of Mr Thackeray’s Lectures more +odious, and more repugnant to our taste and feeling, than those which +charge Swift with irreligion; nor are they less offensive because +the author says--“I am not here, of course, to speak of any man’s +religious views, except in so far as they influence his literary +character, his life, his humour.” This denying latitude really means +quite the contrary to its preface; for, since religion does concern +every man’s _life_, and he writes or reads the life, he need not have +said he had nothing (of course) to do with it, under any exceptions. +But it serves the purposes of assuming a reluctance to touch upon the +subject, and of charging upon the necessity of the case the many free +and unnecessary animadversions upon Swift’s character as a priest of +the Church of England. + +The lecturer far outdoes the false friend Orrery, who, speaking +of his _Gulliver_, says, “I am afraid he glances at religion.” It +is true, he goes rather far to set up his friend the Dean as an +example of punishment by Providence, which punishment he admires +and confesses as according to righteous ways. His lordship might +have pitied, if angels weep. Not a bit of it. “Here,” he says, “a +reflection naturally occurs, which, without superstition, leads +me tacitly to admire and confess the ways of Providence. For this +great genius, this mighty wit, who seemed to scorn and scoff at all +mankind, lived not only to be an example of pride punished in his +own person, and an example of terror to others, but lived to undergo +some of the greatest miseries to which human nature is liable.” +Is this an instance of the charity which “covereth a multitude of +sins,” and which saith, “Judge not”? If his lordship had exercised +on this occasion _his superstition_, which he thus adroitly puts +aside, he would pretty much have resolved Swift’s sins into a +_material_ necessity. Thus he philosophises on vice and virtue +as effects--“These effects take their sources from causes almost +mechanical.” + +Mr Thackeray is still more severe--more unjust. He will not allow his +strictness in his religious duties, not even his family devotions, +to pass as current coin; they are shams and counterfeits. The Swift +too proud to lie, was enacting hypocrisy in all this; and how lucidly +conclusive the argument! Would any modern lecturer like to be tried +by it? “The boon-companion of Pope and Bolingbroke, who chose these +as the friends of his life, and the recipients of his confidence and +affection, must have heard many an argument, and joined in many +a conversation, over Pope’s port or ‘St John’s’ burgundy, which +would not bear to be repeated at other men’s boards.” “_Must_ have +heard.”!! Had the lecturer been an eye and ear witness, he could +not have said more. Yet this _must_ is a very little must indeed. A +letter of Bolingbroke’s, and another from Pope to Swift, which the +lecturer, as he ought to have done, had doubtless read, perfectly +reduces the little _must_ to nothing at all. Swift, it seems, had +written to Pope in some way to convert him from Popery. Pope’s +reply parries off the Dean’s shafts by wit, and the letter is very +pleasant. Not so Bolingbroke; and as he was of too free a spirit to +be false, and a hypocrite, at the time he wrote his reply he was +not that bold speculator in atheistical arguments which he may have +afterwards been; or if he was a hypocrite, that alternative defends +Swift, for it shows the improbability of the arguments over the +burgundy having been in their familiar converse; for Bolingbroke +was at least no fool to contradict himself before Swift. These are +his remarkable words, defending himself from the appellation of +a freethinker, in its irreligious sense: “For since the truth of +Christianity is as evident as matters of fact, on the belief of +which so much depends, ought to be, and agreeable to all our ideas +of justice, these freethinkers (such as he had described) must needs +be Christians on the best foundation--on that which St Paul himself +established (I think it was St Paul), _Omnia probate, quod bonum est +tenete._” It is not needful for us to vindicate Bolingbroke, nor even +to express any great satisfaction at this passage; our purpose is +to show Swift’s religious sincerity, and the probable nature of the +conversations with Pope and Bolingbroke from these letters. + +But to the excess of severity in the lecturer. He contrasts “Harry +Fielding and Dick Steele” with Swift for religious sincerity. These +“were,” he says, “especially loud, and I _believe fervent_, in their +expressions of belief.” He admits them to have been _unreasoning_, +and Church of England men. “But Swift, his mind had had a different +schooling, and possessed a very different logical power. _He_ was +not bred up in a tipsy guardroom, and did not learn to reason in a +Covent Garden tavern. He could conduct an argument from beginning to +end. He could see forward with a fatal clearness. In his old age, +looking at the _Tale of a Tub_, when he said, ‘Good God! what a +genius I had when I wrote that book!’ I think he was admiring, not +the genius, but the consequences to which the genius had brought +him--a vast genius, a magnificent genius--a genius wonderfully +bright, and dazzling, and strong, to seize, to know, to see, to +flash upon falsehood, and scorch it into perdition, to penetrate +into the hidden motives, and expose the black thoughts of men; an +awful, an evil spirit:” and yet Mr Thackeray would make this evil +spirit a spirit of truth, of logical power, of brightness to seize, +to know, to see, to flash upon falsehood; in fact, that irreligion +was the natural result of true good logical reasoning, and therefore +Swift had no religion. We have no business to charge the lecturer +with irreligious sentiments; indeed we feel assured that he had +no irreligious motive whatever in the utterance of this passage; +nor could he have had, with any discretion, before a mixed modern +audience: in the hurry of his eloquence, he overlooked the want of +precise nicety of expression due to such a subject. We could wish +that he had otherwise worded this passage, which, to the minds of the +many, will certainly convey a notion that the legitimate conclusion +of reasonable logical arguments is infidelity. Yet more. “Ah! man! +you educated in the Epicurean Temple’s library--you whose friends +were Pope and St John--what made you to swear to fatal vows, and bind +yourself to a life-long hypocrisy before Heaven, which you adored +with such real wonder, humility, and reverence? For Swift’s was a +reverent spirit; for Swift could love and could pray.” But his love, +according to the lecturer, was cruelty, and his prayer a sham!! Let +no man ever own a friend, however he became his friend, of dubious +opinions. The lecturer is cautious. Miss Martineau sent her mind +into a diseased cow, and it was healed. Pope and Bolingbroke _must_ +have sent theirs into Swift, and he was Bolingbroked and Poped to +the utmost corruption and defilement. We may here as well ask how +poor Swift was positively to know the ultimate sceptical opinions of +Bolingbroke? They were published in his works, by Mallet, after his +lordship’s death. + +Johnson doubted not the sincerity of Swift’s religion. He vindicates +the _Tale of a Tub_, which Mr Thackeray makes a text for his +vituperation, from “ill intention.” “He was a Churchman rationally +zealous.” “To his duty as a Dean he was very attentive.” “In his +church he restored the practice of weekly communion, and distributed +the sacramental elements in the most solemn and devout manner with +his own hands. He came to his church every morning, preached commonly +in his turn, and attended the evening anthem, that it might not +be negligently performed.” Swift himself spoke disparagingly of +his sermons. Mr Thackeray does more than take him at his word; he +pronounces that “they have scarce a Christian characteristic. They +might be preached from the steps of a synagogue, or the floor of a +mosque, or the box of a coffeehouse almost. There is little or no +cant; he is too great and too proud for that; and, so far as the +badness of his sermons goes, he is honest.” Is Mr Thackeray really a +judge of “Christian characteristics?” or does he pronounce without +having read Swift’s sermon on the Trinity, so much and so deservedly +admired, and certainly of a Christian character? But of these sermons +quite as good a judge is Samuel Johnson as our lecturer, who says, +“This censure of himself, if judgment be made from those sermons +which have been printed, was unreasonably severe.” Johnson ascribes +the suspicion of irreligion to his dread of hypocrisy. Mr Thackeray +makes hypocrisy his religion. Even the essayist in the _Times_, +who considers him a madman from his birth, admits him to have been +“sincerely religious, scrupulously attentive to the duties of his +holy office, vigorously defending the position and privileges of +his order: he positively played into the hands of infidelity, by +the steps he took, both in his conduct and writings, to expose the +cant and hypocrisy which he detested as heartily as he admired and +practised unaffected piety.” If, then, according to this writer, +there was a mistake, it was not of his heart. What different +judgments, and of so recent dates--a sincerely religious man, of +practical unaffected piety, and, _per contra_, a long-life hypocrite +before Heaven. We may well say, “Look on this picture and on this.” +Reflect, reader, upon the double title-page to _Life of Tiberius_, +on the mysteries of every man’s life; and the seeming contradictions +which can never be explained here. A simple truth might explain them, +but truth hides itself, and historians and biographers cannot afford +time for accurate search, nor the reading world patience for the +delays which truth’s narrative would demand. + +The _Tale of a Tub_, it has been said, was the obstacle to Swift’s +preferment--it may have been the ostensible excuse. If the Duchess +of Somerset went down on her knees to prevent a bishopric being +offered him, another excuse was wanted than the real one. It was +ascribed to Swift that he had ridiculed her red hair: such a crime +is seldom forgiven. But the “_spretæ injuria formæ_” will not be +producible as an objection. This _Tale of a Tub_ has been often +condemned and excused, and will be while literature lasts, and is +received amongst persons of different temperaments. There are some +so grave that wit is condemned by them before they know the subject +upon which it is exercised. To many it is folly, because beyond +their conception. We know no reason why the man of wit should not be +religious; if there be, wit is a crime; yet it is a gift of nature, +and so imperative upon the possessor that he can scarcely withhold +it. It is his genius. Wit has its logical forms of argument. Errors +in religion, as in manners, present themselves to the man of wit both +in a serious and ludicrous light; the two views combine, there is +the instant flash for illumination or destruction. The corruptions +in a church, as in that of Rome, being the growth of ages, engrafted +into the habits and manners of a people, are not to be put down by +solemn sermons only: arguments in a new and captivating manner must +be adopted, and applied to the ready understanding and familiar +common-sense of those on whom more grave and sedate argumentation is +lost. + +The Reformers were not remiss to take wit as an ally. Even now, those +who are temporarily shocked at the apparent lightness with which it +was employed in former days, as they read works such as the _Tale of +a Tub_ may have received with it solid arguments, never so vividly +put to them, and which are still excellent preservatives against +Romanism. The enemy who does not like it will call it ribaldry, +buffoonery, and magnify it into a deadly sin. The vituperation of it +marks its power. This kind of writing, even on the gravest subjects, +is more defensible than those who are hurt by it will admit. In a +state of warfare, and church is militant, we must not throw away +legitimate arms. If wit be a gift, it is a legitimate weapon, and a +powerful one. It deals terrible blows on the head of hypocrisy. We +owe to it more perhaps than we think. It may be fairly asked, Were +the _Provincial Letters_ injurious to the cause of religion? The +_Epistolæ Obscurorum Virorum_ helped to demolish some strongholds +of iniquity. Rabelais, disgusting as he is to modern readers in +too many parts, was acceptable to bishops and archbishops. They +pardoned much for the depth of sense, knowledge of mankind, and solid +learning in the curate of Meudon. There are offences against taste, +that are not necessarily offences against religion. There is many +an offensive work, especially in modern literature, where taste is +guarded and religion hurt. Is there a natural antipathy between wit +and religion, or between wit and morals? We trust not; for by it +all mankind may be reached--at least those who can be reached by no +other appeal, to whom that may be the first, though not the last. In +times of controversy all must come into the field, the light-armed +as well as the heavy-armed, and they must use their own weapons. +David slew Goliath with a pebble and a sling. He had tried these; +they were scorned by the giant, but they slew him. But this genius +of art is imperative, and unless you shut the church-doors against +it, and anathematise it (and to do so would be dangerous), it will +throw about its weapons. Danger cannot put it down. It has its minor +seriousness, though you see it not; it has its deep wisdom, and such +an abundance of gravity, that it can afford to play with it. It bids +the man endowed with it use it even upon the scaffold, as did Sir +Thomas More. Admit, that, if it is a power for good or evil, that +very admission legitimatises it. The infidel, the scoffer, will use +it, and he will be in the enemy’s camp. Yes, we must have, in the +gravest cause, our sharpshooters too. There have been buffoons for +the gravest purposes as for the vilest. It is well to be cautious +in condemning all. Demosthenes could not prevail upon the people of +Athens to give attention to him where their safety was concerned, and +he abandoned his seriousness, and told them a story of the “shadow +of an ass.” Buffoonery may be a part put on--the disguise, but the +serious purpose is under it. Brutus was an able actor. A man may +be allowed to put on a madness, when it would be death to proclaim +himself, so as to be believed, in his senses. What shall we say of +the grave buffoon, the wittiest, the wisest, the patriotic, who +risked his life to play the fool, because he knew it was the only +means of convincing the people, when he, Aristophanes, could not get +an actor to take the part of Cleon, and took it himself, not knowing +but that a cup of poison awaited him when the play was ended? It is +as well to come to the conclusion that the wit, even the buffoon, may +be respectable--nay, give them a higher name--even great characters. +Their gifts are instincts, are meant for use. As the poet says, they +cut in twain weighty matters: “_Magnas plerumque secant res_.” We +fear that if we were to drive the lighter soldiers of wit out of the +religious camp, those enlisted on the opposite side would set up a +shout, rush in, and, setting about them lustily, have things pretty +much their own way. Apply this as at least an apology for Swift. You +must have the man with his wit--it was his uncontrollable passion. +And, be it remembered, when he conceived, if not wrote, the _Tale of +a Tub_, he was in the riotous spirit of his youth. And abstract from +it its wondrous argument, deep sense of illustration, and weigh them, +how ponderous the mass is, how able to crush the long age-constructed +machinery of designing Popery! But heavy as is the abstract, it would +have lain inert matter, but for those nicely-adjusted springs of wit, +which, light as they seem, lift buoyantly the ponderous power, that +it may fall where directed. If any have a Romish tendency, we would +recommend him to read the _Tale of a Tub_, without fear that it will +take religion out of his head or his heart. We perfectly agree with +Johnson as to the _intention_, in contradiction to Mr Thackeray, who +says, “The man who wrote that wild book could not but be aware what +must be the sequel of the propositions he laid down.” And thus is it +cruelly added, “It is my belief that he suffered frightfully from +the consciousness of his own scepticism, and that he had bent his +pride so far down as to put his apostacy out to hire.” Charity, which +“believeth all things,” never believed that. + +The virtues reign by turns in this world of ours. Each one is the +Queen Quintessence of her time, and commands a fashion upon her +subjects. They bear the hue of her livery in their aspects. What +is in their bosoms it is not so easy to determine; their tongues +are obedient to the fashion, and often join in chorus of universal +cant. Philanthropy is now the common language, we doubt if it is the +common doing, of the age. We are rather suspicious of it, not very +well liking its connections, equality and fraternity, and suspect +it to be of a spurious breed, considering some of its exhibitions +on the stage of the world within the memory of many of us. As the +_aura popularis_ has been long, and is still blowing rather strong +from that quarter, it may appear “brutal” to say a syllable _per +contra_. There never was a fitter time to lift up the hands and eyes +in astonishment at Swift’s misanthropy. See the monster, how he hated +mankind! Perhaps he was a misanthrope. That he was a good hater we +verily believe, but for a misanthrope he was one of the kindest to +those who deserved and needed his assistance. It is said of him that +he made the fortunes of forty families--that when he had power, he +exerted it to the utmost, perseveringly, to advance the interests +of this or that man, and did many acts of benevolence secretly and +delicately;--witness his payment to Mrs Dingley of £52 per annum, +which he made her believe was her own; and he paid it as her agent +for money in the funds, and took her receipt accordingly, and this +was not known till after his death. Very numerous are the anecdotes +of this nature, but here we have no space for them. Such misanthropes +are not very bad people--even though, detesting the assumption of +uncommon philanthropy, they put on now and then a little roughness, +as Swift undoubtedly did, and many very kind people very often do. +But he wrote _Gulliver_, that bitter satire on mankind, for which Mr +Thackeray the lecturer is greatly shocked at him. “As for the moral, +I think it is horrible, shameful, unmanly, blasphemous; and, giant +and great as this Dean is, I say we should hoot him.” Certainly hoot +him--pelt him out of your _Vanity Fair_, which, though bad enough, +is far too good for him, for the law there is to treat bad mankind +very tenderly, and to make the good come off but second best, and +look a trifle ridiculous. There have been strong vigorous satirists, +universally read and admired, and made the stock literature of all +countries too, and the authors have been hitherto thought highly +moral and dignified characters; and they were personal, too, as +ever Swift was (not that we admire his personalities--they were +part his, and part belonged to his time), and their language as +coarse. What are we to say of Juvenal, if we condemn Swift on that +score? What of his sixth and tenth satires? The yahoo for mankind +is not more hideous than the Tabraca monkey, which so frightfully +represents men’s old age, in that famous tenth satire on the “Vanity +of Human Wishes.” It is, indeed, a morbid philanthropy, a maudlin +philanthropy, that will not give detested vices the lash. What +is brutal vice?--degraded human nature, such as our police courts +have of late exhibited it, our Cannons, and kickers, and beaters +of women--the burkers of our times, murderers for the sake of +body-selling, to whom yahoos are as far better creatures. Yet, in our +philanthropic days, we must not compare man to low animals. Indeed, +we make companion of the faithful dog--we pet the obedient horse--we +love them--and we are better for the affection we bestow, and it is +in a great degree perhaps reciprocal; but such brutes in human shape, +we shrink from comparing our dumb friends with them. They have made +themselves an antipathy to human nature, and our nature an antipathy +to them. + +One would think, to hear some people talk about this _Gulliver_, +that Swift had originated such hideous comparisons with the brute +creation, and that he alone had brought his _animali parlanti_ on the +stage. Chaucer, whom everybody loves, makes the cock say, as thus +Dryden says it for him:-- + + “And I with pleasure see + Man strutting on two legs, and aping me.” + _Cock and Fox._ + +But let us put the matter thus: In depicting the lowest vices of +human nature, Swift, like Hogarth, made them appear more odious, and +the former less offensive, by at least ideally or rather formally +removing them from our species. The transforming them to brutes in +something _like_ human shape, renders the human image less distinct; +covers them with a gauze, through which you can bear the sight, and +contemplate what brutalised human nature may become. The satirist +Hogarth is as strong, and by too near a resemblance, more disgusting, +yet is he a great moralist. Is the Yahoo of Swift worse, or so +offensive to our pride, as the heroes and heroines of “Beer and Gin +Alley,” or the cruelty scenes of Hogarth? Yet who ever called these +doings of the painter-satirist “shameful, unmanly, blasphemous.” +Hoot _him_, Mr Lecturer, hoot both or neither. No--the hoot of the +Lecturer was nothing but a little oratorical extravagance, for +an already indignant audience, touched upon that tender modern +virtue, general philanthropy. Out of his lectures, the lecturer is +a true, good, loving, kind-hearted, generous man; his real “hoot” +would sound as gently as the “roar” of any “sucking dove.” But at a +lecture-table, the audience must be indulged in their own ways. The +lecturer puts by his nature and puts on his art. He is acting the +magician for the moment, and not himself, and thus his art excuses to +him this patting on the back our mock philanthropy; _mock_, for it +is out of nature, and not real. Honest genuine nature is indignant, +and has an impulse as its instinct to punish villany. Who ever read +history, and did not wish a Cæsar Borgia hanged? Philanthropists are +very near being nuisances; they go out of the social course, which +runs in circles--at first small ones too, home. There is room for the +exercise of plenty of charity, amiableness, goodness; where is the +need a man should burthen himself with the whole census? We live for +the most part in circles, and if we do good, true, and serviceable +duty within them, it little matters if some, with a pardonable +eccentricity, deem them magic circles, and that all on the outside +of the circumference are fiends ready to leap in open-mouthed to +devour them. Professing philanthropists are apt to have too little +thought of what is nearest, and to stretch out beyond the natural +reach of their arms. They are breakers into other people’s circles, +and perpetually guilty of a kind of affectionate burglary--and +therefore not punishable, but to be pitied as a trifle insane. Poor +Swift! how his friends wept at his last sad condition, which the +hard hearts who knew him not, a century and a half after, choose to +call Heaven’s punishment, and his misery a “remorse.” How his true +friends grieved for him! and such friends, too--men of generous +natures that lift humanity out of that, its vexatious condition, +which provokes universal satire. He had a circle of friends whom he +dearly loved, and who as dearly loved him. No matter how many yahoos +go to the whipping-post. Take care of the home circles, and ever +keep the temper sweet in that temperate zone, which the natural +course of society has provided for you; and be sure the world won’t +be a bit worse off, if you light your cigar at your own hearth, and +pleasantly write a pretty sharp satire on the world at large. We know +not if it is not a fair position to lay down, that all satirists are +amiable men; our best have been eminently so. Poor gentle Cowper, in +his loving frenzy, wielded the knout stoutly, and had it been in his +religion, would have whipped himself like a pure Franciscan; and yet +he loved his neighbour. And it is our belief that Swift was good and +amiable, and as little like a yahoo as those who depict him as one. +Nature gave him a biting power, and it was her instinct that made him +use it; and what if he exaggerated? It is the poet’s licence. What +did Juvenal? and what did he more than Juvenal? Oh, this at once bold +and squeamish age!--bold to do bad things, and to cry out against +having them told or punished, but delighting in dressing up an +imaginary monster and ticketing it with the name of Jonathan Swift, +dead a century ago!! + +And was there so little vice and villany in the world in Swift’s +time, or in Hogarth’s time, that it should have been allowed to +escape? Party was virulent and merciless, and divided men, so that +statesmen had no time to care for good public morals. To be a +defeated minister was to be sent to the Tower, as Swift’s friend +Harley was, and kept there two years. They were corrupt times--yahoo +times. What says the sober historian, the narrator of facts, about +1717? There are accounts of the “Mug-houses,” when the Whig and +Tory factions divided the nation. There was the attack on these +Mug-houses, retaliations and riots, and there were “Mohocks,” of +which we read too pleasantly now in the _Spectator_, who went about +with drawn swords, and kept the city in terror. It is somewhere +about the year 1730 of which the historian speaks thus:--“A great +remissness of government prevailed at this time in England. Peace +both at home and abroad continued to be the great object of the +minister. Prosperity in commerce introduced luxury--hence necessities +were created, and these drove the lower classes of people into the +most abandoned wickedness. Averse to all penal and sanguinary +measures, the minister gave not that encouragement to the ordinary +magistrates that would enable them to give an effectual check to vice +among the multitude. This produced a very pernicious effect among +the higher class, so that almost universal degeneracy of manners +prevailed. It was not safe to travel the roads or walk the streets; +and often the civil officers themselves dared neither to repel the +violences nor punish the crimes that were committed. A species +of villains now started up, unknown to former times, who made it +their business to write letters to men of substance, threatening to +set fire to their houses in case they refused their demands; and +sometimes their threats were carried into execution. In short, the +peculiar depravity of the times became at length so alarming that +the government was obliged to interpose, and a considerable reward +was offered for discovering the ruffians concerned in such execrable +practices.”[20] + +If Swift’s miseries were so large as to make Archbishop King shed +tears, and pronounce him the most unhappy man on earth, on the +subject of whose wretchedness no question may be asked; and if, +remembering this, we reflect upon his great and active doings, it +will not be without admiration that we shall see how manfully he +strove against being overwhelmed with inevitable calamities; and if +we think him too much inclined to view mankind ill, we should reflect +that he lived in such times as we have been describing, and had +ill-treatment enough from mankind to render his best struggles for +contentment at times hard, and that he preserved his friendships to +the last. + +The fortuitous disappointments of life may be borne with a humble +patience, the virtue in misery; the disappointments which our +fellow-creatures inflict by their falseness and wickedness, are +apt in a degree to make generous natures misanthropic; but even +then their best feelings do but retreat from their advanced +posts--retire within, and cling with greater love and resolution to +the home fortress, fortified and sustained by a little army of dear +friends. So it was with Swift: out in the world he was the traveller +Gulliver--but the best friendships made his world his home. Even +in the strictest sense of _home_, such a home as Swift had, of so +strange a home-love, we know not to what great degree we should look +on that with pity. It is to be hoped, not one of his revilers have +had his miseries--which even his friend was with tears requested not +to look into. + +The animosities of Whigs and Tories were extreme. Swift declared +himself a Whig in politics, a Tory as high-churchman. In the course +of political experience, it is evident one of the principles must +give way. Swift saw to what the Whig policy tended: the higher +interests prevailed with him--he joined the Tories. Giant as he was, +we are not surprised at the strong expressions of the essayist whom +we have before quoted, “under Harley, Swift reigned, Swift was the +Government, Swift was Queen, Lords, and Commons. There was tremendous +work to do, and Swift did it all.” We do not mean to say Swift was +not a thorough man of the world; nor that he did not look to his own +interests, as men of the world do; but at the same time, it would be +hard to show that he was profligate as to political principle. He +may have changed his views, or political principles may have shifted +themselves. We firmly believe him to have been honest. But he left +the Whig ranks. Having done so, he was too great not to be feared, +and so hated--and is it too much to say that this Whig hatred with +regard to him has come down to our day, and unforgiving as it is, +as it cannot persecute the man, persecutes his memory? It is next +to impossible not to see that political rancour has directed and +dipped into its own malignant gall the pen of Lord Jeffrey, who +in that essay, which has now become cheap railway reading, heaps +all possible abuse on Swift, ascribing to him all bad motives--is +furiously wroth with him even now, because he abandoned the Whigs. +It is the very burthen of his vituperative essay. He (Swift) is +a political apostate, and a libeller of the Whigs against his +conscience; and this Lord Jeffrey gathers from his letters. Indeed! +and was it in Lord Jeffrey’s mind so dreadful an offence (if true) +this writing against his conscience, and to be discovered in private +letters, at supposed variance with published documents, by this said +Dean? We fear Lord Jeffrey was not aware that he was passing a very +severe censure upon his own conduct when he wrote thus of Swift; +for we remember reading a letter by the said Lord Jeffrey in entire +contradiction to that which, as Editor of the _Edinburgh Review_, he +had given out to the world. In this private letter, published in his +“Life,” he writes in perfect terror, and in the deepest despair of +the nation, arising from the dangerous tendency of articles in that +_Review_, with, as we conceive, a very poor apology, that he could +not restrain his ardent writers. Party blinded him then, and thus +he vents his rancour further, forgetful of the lampoons of the Whig +Tom Moore, the _Twopenny Post-bag_, and a long list--and of the Whig +Byron, and his doings in that line. “In all situations the Tories +have been the greatest libellers, and, as is fitting, the great +prosecutors of libels.” Lord Jeffrey, when he wrote this, was as +forgetful of his own party as of himself in particular--of the many +personalities in his own review, as of Whig writings. Unfortunately +for them, they were not so gifted with wit as their opponents, but +their malignity on that account was the greater. What is to be said +of Lord Holland’s note-book? But Lord Jeffrey was not the one to +condemn, however others might be justified in doing so, even personal +libels, which, in his own case, as editor and political Whig agent, +he justifies, and, more than that, sets up a principle to maintain +his justification. It would appear that one of his contributors +had been shocked at the personal libels in the _Edinburgh_, and +had remonstrated. Jeffrey thus defends the practice: “To come, for +instance, to the attacks on the person of the Sovereign. Many people, +and I profess myself to be one, may think such a proceeding at +variance with the dictates of good taste, of dangerous example, and +repugnant to good feelings; and therefore will not themselves have +recourse to it.” (Here his memory should have hinted-- + + “Qui facit per alium facit per se.”) + +“Yet,” he continues, “it would be difficult to deny that it is, or +may be, a lawful weapon to be employed in the great and eternal +contest between the court and the country. Can there be any doubt +that the personal influence and personal character of the Sovereign +is an element, and a pretty important element, in the practical +constitution of the government, and always forms part of the strength +or weakness of the administration he employs? In the abstract, +therefore, I cannot think that attempts to weaken that influence, +to abate a dangerous popularity, or even to excite odium towards a +corrupt and servile ministry, by making the prince, on whose favour +they depend, generally contemptible or hateful, are absolutely to be +interdicted or protested against. Excesses no doubt may be committed. +But the system of attacking abuses of power, by attacking the +person who instigates or carries them through by general popularity +or personal influence, is lawful enough, I think, and may _form +a large scheme of Whig opposition_--not the best or the noblest +part, certainly, but one not without its use, and that may, on some +occasions, be altogether indispensable.”--_Letter to Francis Horner, +Esq., 12th March 1815._ + +The semi-apologetic qualifying expressions “against good taste and +feeling,” only make one smile, as showing the clear sin against +conscience, in thus falling into or recommending the large scheme +of Whig opposition. One might imagine him to have been one of Mr +Puff’s conspirators in his tragedy, who had manufactured from the +play a particularly Whig party-prayer--a prayer to their god of +battle, whoever he was,--certainly one a mighty assistant in such +conspiracies. + + “Behold thy votaries submissive beg, + That thou wilt deign to grant them all they ask; + Assist them to accomplish all their ends, + And sanctify whatever means they use + To gain them.”--_The Critic._ + +Every one will now agree, of course, with Lord Jeffrey, that the +Tories have ever been the great libellers!!! + +Was it ever known that Tom Moore, or even the editor of the +_Edinburgh Review_, were prosecuted!! We do not justify Swift in +all his libels--some bad enough. They were strange times, and of no +common licence; and who was more licentiously attacked than Swift +himself? And he knew how to retaliate, and he did it terribly and +effectually. Many badly-written things were ascribed to Swift which +he did not write. But we must not take the code of manners of one +age, and a more refined age, and utterly condemn, by reference to +them, the manners of another, as a chargeable offence against an +individual. Much that Swift wrote could not be written now; much that +was written by Mr Thackeray’s other “Humourists” could not be written +now; and yet the objections are on the score of manners wanting in +refinement, and not that morals were offended. In Swift’s time, both +in literature and politics, men wrote coarsely, and acted somewhat +coarsely too; for they wrote in disgust, which was scarcely lessened +by a fear of the pillory. Retaliations were severe. De Foe, who knew +well what political prosecution was, wrote thus on Lord Haversham’s +speech: “But fate, that makes footballs of men, kicks some up stairs +and some down; some are advanced without honour, others suppressed +without infamy; some are raised without merit, some are crushed +without crime; and no man knows, by the beginning of things, whether +his course shall issue in a peerage or a pillory”--in most witty and +satiric allusion to Lord Haversham’s and his own condition. Swift’s +“_Account of the Court and Empire of Japan_,” written in 1728, is no +untrue representation of the factions and ministerial profligacy of +that period. The Dean, as an Irish patriot--for he heartily took up +the cause of Ireland--was persecuted, and a reward of £300 offered +for the discovery of the author of one of the Drapier’s Letters. The +anecdote told on this occasion is very characteristic of Swift. He +was too proud to live in fear of any man. His butler, whom alone he +trusted, conveyed these letters to the printer. When the proclamation +of reward came out, this servant strolled from the house, and staid +out all night and part of next day. It was feared he had betrayed his +master. When he returned, the Dean ordered him instantly to strip +himself of his livery, and ordered him to leave the house; “For,” +says he, “I know my life is in your power, and I will not bear, out +of fear, either your insolence or negligence.” The man was, however, +honest and humble, and even desired to be confined till the danger +should be over. But his master turned him out. The sequel should +be told. When the time of information had expired, he received the +butler again; and “soon afterwards ordered him and the rest of the +servants into his presence, without telling his intentions, and bade +them take notice that their fellow-servant was no longer Robert the +butler, but that his integrity had made him Mr Blakeney, Verger of St +Patrick’s, whose income was between thirty and forty pounds a-year.” +As it has fallen in the way to give this narrative of his conduct to +a deserving servant, it may not be amiss, in this place, to offer a +pendant; and it may be given the more readily, as those who wish to +view him as a misanthropic brute, and they who would commend him for +his humanity, may make it their text for their praise or their abuse. +“A poor old woman brought a petition to the deanery; the servant read +the petition, and turned her about her business. Swift saw it, and +had the woman brought in, warmed and comforted with bread and wine, +and dismissed the man for his inhumanity.” + +To revert, however, to his political course. When the Tory Ministry +was broken up, he never swerved from his friendships, nor did he +court one probable future minister at the expense of the other. +Indeed, at the beginning of the break-up, he clung the more closely +to Harley, the dismissed minister. But even this conduct has been +misrepresented, by those who viewed all his actions upside down, as +a deep policy, that he might be sure of a friend at court whichever +side might ultimately win. + +That he might appear wanting in no _possible impossible_ vice, +avarice has been added to the number adduced. Even Johnson charges +his economy upon his “love of a shilling.” This does appear to us, +after much examination of data, a very gratuitous accusation. His +early habits were necessarily those of a poor man; he never was a +rich one; and he was far above the meanness of enlarging his means +at the expense of his deanery, its present interests, or of his +successor, by any selfish regard to fines. Due economy is often taken +to be avarice. Nor does it follow that reasonable parsimony, when +constantly practised for a worthy purpose, _is_ avarice. Such avarice +is at least not uncommon in great and good minds. Swift so often made +it known that he had a good object, and which he fulfilled, that it +seems quite malicious to forget his motives, and to ascribe his by +no means large accumulations to a miserly disposition. He did not in +fact, after all, leave a very ample endowment for his hospital for +the insane. The first £500 which he could call his own he devoted +to loans, in small sums, to poor yet industrious men. Had he been +avaricious, he might have accumulated a fortune by his writings. A +very small sum (we believe for his _Gulliver_) was the only payment +received for all his writings. Had he been naturally avaricious, he +would not have returned, with marked displeasure, a donation sent him +by Harley. There was a sturdy manliness in his pride which forbade +him to incur serious debt; and this pride caused him to measure +nicely, or rather say frugally, his expenditure. He had, indeed, a +“love of a shilling,” as he ought to have had, for he knew for what +purpose he husbanded it. We know an instance of seeming parsimony +that originated in, and was itself, an admirable virtue. It was in +rather humble life. The man had given up his little patrimony--his +all--to the maintenance of two sisters, whom he truly loved; and when +he went out into the world, trusting to his industry alone, he made a +vow to himself that the half of every shilling he could save should +go to his sisters. This man drove hard bargains; by habit he came +to think that what he spent idly was a half robbery. Many a hard +name, doubtless, was cast at this tender-hearted man in his progress +through little-knowing and ill-judging society. + +We do not attempt a delineation of Swift’s character. We are +conscious that it was too great for our pen. It must be a deep +philosophy that is able to search into such a mind, and bring all the +seeming contradictions into order, and sift his best qualities, from +their mixtures of eccentricities, from a real or imaginary insanity. +This part of the subject has been ably treated, and with medical +discrimination, by Mr Wilde in his _Closing Years of Dean Swift’s +Life_, from whose work we gladly quote some just animadversions upon +his vituperators. + +“To the slights thrown upon his memory by the Jeffreys, Broughams, +Macaulays, De Quinceys, and other modern _literati_, answers and +refutations have been already given. Of these attacks, which exhibit +all the bitterness of contemporary and personal enmity, it is only +necessary to request a careful analysis, when they will be found to +be gross exaggerations of some trivial circumstances, but written in +all the unbecoming spirit of partisanship; while the opinions of his +contemporaries, Harley, Bolingbroke, Pope, Arbuthnot, Delany, &c., +are a sufficient guarantee for the opinion which was entertained of +Swift by those who knew him best and longest.” + +It was well said, with reference to Jeffrey’s article in the +_Edinburgh Review_, “But Swift is dead, as Jeffrey well knew when he +reviewed his works.” If men of mark will be so unjust, unscrupulous, +uncharitable, as to apply “base perfidy” to such a man as Swift, no +wonder if the small fry of revilers, whose lower minds could never by +any possibility rise to the conception of such a character as Swift, +should lift their shrieking voices to the same notes, as if they +would claim a vain consequence by seeming to belong to the pack. Mr +Howitt odiously alludes to the discarded story which we have noticed, +the slander at Kilroot, and grounds upon it a charge of “dissipated +habits” in his youth. This writer, lacking the ability and influence +of the superior libellers, as is common with such men, yelps his +shrill vulgarities the louder in such expressions as “selfish +tyranny,” “wretched shuffler,” “contemptible fellow.” + +It is a vile thing, this vice of modern times--this love of pulling +down the names of great men of a past age--of blotting and slurring +over every decent epitaph written in men’s hearts about them. That +men of note themselves should fall into it, is but a sad proof that +rivalry and partisanship in politics make the judgment unjust. We +remember the reproof Canning gave to Sir Samuel Romilly, no common +man, who indeed acknowledged Mr Pitt’s talents, but denied that he +was a great man. “Heroic times are these we live in,” said Canning, +“with men at our elbow of such gigantic qualities as to render those +of Pitt ordinary in the comparison. Ah! who is there living, in this +house or out of it, who, taking measure of his own mind or that of +his coevals, can be justified in pronouncing that William Pitt was +not a great man?” Of all our modern revilers of Swift, the pullers to +pieces of his fame and character, is there any that might not shrink +from putting his own measure of either to the comparison? Political +hatred lasts too long--it reverses the law of canonisation: if there +is to be worship, it must be immediate. A century destroys it; but +enmity survives. + + “Lightly they’ll talk of the spirit that’s gone, + And o’er his cold ashes upbraid him, + But little he’ll reck, if they let him sleep on,” &c. + +We commenced with the intention of reviewing Mr Thackeray’s Lectures, +but have stopped short at his life of Swift, and yet feel that we +have but touched upon the subject-matter relating to that great man; +and hope to refer to it, with some notice and extracts from his +works, at a future time. + +And what is Swift? What is any dead man that we should defend his +name, which is nothing but a name--and not that to _him_? What +is Swift to us, more than “Hecuba” to the poor player, or “he to +Hecuba,” that we should rise with indignation to plead his cause? +Praise or blame to the man dead a century and more, is nothing for +him, no, nor to any one of his race (for affections of that kind +are lost in a wide distribution). Shakespeare makes even honour of +a shorter date. “What is honour to him who died o’ Wednesday?” Very +soon individual man melts away from his individuality, and merges +into the general character; he becomes quite an undistinguishable +part of the whole generation; his appearance unknown. Could the great +and the small visit us from the dead--they who “rode on white asses,” +and they who were gibbeted--they whom the “king delighted to honour,” +and they whom the hangman handled--there is no “usher of black rod” +that could call them out by their names. Their individualities are +gone--their names must go in search of them in vain--they will fasten +nowhere with certainty--none know which is which. Let Cæsar come with +his murderers, and who shall tell which is Cæsar? After a generation, +there is no one on earth to grieve for the guilty or unfortunate, +unless in a fiction or tale. We laugh at the weeping lady who +puts her tears to the account of the “anniversary of the death of +poor dear Queen Elizabeth.” Feelings and affections of past ages +are all gone, and become but a cold history, that the poet or the +romance-writer may warm again in their sport. They no longer belong +to those who had them. While memory and affection lasts there is a +kind of vitality, but it soon goes. “Non omnis moriar” is a motto +to be translated elsewhere. The atmosphere of fame, for this earth, +rises, like that we breathe, but a little way above it, and is ever +shifting. + +But if the individual thus melts away, not so the general character; +that will remain--and in that the living are concerned. We deem it +a part of a true philanthropy if we can pull out one name from the +pit of defamation into which it has been unhandsomely thrust, and +can place it upon the record of our general nature, that our common +humanity may be raised, and, as much as may be, glorified thereby. +Such has been our motive (for with this motive alone is Swift +anything to us), and we hope we have succeeded in rescuing one of +nature’s great men from unmerited obloquy. + +We have spoken freely of Mr Thackeray’s Lectures, with reference to +his character of Swift. + +We believe that he has unfortunately followed a lead; and, in so +doing, has been encouraged to a bias by his natural gift--satire. We +say not this to his dispraise. Like other natural gifts, the satiric +puts out ever its polyp feelers, and appropriates whatever comes +within its reach, and promises nutriment. It is not indeed likely, +in this our world, to be starved for lack of sustenance; nor would +society be the better if it were. But we do doubt if it be quite the +talent required in a biographer. We would not have Mr Thackeray abate +one atom of the severity of his wit; and we believe him to have an +abhorrence of everything vicious, mean, and degrading, and that his +purpose in all his writings is to make vice odious. He habitually +hunts that prey: having seen the hollowness of professions, he drives +his merciless pen through it, and sticks the culprit upon its point, +and draws him out upon the clean sheet, and blackens him, and laughs +at the figure he has made of him. A writer of such a stamp ought to +be considered, what he really is, a moralist--therefore a benefactor +in our social system. + +But with this power, let him touch the living vices till they +shrink away cowed. The portraiture of the vices of men who lived a +century or more ago, real or imaginary, may only serve to feed the +too flagrant vice of the living--self-congratulating vanity. If +then he must write, or lecture, on biography, we would earnestly +recommend him to do it with a fear of himself. His other works +have contributed many hours of delight to the days of most of us; +and in the little volume before us, setting aside his lecture on +Swift, there is much to amuse and to instruct. The sharp contrasting +choice of his positions, and easy natural manner, not forcing but +enticing the reader to reflection, must ever make Mr Thackeray a +popular writer. Were he less sure of the public ear, and the public +voice in his favour, we should not have endeavoured to rescue the +character of Swift from his grasp; and we believe him to be of that +generous nature to rejoice, if we have, as we hope, been successful +in the attempt. We cannot speak too highly of Mr Thackeray as one +most accomplished in his art: his style, eminently English, is +unmistakably plain and energetic. It is original--so curt, yet so +strong; there is never amplification without a purpose, nor without +the charm of a new image. Thoughts are clad in the words that best +suit them. With him, pauses speak; and often a full stop, unexpected +in a passage, is eloquent. You think that he has not said all, +because he has said so little: yet that little is all; and there +is left suggestion for feelings which words would destroy. He is +never redundant. So perfect is this his art that his very restraint +seems an _abandon_. He knows when and how to gain the credit of +forbearance, where in fact there is none. In his mastery over this +his peculiar manner, he brings it to bear upon the pathetic or the +ridiculous with equal effect; and, like a consummate satirist, makes +even the tragic more tragic, more ghastly, by a slight connection +with the light, the ridiculous, a certain air of indifference. We +instance the passage of the death of Rawdon, in his _Vanity Fair_. +Few are the words, but there is a history in them. The apparent +carelessness in dismissing his hero reminds one of that in Richard +the Third. + + “The Lady Anne hath bade the world good night.” + +His strongest ridicule is made doubly ridiculous by the gravity he +tacks to it. It sticks like a burr upon the habit of his unfortunate +victim. He puts the rags of low motives upon seeming respectability, +and makes presumption look beggarly--effecting that which the Latin +satirist says real poverty does--_ridiculos homines facit_. Most +severe in his indifference, his light playfulness is fearfully +Dantesque; it is ever onward, as if sure of its catastrophe. We do +not know any author who can say so much in few common words. These +are characteristics of genius. It has often been said, and perhaps +with truth, that the reader shuts the book uncomfortable, not very +much in love with human nature: we are by no means sure that this +is absolutely wrong; such is the feeling on looking at Hogarth’s +pictures. It was the author’s intention, in both cases, to be a +moral satirist, not a romance-writer. It has been objected that he +allows the vicious too much success; but he may plead that so it is +in life: even the Psalmist expressed his surprise at the prosperity +of the wicked. There is truth to the life in this treatment; a +certain seeming success tells not the whole. It is a more serious +charge that he has made virtue and goodness insipid. We wish he could +persuade himself that there is romance in real life, and that it is +full of energies; its true portraiture would give a grace to his +works. Cervantes and Le Sage were not all satire; their beautiful +touches of romance hurt not the general character of their works; the +fantastic frame-lines mar not the pathos of the picture. With this +recommendation we close our article, with trust in the good sense and +good feeling of Mr Thackeray, rejoiced to think that his powerful +genius is in action: whatever vein he may be in, he will be sure to +instruct and amuse, and accumulate fame to himself. If the virtues +do not look their very best, when he ushers them into company, at +least vice will never have to boast of gentle treatment--he will make +it look as it deserves; and if he does not always thrust it out of +doors in rags and penury, he will set upon it, and leave its further +punishment for conjecture. + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[19] It is curious this twofold character of Tiberius--surprising +that historians should have credited this single existence of a +civilised cannibal--this recorded “eater of human flesh, and drinker +of human blood.” The learned writer of this volume on Tiberius, +with truthful scrutiny, sifts every evidence, weighs testimony +against testimony, and testimony of the same authority against +itself, and after patient investigation concludes, as the reasonable +solution of the historical enigma, that Tiberius was not only “of +all kings or autocrats the most venerable,” but that he was, “in +the fourteenth year of his reign, a believer in the divinity of +Jesus Christ,” and, “during the last eight years of his reign, the +nursing-father of the infant Catholic Church.” It will be readily +perceived that the supposition of Tiberius being a Christian, at +a time when Christianity was universally held to be an odious and +justly-persecuted superstition, must have presented, through known +facts and rumours, to the world at large, and to the philosophic +minds of historians in particular, an idea of human character so +novel and so confused, as to be, in the absence of a clue, and a +test which they could not admit, altogether incomprehensible. What +could they do with the sacramental fact--the eating human flesh and +drinking human blood, by one known for his abstemiousness? + +“Τοσαυτης δ’εν τοτε της καταζασεως εοης, και μηδ’ απαρνησασθαι τινος +δυναμενε το μη ε και των σαρκων αυτε ηδεως εμφαγειν.”--DION. C. + + “Fastidit vinum, quia jam bibit iste cruorem + Tam bibit hunc avide quam bibit iste merum.”--SUET. + +The sacramental fact discovered, and undeniable, yet not known as the +sacramental fact, must have made up a riddle of contradictions, which +it was not in the power of that age to solve. In its ignorance it +made a monster. Men are apt to see more than nature ever exhibits. + +[20] RUSSELL’S _History of England_. + + + + +NOTE TO THE ARTICLE ON THE NEW READINGS IN SHAKESPEARE. + + +We have received, although only at the eleventh hour, a copy of +_Notes and Queries_ (September 17, 1853), in which ICON animadverts +with proper severity on the unwarrantable conduct of A. E. B. +in attacking our harmless selves in the manner he did. He also +compliments our article in a strain which makes us blush even deeper +than we did when the “gnat” stung us. We thank both him and the +editor for the handsome apology which has been made to us--for such +we consider it--in the name of _Notes and Queries_; and we confess +that, had we been aware of their friendly disposition sooner, we +might have modified some of the remarks made at the opening of this +paper. Let the excellent concern, however, take our remarks as kindly +as we did theirs; and let all who are connected with it consider, +that when a man is struck at in the dark, he must defend himself in +the dark, fall his blows where they may. The worthy editor seems +to be much more pestered by the fussiness and irritability of his +little tribe of correspondents than we are. He complains of this +very sorely. He will perhaps find that we have given them a lesson +how to behave; and if he passes the remainder of his days in peace +and quiet, untormented by the small hornets whom he has in charge, +he will know whom he has to thank for it, and will feel grateful +accordingly. May _Notes and Queries_ go on and prosper; for, when it +commits a mistake, it has the manliness and good sense to avow it, +and to make all suitable reparation. + + + _Printed by William Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh._ + + + + +Transcriber’s Note: + +Words may have multiple spelling variations or inconsistent +hyphenation in the text. These have been left unchanged. Obsolete and +alternative spellings were left unchanged. Eight misspelled words +were corrected. + +Words and phrases in italics are surrounded by underscores, _like +this_. Footnotes were renumbered sequentially and were moved to the +end of the article. Missing anchors to Footnotes were added where +they may have belonged. + +Obvious printing errors, such as backwards, upside down, or partially +printed letters and punctuation, were corrected. Missing or duplicate +punctuation was corrected. + +Changed: + + “scene” to “Scene” in Shakespeare references + added space to “i. e.” for consistency + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78090 *** |