THE PARIS SKETCH BOOK OF MR. M. A. TITMARSH

By William Makepeace Thackeray

Estes And Lauriat, Boston, Publishers

CONTENTS. 

 THE PARIS SKETCH BOOK. 

 An Invasion of France

 A Caution to Travellers

 The Fêtes of July

 On the French School of Painting

 The Painter's Bargain

 Cartouche

 On some French Fashionable Novels

 A Gambler's Death

 Napoleon and his System

 The Story of Mary Ancel

 Beatrice Merger

 Caricatures and Lithography in Paris

 Little Poinsinet

 The Devil's Wager

 Madame Sand and the new Apocalypse

 The Case of Peytel

 Four Imitations of Béranger

 French Dramas and Melodramas

 Meditations at Versailles

DEDICATORY LETTER

TO

M. ARETZ, TAILOR, ETC. 

27, RUE RICHELIEU, PARIS. 

SIR, --It becomes every man in his station to acknowledge and praisevirtue wheresoever he may find it, and to point it out for theadmiration and example of his fellow-men. 

Some months since, when you presented to the writer of these pages asmall account for coats and pantaloons manufactured by you, and when youwere met by a statement from your creditor, that an immediate settlementof your bill would be extremely inconvenient to him; your replywas, "Mon Dieu, Sir, let not that annoy you; if you want money, as agentleman often does in a strange country, I have a thousand-franc noteat my house which is quite at your service. "

History or experience, Sir, makes us acquainted with so few actionsthat can be compared to yours, --an offer like this from a stranger anda tailor seems to me so astonishing, --that you must pardon me for thusmaking your virtue public, and acquainting the English nation with yourmerit and your name. Let me add, Sir, that you live on the first floor;that your clothes and fit are excellent, and your charges moderate andjust; and, as a humble tribute of my admiration, permit me to lay thesevolumes at your feet. 

Your obliged, faithful servant, M. A. TITMARSH. 

ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION. 

About half of the sketches in these volumes have already appeared inprint, in various periodical works. A part of the text of one tale, andthe plots of two others, have been borrowed from French originals; theother stories, which are, in the main, true, have been written uponfacts and characters that came within the Author's observation during aresidence in Paris. 

As the remaining papers relate to public events which occurred duringthe same period, or to Parisian Art and Literature, he has ventured togive his publication the title which it bears. 

LONDON, July 1, 1840. 

AN INVASION OF FRANCE. 

"Caesar venit in Galliam summâ diligentiâ. "

About twelve o'clock, just as the bell of the packet is tolling afarewell to London Bridge, and warning off the blackguard-boys with thenewspapers, who have been shoving Times, Herald, Penny Paul-Pry, PennySatirist, Flare-up, and other abominations, into your face--just asthe bell has tolled, and the Jews, strangers, people-taking-leave-oftheir families, and blackguard-boys aforesaid, are making a rush for thenarrow plank which conducts from the paddle-box of the "Emerald"steamboat unto the quay--you perceive, staggering down Thames Street, those two hackney-coaches, for the arrival of which you have beenpraying, trembling, hoping, despairing, swearing--sw--, I beg yourpardon, I believe the word is not used in polite company--andtranspiring, for the last half-hour. Yes, at last, the two coaches drawnear, and from thence an awful number of trunks, children, carpet-bags, nursery-maids, hat-boxes, band-boxes, bonnet-boxes, desks, cloaks, andan affectionate wife, are discharged on the quay. 

"Elizabeth, take care of Miss Jane, " screams that worthy woman, who hasbeen for a fortnight employed in getting this tremendous body of troopsand baggage into marching order. "Hicks! Hicks! for heaven's sake mindthe babies!"--"George--Edward, sir, if you go near that porter with thetrunk, he will tumble down and kill you, you naughty boy!--My love, DOtake the cloaks and umbrellas, and give a hand to Fanny and Lucy; andI wish you would speak to the hackney-coachmen, dear, they want fifteenshillings, and count the packages, love--twenty-seven packages, --andbring little Flo; where's little Flo?--Flo! Flo!"--(Flo comes sneakingin; she has been speaking a few parting words to a one-eyed terrier, that sneaks off similarly, landward. )

As when the hawk menaces the hen-roost, in like manner, when such adanger as a voyage menaces a mother, she becomes suddenly endowed with aferocious presence of mind, and bristling up and screaming in thefront of her brood, and in the face of circumstances, succeeds, by hercourage, in putting her enemy to flight; in like manner you will always, I think, find your wife (if that lady be good for twopence) shrill, eager, and ill-humored, before, and during a great family move ofthis nature. Well, the swindling hackney-coachmen are paid, the motherleading on her regiment of little ones, and supported by her auxiliarynurse-maids, are safe in the cabin;--you have counted twenty-six of thetwenty-seven parcels, and have them on board, and that horrid man onthe paddle-box, who, for twenty minutes past, has been roaring out, NOW, SIR!--says, NOW, SIR, no more. 

I never yet knew how a steamer began to move, being always too busyamong the trunks and children, for the first half-hour, to mark any ofthe movements of the vessel. When these private arrangements aremade, you find yourself opposite Greenwich (farewell, sweet, sweetwhitebait!), and quiet begins to enter your soul. Your wife smiles forthe first time these ten days; you pass by plantations of ship-masts, and forests of steam-chimneys; the sailors are singing on board theships, the bargees salute you with oaths, grins, and phrases facetiousand familiar; the man on the paddle-box roars, "Ease her, stop her!"which mysterious words a shrill voice from below repeats, and pipesout, "Ease her, stop her!" in echo; the deck is crowded with groups offigures, and the sun shines over all. 

The sun shines over all, and the steward comes up to say, "Lunch, ladiesand gentlemen! Will any lady or gentleman please to take anythink?"About a dozen do: boiled beef and pickles, and great red raw Cheshirecheese, tempt the epicure: little dumpy bottles of stout are produced, and fizz and bang about with a spirit one would never have looked for inindividuals of their size and stature. 

The decks have a strange, look; the people on them, that is. Wives, elderly stout husbands, nurse-maids, and children predominate, ofcourse, in English steamboats. Such may be considered as the distinctivemarks of the English gentleman at three or four and forty: two or threeof such groups have pitched their camps on the deck. Then there are anumber of young men, of whom three or four have allowed their moustachesto BEGIN to grow since last Friday; for they are going "on theContinent, " and they look, therefore, as if their upper lips weresmeared with snuff. 

A danseuse from the opera is on her way to Paris. Followed by her bonneand her little dog, she paces the deck, stepping out, in the real dancerfashion, and ogling all around. How happy the two young Englishmen are, who can speak French, and make up to her: and how all criticise herpoints and paces! Yonder is a group of young ladies, who are goingto Paris to learn how to be governesses: those two splendidly dressedladies are milliners from the Rue Richelieu, who have just brought over, and disposed of, their cargo of Summer fashions. Here sits the Rev. Mr. Snodgrass with his pupils, whom he is conducting to his establishment, near Boulogne, where, in addition to a classical and mathematicaleducation (washing included), the young gentlemen have the benefit oflearning French among THE FRENCH THEMSELVES. Accordingly, the younggentlemen are locked up in a great rickety house, two miles fromBoulogne and never see a soul, except the French usher and the cook. 

Some few French people are there already, preparing to be ill--(I nevershall forget a dreadful sight I once had in the little dark, dirty, six-foot cabin of a Dover steamer. Four gaunt Frenchmen, but for theirpantaloons, in the costume of Adam in Paradise, solemnly anointingthemselves with some charm against sea-sickness!)--a few Frenchmen arethere, but these, for the most part, and with a proper philosophy, go tothe fore-cabin of the ship, and you see them on the fore-deck (is thatthe name for that part of the vessel which is in the region of thebowsprit?) lowering in huge cloaks and caps; snuffy, wretched, pale, and wet; and not jabbering now, as their wont is on shore. I never couldfancy the Mounseers formidable at sea. 

There are, of course, many Jews on board. Who ever travelled bysteamboat, coach, diligence, eilwagen, vetturino, mule-back, or sledge, without meeting some of the wandering race?

By the time these remarks have been made the steward is on the deckagain, and dinner is ready: and about two hours after dinner comestea; and then there is brandy-and-water, which he eagerly presses asa preventive against what may happen; and about this time you passthe Foreland, the wind blowing pretty fresh; and the groups on deckdisappear, and your wife, giving you an alarmed look, descends, with herlittle ones, to the ladies' cabin, and you see the steward and his boysissuing from their den under the paddle-box, with each a heap ofround tin vases, like those which are called, I believe, in America, expectoratoons, only these are larger. 

 . . . . . . 

The wind blows, the water looks greener and more beautiful thanever--ridge by ridge of long white rock passes away. "That's Ramsgit, "says the man at the helm; and, presently, "That there's Deal--it'sdreadful fallen off since the war;" and "That's Dover, round that therepint, only you can't see it. " And, in the meantime, the sun has plumpedhis hot face into the water, and the moon has shown hers as soon as everhis back is turned, and Mrs. --(the wife in general, ) has brought upher children and self from the horrid cabin, in which she says itis impossible to breathe; and the poor little wretches are, by theofficious stewardess and smart steward (expectoratoonifer), accommodatedwith a heap of blankets, pillows, and mattresses, in the midst of whichthey crawl, as best they may, and from the heaving heap of which are, during the rest of the voyage, heard occasional faint cries, and soundsof puking woe!

Dear, dear Maria! Is this the woman who, anon, braved the jeers andbrutal wrath of swindling hackney-coachmen; who repelled the insolenceof haggling porters, with a scorn that brought down their demands atleast eighteenpence? Is this the woman at whose voice servants tremble;at the sound of whose steps the nursery, ay, and mayhap the parlor, isin order? Look at her now, prostrate, prostrate--no strength has sheto speak, scarce power to push to her youngest one--her suffering, struggling Rosa, --to push to her the--the instrumentoon!

In the midst of all these throes and agonies, at which all thepassengers, who have their own woes (you yourself--for how can you helpTHEM?--you are on your back on a bench, and if you move all is up withyou, ) are looking on indifferent--one man there is who has been watchingyou with the utmost care, and bestowing on your helpless family thetenderness that a father denies them. He is a foreigner, and youhave been conversing with him, in the course of the morning, inFrench--which, he says, you speak remarkably well, like a nativein fact, and then in English (which, after all, you find is moreconvenient). What can express your gratitude to this gentleman for allhis goodness towards your family and yourself--you talk to him, he hasserved under the Emperor, and is, for all that, sensible, modest, and well-informed. He speaks, indeed, of his countrymen almost withcontempt, and readily admits the superiority of a Briton, on the seasand elsewhere. One loves to meet with such genuine liberality in aforeigner, and respects the man who can sacrifice vanity to truth. Thisdistinguished foreigner has travelled much; he asks whither you aregoing?--where you stop? if you have a great quantity of luggage onboard?--and laughs when he hears of the twenty-seven packages, andhopes you have some friend at the custom-house, who can spare you themonstrous trouble of unpacking that which has taken you weeks to put up. Nine, ten, eleven, the distinguished foreigner is ever at your side; youfind him now, perhaps, (with characteristic ingratitude, ) something ofa bore, but, at least, he has been most tender to the children and theirmamma. At last a Boulogne light comes in sight, (you see it over thebows of the vessel, when, having bobbed violently upwards, it sinksswiftly down, ) Boulogne harbor is in sight, and the foreigner says, --

The distinguished foreigner says, says he--"Sare, eef you af no 'otel, Isall recommend you, milor, to ze 'Otel Betfort, in ze Quay, sare, closeto the bathing-machines and custom-ha-oose. Good bets and fine garten, sare; table-d'hôte, sare, à cinq heures; breakfast, sare, in Frenchor English style;--I am the commissionaire, sare, and vill see to yourloggish. "

. .. Curse the fellow, for an impudent, swindling, sneaking Frenchhumbug!--Your tone instantly changes, and you tell him to go about hisbusiness: but at twelve o'clock at night, when the voyage is over, andthe custom-house business done, knowing not whither to go, with a wifeand fourteen exhausted children, scarce able to stand, and longing forbed, you find yourself, somehow, in the Hôtel Bedford (and you can't bebetter), and smiling chambermaids carry off your children to snug beds;while smart waiters produce for your honor--a cold fowl, say, and asalad, and a bottle of Bordeaux and Seltzer-water. 

 . . . . . . 

The morning comes--I don't know a pleasanter feeling than that of wakingwith the sun shining on objects quite new, and (although you have madethe voyage a dozen times, ) quite strange. Mrs. X. And you occupy a verylight bed, which has a tall canopy of red "percale;" the windows aresmartly draped with cheap gaudy calicoes and muslins; there are littlemean strips of carpet about the tiled floor of the room, and yet allseems as gay and as comfortable as may be--the sun shines brighter thanyou have seen it for a year, the sky is a thousand times bluer, andwhat a cheery clatter of shrill quick French voices comes up from thecourt-yard under the windows! Bells are jangling; a family, mayhap, isgoing to Paris, en poste, and wondrous is the jabber of the courier, thepostilion, the inn-waiters, and the lookers-on. The landlord callsout for "Quatre biftecks aux pommes pour le trente-trois, "--(O mycountrymen, I love your tastes and your ways!)--the chambermaid islaughing and says, "Finissez donc, Monsieur Pierre!" (what can they beabout?)--a fat Englishman has opened his window violently, and says, "Dee dong, garsong, vooly voo me donny lo sho, ou vooly voo pah?" He hasbeen ringing for half an hour--the last energetic appeal succeeds, andshortly he is enabled to descend to the coffee-room, where, with threehot rolls, grilled ham, cold fowl, and four boiled eggs, he makes whathe calls his first FRENCH breakfast. 

It is a strange, mongrel, merry place, this town of Boulogne; thelittle French fishermen's children are beautiful, and the little Frenchsoldiers, four feet high, red-breeched, with huge pompons on their caps, and brown faces, and clear sharp eyes, look, for all their littleness, far more military and more intelligent than the heavy louts one has seenswaggering about the garrison towns in England. Yonder go a crowd ofbare-legged fishermen; there is the town idiot, mocking a woman who isscreaming "Fleuve du Tage, " at an inn-window, to a harp, and there arethe little gamins mocking HIM. Lo! these seven young ladies, with redhair and green veils, they are from neighboring Albion, and goingto bathe. Here comes three Englishmen, habitués evidently of theplace, --dandy specimens of our countrymen: one wears a marine dress, another has a shooting dress, a third has a blouse and a pair ofguiltless spurs--all have as much hair on the face as nature or art cansupply, and all wear their hats very much on one side. Believe me, thereis on the face of this world no scamp like an English one, no blackguardlike one of these half-gentlemen, so mean, so low, so vulgar, --soludicrously ignorant and conceited, so desperately heartless anddepraved. 

But why, my dear sir, get into a passion?--Take things coolly. As thepoet has observed, "Those only is gentlemen who behave as sich;" withsuch, then, consort, be they cobblers or dukes. Don't give us, cries thepatriotic reader, any abuse of our fellow-countrymen (anybody elsecan do that), but rather continue in that good-humored, facetious, descriptive style with which your letter has commenced. --Your remark, sir, is perfectly just, and does honor to your head and excellent heart. 

There is little need to give a description of the good town of Boulogne, which, haute and basse, with the new light-house and the new harbor, andthe gas-lamps, and the manufactures, and the convents, and the numberof English and French residents, and the pillar erected in honor of thegrand Armée d'Angleterre, so called because it DIDN'T go to England, have all been excellently described by the facetious Coglan, the learnedDr. Millingen, and by innumerable guide-books besides. A fine thing itis to hear the stout old Frenchmen of Napoleon's time argue how thataudacious Corsican WOULD have marched to London, after swallowing Nelsonand all his gun-boats, but for cette malheureuse guerre d'Espagne andcette glorieuse campagne d'Autriche, which the gold of Pitt caused to beraised at the Emperor's tail, in order to call him off from the helplesscountry in his front. Some Frenchmen go farther still, and vow thatin Spain they were never beaten at all; indeed, if you read in theBiographie des Hommes du Jour, article "Soult, " you will fancy that, with the exception of the disaster at Vittoria, the campaigns in Spainand Portugal were a series of triumphs. Only, by looking at a map, itis observable that Vimeiro is a mortal long way from Toulouse, where, at the end of certain years of victories, we somehow find the honestMarshal. And what then?--he went to Toulouse for the purpose of beatingthe English there, to be sure;--a known fact, on which comment would besuperfluous. However, we shall never get to Paris at this rate; let usbreak off further palaver, and away at once. .. . 

(During this pause, the ingenious reader is kindly requested to payhis bill at the Hotel at Boulogne, to mount the Diligence of Laffitte, Caillard and Company, and to travel for twenty-five hours, amidst muchjingling of harness-bells and screaming of postilions. )

 . . . . . . 

The French milliner, who occupies one of the corners, begins to removethe greasy pieces of paper which have enveloped her locks during thejourney. She withdraws the "Madras" of dubious hue which has bound herhead for the last five-and-twenty hours, and replaces it by the blackvelvet bonnet, which, bobbing against your nose, has hung from theDiligence roof since your departure from Boulogne. The old lady in theopposite corner, who has been sucking bonbons, and smells dreadfullyof anisette, arranges her little parcels in that immense basket ofabominations which all old women carry in their laps. She rubs her mouthand eyes with her dusty cambric handkerchief, she ties up her nightcapinto a little bundle, and replaces it by a more becoming head-piece, covered with withered artificial flowers, and crumpled tags of ribbon;she looks wistfully at the company for an instant, and then places herhandkerchief before her mouth:--her eyes roll strangely about for aninstant, and you hear a faint clattering noise: the old lady has beengetting ready her teeth, which had lain in her basket among thebonbons, pins, oranges, pomatum, bits of cake, lozenges, prayer-books, peppermint-water, copper money, and false hair--stowed away there duringthe voyage. The Jewish gentleman, who has been so attentive tothe milliner during the journey, and is a traveller and bagman byprofession, gathers together his various goods. The sallow-faced Englishlad, who has been drunk ever since we left Boulogne yesterday, and iscoming to Paris to pursue the study of medicine, swears that he rejoicesto leave the cursed Diligence, is sick of the infernal journey, andd--d glad that the d--d voyage is so nearly over. "Enfin!" says yourneighbor, yawning, and inserting an elbow into the mouth of his rightand left hand companion, "nous voilà. "

NOUS VOILÀ!--We are at Paris! This must account for the removal of themilliner's curl-papers, and the fixing of the old lady's teeth. --Sincethe last relais, the Diligence has been travelling with extraordinaryspeed. The postilion cracks his terrible whip, and screams shrilly. Theconductor blows incessantly on his horn, the bells of the harness, thebumping and ringing of the wheels and chains, and the clatter of thegreat hoofs of the heavy snorting Norman stallions, have wondrouslyincreased within this, the last ten minutes; and the Diligence, whichhas been proceeding hitherto at the rate of a league in an hour, nowdashes gallantly forward, as if it would traverse at least six miles inthe same space of time. Thus it is, when Sir Robert maketh a speech atSaint Stephen's--he useth his strength at the beginning, only, and theend. He gallopeth at the commencement; in the middle he lingers; at theclose, again, he rouses the House, which has fallen asleep; he crackeththe whip of his satire; he shouts the shout of his patriotism; and, urging his eloquence to its roughest canter, awakens the sleepers, and inspires the weary, until men say, What a wondrous orator! What acapital coach! We will ride henceforth in it, and in no other!

But, behold us at Paris! The Diligence has reached a rude-looking gate, or grille, flanked by two lodges; the French Kings of old made theirentry by this gate; some of the hottest battles of the late revolutionwere fought before it. At present, it is blocked by carts and peasants, and a busy crowd of men, in green, examining the packages before theyenter, probing the straw with long needles. It is the Barrier of St. Denis, and the green men are the customs'-men of the city of Paris. Ifyou are a countryman, who would introduce a cow into the metropolis, the city demands twenty-four francs for such a privilege: if you havea hundredweight of tallow-candles, you must, previously, disburse threefrancs: if a drove of hogs, nine francs per whole hog: but upon thesesubjects Mr. Bulwer, Mrs. Trollope, and other writers, have alreadyenlightened the public. In the present instance, after a momentarypause, one of the men in green mounts by the side of the conductor, andthe ponderous vehicle pursues its journey. 

The street which we enter, that of the Faubourg St. Denis, presentsa strange contrast to the dark uniformity of a London street, whereeverything, in the dingy and smoky atmosphere, looks as though it werepainted in India-ink--black houses, black passengers, and black sky. Here, on the contrary, is a thousand times more life and color. Beforeyou, shining in the sun, is a long glistening line of GUTTER, --not avery pleasing object in a city, but in a picture invaluable. On eachside are houses of all dimensions and hues; some but of one story; someas high as the tower of Babel. From these the haberdashers (and this istheir favorite street) flaunt long strips of gaudy calicoes, which givea strange air of rude gayety to the street. Milk-women, with a littlecrowd of gossips round each, are, at this early hour of morning, sellingthe chief material of the Parisian café-au-lait. Gay wine-shops, paintedred, and smartly decorated with vines and gilded railings, are filledwith workmen taking their morning's draught. That gloomy-lookingprison on your right is a prison for women; once it was a convent forLazarists: a thousand unfortunate individuals of the softer sex nowoccupy that mansion: they bake, as we find in the guide-books, the breadof all the other prisons; they mend and wash the shirts and stockings ofall the other prisoners; they make hooks-and-eyes and phosphorus-boxes, and they attend chapel every Sunday:--if occupation can help them, surethey have enough of it. Was it not a great stroke of the legislatureto superintend the morals and linen at once, and thus keep these poorcreatures continually mending?--But we have passed the prison long ago, and are at the Porte St. Denis itself. 

There is only time to take a hasty glance as we pass: it commemoratessome of the wonderful feats of arms of Ludovicus Magnus, and abounds inponderous allegories--nymphs, and river-gods, and pyramids crowned withfleurs-de-lis; Louis passing over the Rhine in triumph, and the DutchLion giving up the ghost, in the year of our Lord 1672. The Dutch Lionrevived, and overcame the man some years afterwards; but of this fact, singularly enough, the inscriptions make no mention. Passing, then, round the gate, and not under it (after the general custom, in respectof triumphal arches), you cross the boulevard, which gives a glimpse oftrees and sunshine, and gleaming white buildings; then, dashing down theRue de Bourbon Villeneuve, a dirty street, which seems interminable, andthe Rue St. Eustache, the conductor gives a last blast on his horn, andthe great vehicle clatters into the court-yard, where the journey isdestined to conclude. 

If there was a noise before of screaming postilions and cracked horns, it was nothing to the Babel-like clatter which greets us now. We arein a great court, which Hajji Baba would call the father of Diligences. Half a dozen other coaches arrive at the same minute--no light affairs, like your English vehicles, but ponderous machines, containing fifteenpassengers inside, more in the cabriolet, and vast towers of luggage onthe roof: others are loading: the yard is filled with passengers comingor departing;--bustling porters and screaming commissionaires. Theselatter seize you as you descend from your place, --twenty cards arethrust into your hand, and as many voices, jabbering with inconceivableswiftness, shriek into your ear, "Dis way, sare; are you for ze' 'Otelof Rhin?' 'Hôtel de l'Amirauté!'--'Hotel Bristol, ' sare!--Monsieur, 'l'Hôtel de Lille?' Sacr-rrré 'nom de Dieu, laissez passer ce petit, monsieur! Ow mosh loggish ave you, sare?"

And now, if you are a stranger in Paris, listen to the words ofTitmarsh. --If you cannot speak a syllable of French, and love Englishcomfort, clean rooms, breakfasts, and waiters; if you would haveplentiful dinners, and are not particular (as how should you be?)concerning wine; if, in this foreign country, you WILL have your Englishcompanions, your porter, your friend, and your brandy-and-water--do notlisten to any of these commissioner fellows, but with your best Englishaccent, shout out boldly, "MEURICE!" and straightway a man will stepforward to conduct you to the Rue de Rivoli. 

Here you will find apartments at any price: a very neat room, forinstance, for three francs daily; an English breakfast of eternal boiledeggs, or grilled ham; a nondescript dinner, profuse but cold; and asociety which will rejoice your heart. Here are young gentlemen fromthe universities; young merchants on a lark; large families of ninedaughters, with fat father and mother; officers of dragoons, andlawyers' clerks. The last time we dined at "Meurice's" we hobbed andnobbed with no less a person than Mr. Moses, the celebrated bailiff ofChancery Lane; Lord Brougham was on his right, and a clergyman's lady, with a train of white-haired girls, sat on his left, wonderfully takenwith the diamond rings of the fascinating stranger!

It is, as you will perceive, an admirable way to see Paris, especiallyif you spend your days reading the English papers at Galignani's, asmany of our foreign tourists do. 

But all this is promiscuous, and not to the purpose. If, --to continue onthe subject of hotel choosing, --if you love quiet, heavy bills, andthe best table-d'hôte in the city, go, O stranger! to the "Hôtel desPrinces;" it is close to the Boulevard, and convenient for Frascati's. The "Hôtel Mirabeau" possesses scarcely less attraction; but of thisyou will find, in Mr. Bulwer's "Autobiography of Pelham, " a faithful andcomplete account. "Lawson's Hotel" has likewise its merits, as also the"Hôtel de Lille, " which may be described as a "second chop" Meurice. 

If you are a poor student come to study the humanities, or the pleasantart of amputation, cross the water forthwith, and proceed to the "HôtelCorneille, " near the Odéon, or others of its species; there are manywhere you can live royally (until you economize by going into lodgings)on four francs a day; and where, if by any strange chance you aredesirous for a while to get rid of your countrymen, you will find thatthey scarcely ever penetrate. 

But above all, O my countrymen! shun boarding-houses, especially if youhave ladies in your train; or ponder well, and examine the characters ofthe keepers thereof, before you lead your innocent daughters, andtheir mamma, into places so dangerous. In the first place, you have baddinners; and, secondly, bad company. If you play cards, you are verylikely playing with a swindler; if you dance, you dance with a ----person with whom you had better have nothing to do. 

Note (which ladies are requested not to read). --In one of theseestablishments, daily advertised as most eligible for English, a friendof the writer lived. A lady, who had passed for some time as the wife ofone of the inmates, suddenly changed her husband and name, her originalhusband remaining in the house, and saluting her by her new title. 

A CAUTION TO TRAVELLERS. 

A million dangers and snares await the traveller, as soon as he issuesout of that vast messagerie which we have just quitted: and as each mancannot do better than relate such events as have happened in the courseof his own experience, and may keep the unwary from the path of danger, let us take this, the very earliest opportunity, of imparting to thepublic a little of the wisdom which we painfully have acquired. 

And first, then, with regard to the city of Paris, it is to be remarked, that in that metropolis flourish a greater number of native and exoticswindlers than are to be found in any other European nursery. What youngEnglishman that visits it, but has not determined, in his heart, to havea little share of the gayeties that go on--just for once, just to seewhat they are like? How many, when the horrible gambling dens wereopen, did resist a sight of them?--nay, was not a young fellow ratherflattered by a dinner invitation from the Salon, whither he went, fondly pretending that he should see "French society, " in the persons ofcertain Dukes and Counts who used to frequent the place?

My friend Pogson is a young fellow, not much worse, although perhaps alittle weaker and simpler than his neighbors; and coming to Paris withexactly the same notions that bring many others of the British youth tothat capital, events befell him there, last winter, which are strictlytrue, and shall here be narrated, by way of warning to all. 

Pog, it must be premised, is a city man, who travels in drugs for acouple of the best London houses, blows the flute, has an album, driveshis own gig, and is considered, both on the road and in the metropolis, a remarkably nice, intelligent, thriving young man. Pogson's only faultis too great an attachment to the fair:--"the sex, " as he says often"will be his ruin:" the fact is, that Pog never travels without a "DonJuan" under his driving-cushion, and is a pretty-looking young fellowenough. 

Sam Pogson had occasion to visit Paris, last October; and it was in thatcity that his love of the sex had liked to have cost him dear. He workedhis way down to Dover; placing, right and left, at the towns on hisroute, rhubarb, sodas, and other such delectable wares as his mastersdealt in ("the sweetest sample of castor oil, smelt like a nosegay--wentoff like wildfire--hogshead and a half at Rochester, eight-and twentygallons at Canterbury, " and so on), and crossed to Calais, and thencevoyaged to Paris in the coupé of the Diligence. He paid for two places, too, although a single man, and the reason shall now be made known. 

Dining at the table-d'hôte at "Quillacq's"--it is the best inn on theContinent of Europe--our little traveller had the happiness to be placednext to a lady, who was, he saw at a glance, one of the extreme pink ofthe nobility. A large lady, in black satin, with eyes and hair asblack as sloes, with gold chains, scent-bottles, sable tippet, workedpocket-handkerchief, and four twinkling rings on each of her plump whitefingers. Her cheeks were as pink as the finest Chinese rouge could makethem. Pog knew the article: he travelled in it. Her lips were as red asthe ruby lip salve: she used the very best, that was clear. 

She was a fine-looking woman, certainly (holding down her eyes, andtalking perpetually of "mes trente-deux ans"); and Pogson, the wickedyoung dog, who professed not to care for young misses, saying they smeltso of bread-and-butter, declared, at once, that the lady was one ofHIS beauties; in fact, when he spoke to us about her, he said, "She's aslap-up thing, I tell you; a reg'lar good one; ONE OF MY SORT!" And suchwas Pogson's credit in all commercial rooms, that one of HIS sort wasconsidered to surpass all other sorts. 

During dinner-time, Mr. Pogson was profoundly polite and attentive tothe lady at his side, and kindly communicated to her, as is the way withthe best-bred English on their first arrival "on the Continent, " all hisimpressions regarding the sights and persons he had seen. Such remarkshaving been made during half an hour's ramble about the ramparts andtown, and in the course of a walk down to the custom-house, and aconfidential communication with the commissionaire, must be, doubtless, very valuable to Frenchmen in their own country; and the lady listenedto Pogson's opinions: not only with benevolent attention, but actually, she said, with pleasure and delight. Mr. Pogson said that there wasno such thing as good meat in France, and that's why they cooked theirvictuals in this queer way; he had seen many soldiers parading about theplace, and expressed a true Englishman's abhorrence of an armed force;not that he feared such fellows as these--little whipper-snappers--ourmen would eat them. Hereupon the lady admitted that our Guards wereangels, but that Monsieur must not be too hard upon the French; "herfather was a General of the Emperor. "

Pogson felt a tremendous respect for himself at the notion that he wasdining with a General's daughter, and instantly ordered a bottle ofchampagne to keep up his consequence. 

"Mrs. Bironn, ma'am, " said he, for he had heard the waiter call her bysome such name, "if you WILL accept a glass of champagne, ma'am, you'lldo me, I'm sure, great honor: they say it's very good, and a precioussight cheaper than it is on our side of the way, too--not that I carefor money. Mrs. Bironn, ma'am, your health, ma'am. "

The lady smiled very graciously, and drank the wine. 

"Har you any relation, ma'am, if I may make so bold; har you anywaysconnected with the family of our immortal bard?"

"Sir, I beg your pardon. "

"Don't mention it, ma'am: but BiRONN and BYron are hevidently the samenames, only you pronounce in the French way; and I thought you might berelated to his lordship: his horigin, ma'am, was of French extraction:"and here Pogson began to repeat, --

 "Hare thy heyes like thy mother's, my fair child, Hada! sole daughter of my 'ouse and 'art?"

"Oh!" said the lady, laughing, "you speak of LOR Byron?

"Hauthor of 'Don Juan, ' 'Child 'Arold, ' and 'Cain, a Mystery, '" saidPogson:--"I do; and hearing the waiter calling you Madam la Bironn, tookthe liberty of hasking whether you were connected with his lordship;that's hall:" and my friend here grew dreadfully red, and begantwiddling his long ringlets in his fingers, and examining very eagerlythe contents of his plate. 

"Oh, no: Madame la Baronne means Mistress Baroness; my husband wasBaron, and I am Baroness. "

"What! 'ave I the honor--I beg your pardon, ma'am--is your ladyship aBaroness, and I not know it? pray excuse me for calling you ma'am. "

The Baroness smiled most graciously--with such a look as Juno castupon unfortunate Jupiter when she wished to gain her wicked ends uponhim--the Baroness smiled; and, stealing her hand into a black velvetbag, drew from it an ivory card-case, and from the ivory card-caseextracted a glazed card, printed in gold; on it was engraved a coronet, and under the coronet the words

 BARONNE DE FLORVAL-DELVAL, NÉE DE MELVAL-NORVAL. 

 Rue Taitbout. 

The grand Pitt diamond--the Queen's own star of the garter--a sample ofotto-of-roses at a guinea a drop, would not be handled more curiously, or more respectfully, than this porcelain card of the Baroness. Trembling he put it into his little Russia-leather pocket-book: andwhen he ventured to look up, and saw the eyes of the Baroness deFlorval-Delval, née de Melval-Norval, gazing upon him with friendly andserene glances, a thrill of pride tingled through Pogson's blood: hefelt himself to be the very happiest fellow "on the Continent. "

But Pogson did not, for some time, venture to resume that sprightlyand elegant familiarity which generally forms the great charm of hisconversation: he was too much frightened at the presence he was in, and contented himself by graceful and solemn bows, deep attention, and ejaculations of "Yes, my lady, " and "No, your ladyship, " for someminutes after the discovery had been made. Pogson piqued himself on hisbreeding: "I hate the aristocracy, " he said, "but that's no reason why Ishouldn't behave like a gentleman. "

A surly, silent little gentleman, who had been the third at theordinary, and would take no part either in the conversation or inPogson's champagne, now took up his hat, and, grunting, left the room, when the happy bagman had the delight of a tête-à-tête. The Baroness didnot appear inclined to move: it was cold; a fire was comfortable, andshe had ordered none in her apartment. Might Pogson give her one moreglass of champagne, or would her ladyship prefer "something hot. " Herladyship gravely said, she never took ANYTHING hot. "Some champagne, then; a leetle drop?" She would! she would! O gods! how Pogson's handshook as he filled and offered her the glass!

What took place during the rest of the evening had better be describedby Mr. Pogson himself, who has given us permission to publish hisletter. 

"QUILLACQ'S HOTEL (pronounced KILLYAX), CALAIS. 

"DEAR TIT, --I arrived at Cally, as they call it, this day, or, rather, yesterday; for it is past midnight, as I sit thinking of a wonderfuladventure that has just befallen me. A woman in course; that's alwaysthe case with ME, you know: but oh, Tit! if you COULD but see her! Ofthe first family in France, the Florval-Delvals, beautiful as an angel, and no more caring for money than I do for split peas. 

"I'll tell you how it occurred. Everybody in France, you know, dines atthe ordinary--it's quite distangy to do so. There was only three of usto-day, however, --the Baroness, me, and a gent, who never spoke a word;and we didn't want him to, neither: do you mark that?

"You know my way with the women: champagne's the thing; make 'em drink, make 'em talk;--make 'em talk, make 'em do anything. So I orders abottle, as if for myself; and, 'Ma'am, ' says I, 'will you take a glassof Sham--just one?' Take it she did--for you know it's quite distangyhere: everybody dines at the table de hôte, and everybody acceptseverybody's wine. Bob Irons, who travels in linen on our circuit, toldme that he had made some slap-up acquaintances among the genteelestpeople at Paris, nothing but by offering them Sham. 

"Well, my Baroness takes one glass, two glasses, three glasses--the oldfellow goes--we have a deal of chat (she took me for a military man, she said: is it not singular that so many people should?), and by teno'clock we had grown so intimate, that I had from her her whole history, knew where she came from, and where she was going. Leave me alone with'em: I can find out any woman's history in half an hour. 

"And where do you think she IS going? to Paris to be sure: she has herseat in what they call the coopy (though you're not near so cooped in itas in our coaches. I've been to the office and seen one of 'em). Shehas her place in the coopy, and the coopy holds THREE; so what does SamPogson do?--he goes and takes the other two. Ain't I up to a thing ortwo? Oh, no, not the least; but I shall have her to myself the whole ofthe way. 

"We shall be in the French metropolis the day after this reaches you:please look out for a handsome lodging for me, and never mind theexpense. And I say, if you could, in her hearing, when you came downto the coach, call me Captain Pogson, I wish you would--it sounds welltravelling, you know; and when she asked me if I was not an officer, Icouldn't say no. Adieu, then, my dear fellow, till Monday, and vive lejoy, as they say. The Baroness says I speak French charmingly, she talksEnglish as well as you or I. 

"Your affectionate friend, "S. Pogson. "

This letter reached us duly, in our garrets, and we engaged such anapartment for Mr. Pogson, as beseemed a gentleman of his rank in theworld and the army. At the appointed hour, too, we repaired to theDiligence office, and there beheld the arrival of the machine whichcontained him and his lovely Baroness. 

Those who have much frequented the society of gentlemen of hisprofession (and what more delightful?) must be aware, that, when all therest of mankind look hideous, dirty, peevish, wretched, after a fortyhours' coach-journey, a bagman appears as gay and spruce as when hestarted; having within himself a thousand little conveniences for thevoyage, which common travellers neglect. Pogson had a little portabletoilet, of which he had not failed to take advantage, and with his long, curling, flaxen hair, flowing under a seal-skin cap, with a gold tassel, with a blue and gold satin handkerchief, a crimson velvet waistcoat, a light green cut-away coat, a pair of barred brickdust-coloredpantaloons, and a neat mackintosh, presented, altogether, as elegant anddistingué an appearance as any one could desire. He had put on a cleancollar at breakfast, and a pair of white kids as he entered the barrier, and looked, as he rushed into my arms, more like a man stepping out of aband-box, than one descending from a vehicle that has just performed oneof the laziest, dullest, flattest, stalest, dirtiest journeys in Europe. 

To my surprise, there were TWO ladies in the coach with my friend, and not ONE, as I had expected. One of these, a stout female, carryingsundry baskets, bags, umbrellas, and woman's wraps, was evidently amaid-servant: the other, in black, was Pogson's fair one, evidently. I could see a gleam of curl-papers over a sallow face, --of a duskynightcap flapping over the curl-papers, --but these were hidden by a laceveil and a huge velvet bonnet, of which the crowning birds-of-paradisewere evidently in a moulting state. She was encased in many shawlsand wrappers; she put, hesitatingly, a pretty little foot out of thecarriage--Pogson was by her side in an instant, and, gallantly puttingone of his white kids round her waist, aided this interesting creatureto descend. I saw, by her walk, that she was five-and-forty, and that mylittle Pogson was a lost man. 

After some brief parley between them--in which it was charming to hearhow my friend Samuel WOULD speak, what he called French, to a ladywho could not understand one syllable of his jargon--the mutualhackney-coaches drew up; Madame la Baronne waved to the Captain agraceful French curtsy. "Adyou!" said Samuel, and waved his lily hand. "Adyou-addimang. "

A brisk little gentleman, who had made the journey in the same coachwith Pogson, but had more modestly taken a seat in the Imperial, herepassed us, and greeted me with a "How d'ye do?" He had shoulderedhis own little valise, and was trudging off, scattering a cloud ofcommissionaires, who would fain have spared him the trouble. 

"Do you know that chap?" says Pogson; "surly fellow, ain't he?"

"The kindest man in existence, " answered I; "all the world knows littleMajor British. "

"He's a Major, is he?--why, that's the fellow that dined with us atKillyax's; it's lucky I did not call myself Captain before him, he mightn't have liked it, you know:" and then Sam fell into areverie;--what was the subject of his thoughts soon appeared. 

"Did you ever SEE such a foot and ankle?" said Sam, after sitting forsome time, regardless of the novelty of the scene, his hands in hispockets, plunged in the deepest thought. 

"ISN'T she a slap-up woman, eh, now?" pursued he; and began enumeratingher attractions, as a horse-jockey would the points of a favoriteanimal. 

"You seem to have gone a pretty length already, " said I, "by promisingto visit her to-morrow. "

"A good length?--I believe you. Leave ME alone for that. "

"But I thought you were only to be two in the coupé, you wicked rogue. "

"Two in the coopy? Oh! ah! yes, you know--why, that is, I didn't knowshe had her maid with her (what an ass I was to think of a noblewomantravelling without one!) and couldn't, in course, refuse, when she askedme to let the maid in. "

"Of course not. "

"Couldn't, you know, as a man of honor; but I made up for all that, "said Pogson, winking slyly, and putting his hand to his little bunch ofa nose, in a very knowing way. 

"You did, and how?"

"Why, you dog, I sat next to her; sat in the middle the whole way, andmy back's half broke, I can tell you:" and thus, having depicted hishappiness, we soon reached the inn where this back-broken young man wasto lodge during his stay in Paris. 

The next day at five we met; Mr. Pogson had seen his Baroness, anddescribed her lodgings, in his own expressive way, as "slap-up. " Shehad received him quite like an old friend; treated him to eau sucrée, ofwhich beverage he expressed himself a great admirer; and actually askedhim to dine the next day. But there was a cloud over the ingenuousyouth's brow, and I inquired still farther. 

"Why, " said he, with a sigh, "I thought she was a widow; and, hang it!who should come in but her husband the Baron: a big fellow, sir, with ablue coat, a red ribbing, and SUCH a pair of mustachios!"

"Well, " said I, "he didn't turn you out, I suppose?"

"Oh, no! on the contrary, as kind as possible; his lordship said that herespected the English army; asked me what corps I was in, --said he hadfought in Spain against us, --and made me welcome. "

"What could you want more?"

Mr. Pogson at this only whistled; and if some very profound observer ofhuman nature had been there to read into this little bagman's heart, itwould, perhaps, have been manifest, that the appearance of a whiskeredsoldier of a husband had counteracted some plans that the youngscoundrel was concocting. 

I live up a hundred and thirty-seven steps in the remote quarter of theLuxembourg, and it is not to be expected that such a fashionable fellowas Sam Pogson, with his pockets full of money, and a new city to see, should be always wandering to my dull quarters; so that, although hedid not make his appearance for some time, he must not be accused of anyluke-warmness of friendship on that score. 

He was out, too, when I called at his hotel; but once, I had the goodfortune to see him, with his hat curiously on one side, looking aspleased as Punch, and being driven, in an open cab, in the ChampsElysées. "That's ANOTHER tip-top chap, " said he, when we met, at length. "What do you think of an Earl's son, my boy? Honorable Tom Ringwood, sonof the Earl of Cinqbars: what do you think of that, eh?"

I thought he was getting into very good society. Sam was a dashingfellow, and was always above his own line of life; he had met Mr. Ringwood at the Baron's, and they'd been to the play together; and thehonorable gent, as Sam called him, had joked with him about being wellto do IN A CERTAIN QUARTER; and he had had a game of billiards with theBaron, at the Estaminy, "a very distangy place, where you smoke, " saidSam; "quite select, and frequented by the tip-top nobility;" and theywere as thick as peas in a shell; and they were to dine that day atRingwood's, and sup, the next night, with the Baroness. 

"I think the chaps down the road will stare, " said Sam, "when they hearhow I've been coming it. " And stare, no doubt, they would; for itis certain that very few commercial gentlemen have had Mr. Pogson'sadvantages. 

The next morning we had made an arrangement to go out shopping together, and to purchase some articles of female gear, that Sam intended tobestow on his relations when he returned. Seven needle-books, for hissisters; a gilt buckle, for his mamma; a handsome French cashmere shawland bonnet, for his aunt (the old lady keeps an inn in the Borough, and has plenty of money, and no heirs); and a toothpick case, for hisfather. Sam is a good fellow to all his relations, and as for his aunt, he adores her. Well, we were to go and make these purchases, and Iarrived punctually at my time; but Sam was stretched on a sofa, verypale and dismal. 

I saw how it had been. --"A little too much of Mr. Ringwood's claret, Isuppose?"

He only gave a sickly stare. 

"Where does the Honorable Tom live?" says I. 

"HONORABLE!" says Sam, with a hollow, horrid laugh; "I tell you, Tit, he's no more Honorable than you are. "

"What, an impostor?"

"No, no; not that. He is a real Honorable, only--"

"Oh, ho! I smell a rat--a little jealous, eh?"

"Jealousy be hanged! I tell you he's a thief; and the Baron's a thief;and, hang me, if I think his wife is any better. Eight-and-thirty poundshe won of me before supper; and made me drunk, and sent me home:--isTHAT honorable? How can I afford to lose forty pounds? It's took me twoyears to save it up--if my old aunt gets wind of it, she'll cut me offwith a shilling: hang me!"--and here Sam, in an agony, tore his fairhair. 

While bewailing his lot in this lamentable strain, his bell wasrung, which signal being answered by a surly "Come in, " a tall, veryfashionable gentleman, with a fur coat, and a fierce tuft to his chin, entered the room. "Pogson my buck, how goes it?" said he, familiarly, and gave a stare at me: I was making for my hat. 

"Don't go, " said Sam, rather eagerly; and I sat down again. 

The Honorable Mr. Ringwood hummed and ha'd: and, at last, said he wishedto speak to Mr. Pogson on business, in private, if possible. 

"There's no secrets betwixt me and my friend, " cried Sam. 

Mr. Ringwood paused a little:--"An awkward business that of last night, "at length exclaimed he. 

"I believe it WAS an awkward business, " said Sam, dryly. 

"I really am very sorry for your losses. "

"Thank you: and so am I, I can tell you, " said Sam. 

"You must mind, my good fellow, and not drink; for, when you drink, youWILL play high: by Gad, you led US in, and not we you. "

"I dare say, " answered Sam, with something of peevishness; "losses islosses: there's no use talking about 'em when they're over and paid. "

"And paid?" here wonderingly spoke Mr. Ringwood; "why, my dear fel--whatthe deuce--has Florval been with you?"

"D---- Florval!" growled Sam, "I've never set eyes on his face sincelast night; and never wish to see him again. "

"Come, come, enough of this talk; how do you intend to settle the billswhich you gave him last night?"

"Bills I what do you mean?"

"I mean, sir, these bills, " said the Honorable Tom, producing two out ofhis pocket-book, and looking as stern as a lion. "'I promise to pay, ondemand, to the Baron de Florval, the sum of four hundred pounds. October20, 1838. ' 'Ten days after date I promise to pay the Baron de et caeteraet caetera, one hundred and ninety-eight pounds. Samuel Pogson. ' Youdidn't say what regiment you were in. "

"WHAT!" shouted poor Sam, as from a dream, starting up and lookingpreternaturally pale and hideous. 

"D---- it, sir, you don't affect ignorance: you don't pretend not toremember that you signed these bills, for money lost in my rooms: moneyLENT to you, by Madame de Florval, at your own request, and lost to herhusband? You don't suppose, sir, that I shall be such an infernal idiotas to believe you, or such a coward as to put up with a mean subterfugeof this sort. Will you, or will you not, pay the money, sir?"

"I will not, " said Sam, stoutly; "it's a d----d swin--"

Here Mr. Ringwood sprung up, clenching his riding-whip, and looking sofierce that Sam and I bounded back to the other end of the room. "Utterthat word again, and, by heaven, I'll murder you!" shouted Mr. Ringwood, and looked as if he would, too: "once more, will you, or will you not, pay this money?"

"I can't, " said Sam faintly. 

"I'll call again, Captain Pogson, " said Mr. Ringwood, "I'll call againin one hour; and, unless you come to some arrangement, you must meetmy friend, the Baron de Florval, or I'll post you for a swindler anda coward. " With this he went out: the door thundered to after him, andwhen the clink of his steps departing had subsided, I was enabled tolook round at Pog. The poor little man had his elbows on the marbletable, his head between his hands, and looked, as one has seen gentlemenlook over a steam-vessel off Ramsgate, the wind blowing remarkablyfresh: at last he fairly burst out crying. 

"If Mrs. Pogson heard of this, " said I, "what would become of the 'ThreeTuns?'" (for I wished to give him a lesson). "If your Ma, who took youevery Sunday to meeting, should know that her boy was paying attentionto married women;--if Drench, Glauber and Co. , your employers, wereto know that their confidential agent was a gambler, and unfit to betrusted with their money, how long do you think your connection wouldlast with them, and who would afterwards employ you?"

To this poor Pog had not a word of answer; but sat on his sofawhimpering so bitterly, that the sternest of moralists would haverelented towards him, and would have been touched by the little wretch'stears. Everything, too, must be pleaded in excuse for this unfortunatebagman: who, if he wished to pass for a captain, had only done sobecause he had an intense respect and longing for rank: if he hadmade love to the Baroness, had only done so because he was given tounderstand by Lord Byron's "Don Juan" that making love was a verycorrect, natty thing: and if he had gambled, had only been induced todo so by the bright eyes and example of the Baron and the Baroness. Oye Barons and Baronesses of England! if ye knew what a number of smallcommoners are daily occupied in studying your lives, and imitating youraristocratic ways, how careful would ye be of your morals, manners, andconversation!

My soul was filled, then, with a gentle yearning pity for Pogson, and revolved many plans for his rescue: none of these seeming to bepracticable, at last we hit on the very wisest of all, and determined toapply for counsel to no less a person than Major British. 

A blessing it is to be acquainted with my worthy friend, little MajorBritish; and heaven, sure, it was that put the Major into my head, whenI heard of this awkward scrape of poor Fog's. The Major is on half-pay, and occupies a modest apartment au quatrième, in the very hotel whichPogson had patronized at my suggestion; indeed, I had chosen it fromMajor British's own peculiar recommendation. 

There is no better guide to follow than such a character as thehonest Major, of whom there are many likenesses now scattered over theContinent of Europe: men who love to live well, and are forced tolive cheaply, and who find the English abroad a thousand times easier, merrier, and more hospitable than the same persons at home. I, for mypart, never landed on Calais pier without feeling that a load of sorrowswas left on the other side of the water; and have always fancied thatblack care stepped on board the steamer, along with the custom-houseofficers at Gravesend, and accompanied one to yonder black louringtowers of London--so busy, so dismal, and so vast. 

British would have cut any foreigner's throat who ventured to say somuch, but entertained, no doubt, private sentiments of this nature; forhe passed eight months of the year, regularly, abroad, with headquartersat Paris (the garrets before alluded to), and only went to England forthe month's shooting, on the grounds of his old colonel, now an oldlord, of whose acquaintance the Major was passably inclined to boast. 

He loved and respected, like a good staunch Tory as he is, every oneof the English nobility; gave himself certain little airs of a man offashion, that were by no means disagreeable; and was, indeed, kindlyregarded by such English aristocracy as he met, in his little annualtours among the German courts, in Italy or in Paris, where he nevermissed an ambassador's night: he retailed to us, who didn't go, but weredelighted to know all that had taken place, accurate accounts of thedishes, the dresses, and the scandal which had there fallen under hisobservation. 

He is, moreover, one of the most useful persons in society that canpossibly be; for besides being incorrigibly duelsome on his own account, he is, for others, the most acute and peaceable counsellor in the world, and has carried more friends through scrapes and prevented more deathsthan any member of the Humane Society. British never bought a singlestep in the army, as is well known. In '14 he killed a celebrated Frenchfire-eater, who had slain a young friend of his, and living, as hedoes, a great deal with young men of pleasure, and good old sober familypeople, he is loved by them both and has as welcome a place made forhim at a roaring bachelor's supper at the "Café Anglais, " as at a staiddowager's dinner-table in the Faubourg St. Honoré. Such pleasant oldboys are very profitable acquaintances, let me tell you; and lucky isthe young man who has one or two such friends in his list. 

Hurrying on Fogson in his dress, I conducted him, panting, up to theMajor's quatrième, where we were cheerfully bidden to come in. Thelittle gentleman was in his travelling jacket, and occupied inpainting, elegantly, one of those natty pairs of boots in which he dailypromenaded the Boulevards. A couple of pairs of tough buff gloves hadbeen undergoing some pipe-claying operation under his hands; no manstepped out so spick and span, with a hat so nicely brushed, with astiff cravat tied so neatly under a fat little red face, with a bluefrock-coat so scrupulously fitted to a punchy little person, as MajorBritish, about whom we have written these two pages. He stared ratherhardly at my companion, but gave me a kind shake of the hand, and weproceeded at once to business. "Major British, " said I, "we want youradvice in regard to an unpleasant affair which has just occurred to myfriend Pogson. "

"Pogson, take a chair. "

"You must know, sir, that Mr. Pogson, coming from Calais the other day, encountered, in the diligence, a very handsome woman. "

British winked at Pogson, who, wretched as he was, could not helpfeeling pleased. 

"Mr. Pogson was not more pleased with this lovely creature than was shewith him; for, it appears, she gave him her card, invited him to herhouse, where he has been constantly, and has been received with muchkindness. "

"I see, " says British. 

"Her husband the Baron--"

"NOW it's coming, " said the Major, with a grin: "her husband is jealous, I suppose, and there is a talk of the Bois de Boulogne: my dear sir, youcan't refuse--can't refuse. "

"It's not that, " said Pogson, wagging his head passionately. 

"Her husband the Baron seemed quite as much taken with Pogson as hislady was, and has introduced him to some very distingué friends of hisown set. Last night one of the Baron's friends gave a party in honorof my friend Pogson, who lost forty-eight pounds at cards BEFORE he wasmade drunk, and heaven knows how much after. "

"Not a shilling, by sacred heaven!--not a shilling!" yelled out Pogson. "After the supper I 'ad such an 'eadach', I couldn't do anything butfall asleep on the sofa. "

"You 'ad such an 'eadach', sir, " says British, sternly, who piqueshimself on his grammar and pronunciation, and scorns a cockney. 

"Such a H-eadache, sir, " replied Pogson, with much meekness. 

"The unfortunate man is brought home at two o'clock, as tipsy aspossible, dragged up stairs, senseless, to bed, and, on waking, receivesa visit from his entertainer of the night before--a lord's son, Major, a tip-top fellow, --who brings a couple of bills that my friend Pogson issaid to have signed. "

"Well, my dear fellow, the thing's quite simple, --he must pay them. "

"I can't pay them. "

"He can't pay them, " said we both in a breath: "Pogson is a commercialtraveller, with thirty shillings a week, and how the deuce is he to payfive hundred pounds?"

"A bagman, sir! and what right has a bagman to gamble? Gentlemen gamble, sir; tradesmen, sir, have no business with the amusements of the gentry. What business had you with barons and lords' sons, sir?--serve youright, sir. "

"Sir, " says Pogson, with some dignity, "merit, and not birth, is thecriterion of a man: I despise an hereditary aristocracy, and admire onlyNature's gentlemen. For my part, I think that a British merch--"

"Hold your tongue, sir, " bounced out the Major, "and don't lectureme; don't come to me, sir, with your slang about Nature'sgentlemen--Nature's tomfools, sir! Did Nature open a cash account foryou at a banker's, sir? Did Nature give you an education, sir? What doyou mean by competing with people to whom Nature has given all thesethings? Stick to your bags, Mr. Pogson, and your bagmen, and leavebarons and their like to their own ways. "

"Yes, but, Major, " here cried that faithful friend, who has always stoodby Pogson; "they won't leave him alone. "

"The honorable gent says I must fight if I don't pay, " whimpered Sam. 

"What! fight YOU? Do you mean that the honorable gent, as you call him, will go out with a bagman?"

"He doesn't know I'm a--I'm a commercial man, " blushingly said Sam: "hefancies I'm a military gent. "

The Major's gravity was quite upset at this absurd notion; and helaughed outrageously. "Why, the fact is, sir, " said I, "that myfriend Pogson, knowing the value of the title of Captain, and beingcomplimented by the Baroness on his warlike appearance, said, boldly, he was in the army. He only assumed the rank in order to dazzle her weakimagination, never fancying that there was a husband, and a circle offriends, with whom he was afterwards to make an acquaintance; and then, you know, it was too late to withdraw. "

"A pretty pickle you have put yourself in, Mr. Pogson, by making love toother men's wives, and calling yourself names, " said the Major, who wasrestored to good humor. "And pray, who is the honorable gent?"

"The Earl of Cinqbars' son, " says Pogson, "the Honorable Tom Ringwood. "

"I thought it was some such character; and the Baron is the Baron deFlorval-Delval?"

"The very same. "

"And his wife a black-haired woman, with a pretty foot and ankle; callsherself Athenais; and is always talking about her trente-deux ans? Why, sir, that woman was an actress on the Boulevard, when we were here in'15. She's no more his wife than I am. Delval's name is Chicot. Thewoman is always travelling between London and Paris: I saw she washooking you at Calais; she has hooked ten men, in the course of the lasttwo years, in this very way. She lent you money, didn't she?" "Yes. ""And she leans on your shoulder, and whispers, 'Play half for me, ' andsomebody wins it, and the poor thing is as sorry as you are, and herhusband storms and rages, and insists on double stakes; and she leansover your shoulder again, and tells every card in your hand to youradversary, and that's the way it's done, Mr. Pogson. "

"I've been 'AD, I see I 'ave, " said Pogson, very humbly. 

"Well, sir, " said the Major, "in consideration, not of you, sir--for, give me leave to tell you, Mr. Pogson, that you are a pitiful littlescoundrel--in consideration for my Lord Cinqbars, sir, with whom, I amproud to say, I am intimate, " (the Major dearly loved a lord, and was, by his own showing, acquainted with half the peerage, ) "I will aid youin this affair. Your cursed vanity, sir, and want of principle, has setyou, in the first place, intriguing with other men's wives; and if youhad been shot for your pains, a bullet would have only served you right, sir. You must go about as an impostor, sir, in society; and you payrichly for your swindling, sir, by being swindled yourself: but, asI think your punishment has been already pretty severe, I shall do mybest, out of regard for my friend, Lord Cinqbars, to prevent the mattergoing any farther; and I recommend you to leave Paris without delay. Nowlet me wish you a good morning. "--Wherewith British made a majestic bow, and began giving the last touch to his varnished boots. 

We departed: poor Sam perfectly silent and chapfallen; and I meditatingon the wisdom of the half-pay philosopher, and wondering what means hewould employ to rescue Pogson from his fate. 

What these means were I know not; but Mr. Ringwood did NOT make hisappearance at six; and, at eight, a letter arrived for "Mr. Pogson, commercial traveller, " &c. &c. It was blank inside, but contained histwo bills. Mr. Ringwood left town, almost immediately, for Vienna; nordid the Major explain the circumstances which caused his departure; buthe muttered something about "knew some of his old tricks, " "threatenedpolice, and made him disgorge directly. "

Mr. Ringwood is, as yet, young at his trade; and I have often thought itwas very green of him to give up the bills to the Major, who, certainly, would never have pressed the matter before the police, out of respectfor his friend, Lord Cinqbars. 

THE FÊTES OF JULY. 

IN A LETTER TO THE EDITOR OF THE "BUNGAY BEACON. "

PARIS, July 30th, 1839. 

We have arrived here just in time for the fêtes of July. --You haveread, no doubt, of that glorious revolution which took placehere nine years ago, and which is now commemorated annually, in a pretty facetious manner, by gun-firing, student-processions, pole-climbing-for-silver-spoons, gold-watches and legs-of-mutton, monarchical orations, and what not, and sanctioned, moreover, byChamber-of-Deputies, with a grant of a couple of hundred thousandfrancs to defray the expenses of all the crackers, gun-firings, andlegs-of-mutton aforesaid. There is a new fountain in the Place LouisQuinze, otherwise called the Place Louis Seize, or else the Place de laRévolution, or else the Place de la Concorde (who can say why?)--which, I am told, is to run bad wine during certain hours to-morrow, and thereWOULD have been a review of the National Guards and the Line--only, since the Fieschi business, reviews are no joke, and so this latter partof the festivity has been discontinued. 

Do you not laugh, O Pharos of Bungay, at the continuance of a humbugsuch as this?--at the humbugging anniversary of a humbug? The Kingof the Barricades is, next to the Emperor Nicholas, the most absoluteSovereign in Europe; yet there is not in the whole of this fair kingdomof France a single man who cares sixpence about him, or his dynasty:except, mayhap, a few hangers-on at the Château, who eat his dinners, and put their hands in his purse. The feeling of loyalty is as dead asold Charles the Tenth; the Chambers have been laughed at, the countryhas been laughed at, all the successive ministries have been laughedat (and you know who is the wag that has amused himself with them all);and, behold, here come three days at the end of July, and cannonsthink it necessary to fire off, squibs and crackers to blaze and fizz, fountains to run wine, kings to make speeches, and subjects to crawlup greasy mâts-de-cocagne in token of gratitude and réjouissancepublique!--My dear sir, in their aptitude to swallow, to utter, to enacthumbugs, these French people, from Majesty downwards, beat all the othernations of this earth. In looking at these men, their manners, dresses, opinions, politics, actions, history, it is impossible to preserve agrave countenance; instead of having Carlyle to write a History of theFrench Revolution, I often think it should be handed over to Dickensor Theodore Hook: and oh! where is the Rabelais to be the faithfulhistorian of the last phase of the Revolution--the last glorious nineyears of which we are now commemorating the last glorious three days?

I had made a vow not to say a syllable on the subject, although I haveseen, with my neighbors, all the gingerbread stalls down the ChampsElysées, and some of the "catafalques" erected to the memory of theheroes of July, where the students and others, not connected personallywith the victims, and not having in the least profited by their deaths, come and weep; but the grief shown on the first day is quite as absurdand fictitious as the joy exhibited on the last. The subject is onewhich admits of much wholesome reflection and food for mirth; and, besides, is so richly treated by the French themselves, that it wouldbe a sin and a shame to pass it over. Allow me to have the honorof translating, for your edification, an account of the first day'sproceedings--it is mighty amusing, to my thinking. 

"CELEBRATION OF THE DAYS OF JULY. 

"To-day (Saturday), funeral ceremonies, in honor of the victims of July, were held in the various edifices consecrated to public worship. 

"These edifices, with the exception of some churches (especially thatof the Petits-Pères), were uniformly hung with black on the outside; thehangings bore only this inscription: 27, 28, 29 July, 1830--surroundedby a wreath of oak-leaves. 

"In the interior of the Catholic churches, it had only been thoughtproper to dress LITTLE CATAFALQUES, as for burials of the third andfourth class. Very few clergy attended; but a considerable number of theNational Guard. 

"The Synagogue of the Israelites was entirely hung with black; and agreat concourse of people attended. The service was performed with thegreatest pomp. 

"In the Protestant temples there was likewise a very full attendance:APOLOGETICAL DISCOURSES on the Revolution of July were pronounced by thepastors. 

"The absence of M. De Quélen (Archbishop of Paris), and of many membersof the superior clergy, was remarked at Notre Dame. 

"The civil authorities attended service in their several districts. 

"The poles, ornamented with tri-colored flags, which formerly wereplaced on Notre Dame, were, it was remarked, suppressed. The flagson the Pont Neuf were, during the ceremony, only half-mast high, andcovered with crape. "

Et caetera, et caetera, et caetera. 

"The tombs of the Louvre were covered with black hangings, and adornedwith tri-colored flags. In front and in the middle was erected anexpiatory monument of a pyramidical shape, and surmounted by a funeralvase. 

"These tombs were guarded by the MUNICIPAL GUARD, THE TROOPS OF THELINE, THE SERGENS DE VILLE (town patrol), AND A BRIGADE OF AGENTS OFPOLICE IN PLAIN CLOTHES, under the orders of peace-officer Vassal. 

"Between eleven and twelve o'clock, some young men, to the number of400 or 500, assembled on the Place de la Bourse, one of them bearing atri-colored banner with an inscription, 'TO THE MANES OF JULY:' rangingthemselves in order, they marched five abreast to the Marché desInnocens. On their arrival, the Municipal Guards of the Halle auxDraps, where the post had been doubled, issued out without arms, and thetown-sergeants placed themselves before the market to prevent the entryof the procession. The young men passed in perfect order, and withoutsaying a word--only lifting their hats as they defiled before the tombs. When they arrived at the Louvre they found the gates shut, and thegarden evacuated. The troops were under arms, and formed in battalion. 

"After the passage of the procession, the Garden was again open to thepublic. "

And the evening and the morning were the first day. 

There's nothing serious in mortality: is there, from the beginningof this account to the end thereof, aught but sheer, open, monstrous, undisguised humbug? I said, before, that you should have a history ofthese people by Dickens or Theodore Hook, but there is little need ofprofessed wags;--do not the men write their own tale with an admirableSancho-like gravity and naïveté, which one could not desire improved?How good is that touch of sly indignation about the LITTLE CATAFALQUES!how rich the contrast presented by the economy of the Catholics to thesplendid disregard of expense exhibited by the devout Jews! and howtouching the "APOLOGETICAL DISCOURSES on the Revolution, " deliveredby the Protestant pastors! Fancy the profound affliction of the GardesMunicipaux, the Sergens de Ville, the police agents in plain clothes, and the troops with fixed bayonets, sobbing round the "expiatorymonuments of a pyramidical shape, surmounted by funeral vases, " andcompelled, by sad duty, to fire into the public who might wish toindulge in the same woe! O "manes of July!" (the phrase is pretty andgrammatical) why did you with sharp bullets break those Louvre windows?Why did you bayonet red-coated Swiss behind that fair white façade, and, braving cannon, musket, sabre, perspective guillotine, burst yonderbronze gates, rush through that peaceful picture-gallery, and hurlroyalty, loyalty, and a thousand years of Kings, head-over-heels out ofyonder Tuileries' windows?

It is, you will allow, a little difficult to say:--there is, however, ONE benefit that the country has gained (as for liberty of press, orperson, diminished taxation, a juster representation, who ever thinksof them?)--ONE benefit they have gained, or nearly--abolition de lapeine-de-mort pour délit politique: no more wicked guillotining forrevolutions. A Frenchman must have his revolution--it is his nature toknock down omnibuses in the street, and across them to fire at troopsof the line--it is a sin to balk it. Did not the King send offRevolutionary Prince Napoleon in a coach-and-four? Did not the jury, before the face of God and Justice, proclaim Revolutionary ColonelVaudrey not guilty?--One may hope, soon, that if a man shows decentcourage and energy in half a dozen émeutes, he will get promotion and apremium. 

I do not (although, perhaps, partial to the subject, ) want to talk morenonsense than the occasion warrants, and will pray you to cast your eyesover the following anecdote, that is now going the round of the papers, and respects the commutation of the punishment of that wretched, fool-hardy Barbés, who, on his trial, seemed to invite the penalty whichhas just been remitted to him. You recollect the braggart's speech:"When the Indian falls into the power of the enemy, he knows the fatethat awaits him, and submits his head to the knife:--I am the Indian!"

"Well--"

"M. Hugo was at the Opera on the night the sentence of the Courtof Peers, condemning Barbés to death, was published. The great poetcomposed the following verses:--

 'Par votre ange envolée, ainsi qu'une colombe, Par le royal enfant, doux et frêle roseau, Grace encore une fois! Grace au nom de la tombe! Grace au nom du berçeau!'*

"M. Victor Hugo wrote the lines out instantly on a sheet of paper, whichhe folded, and simply despatched them to the King of the French by thepenny-post. 

"That truly is a noble voice, which can at all hours thus speak to thethrone. Poetry, in old days, was called the language of the Gods--it isbetter named now--it is the language of the Kings. 

"But the clemency of the King had anticipated the letter of the Poet. His Majesty had signed the commutation of Barbés, while the poet wasstill writing. 

"Louis Philippe replied to the author of 'Ruy Blas' most graciously, that he had already subscribed to a wish so noble, and that the verseshad only confirmed his previous disposition to mercy. "

 * Translated for the benefit of country gentlemen:--

 "By your angel flown away just like a dove, By the royal infant, that frail and tender reed, Pardon yet once more! Pardon in the name of the tomb! Pardon in the name of the cradle!"

Now in countries where fools most abound, did one ever read of moremonstrous, palpable folly? In any country, save this, would a poet whochose to write four crack-brained verses, comparing an angel to a dove, and a little boy to a reed, and calling upon the chief magistrate, inthe name of the angel, or dove (the Princess Mary), in her tomb, andthe little infant in his cradle, to spare a criminal, have received a"gracious answer" to his nonsense? Would he have ever despatched thenonsense? and would any journalist have been silly enough to talk of"the noble voice that could thus speak to the throne, " and the noblethrone that could return such a noble answer to the noble voice? You getnothing done here gravely and decently. Tawdry stage tricks are played, and braggadocio claptraps uttered, on every occasion, however sacredor solemn: in the face of death, as by Barbés with his hideous Indianmetaphor; in the teeth of reason, as by M. Victor Hugo with histwopenny-post poetry; and of justice, as by the King's absurd replyto this absurd demand! Suppose the Count of Paris to be twenty times areed, and the Princess Mary a host of angels, is that any reason why thelaw should not have its course? Justice is the God of our lower world, our great omnipresent guardian: as such it moves, or should move onmajestic, awful, irresistible, having no passions--like a God: but, inthe very midst of the path across which it is to pass, lo! M. VictorHugo trips forward, smirking, and says, O divine Justice! I will troubleyou to listen to the following trifling effusion of mine:--

 Par votre ange envolée, ainsi qu'une, " &c. 

Awful Justice stops, and, bowing gravely, listens to M. Hugo's verses, and, with true French politeness, says, "Mon cher Monsieur, these versesare charming, ravissans, délicieux, and, coming from such a célébritélittéraire as yourself, shall meet with every possible attention--infact, had I required anything to confirm my own previous opinions, thischarming poem would have done so. Bon jour, mon cher Monsieur Hugo, aurevoir!"--and they part:--Justice taking off his hat and bowing, and theauthor of "Ruy Blas" quite convinced that he has been treating with himd'égal en égal. I can hardly bring my mind to fancy that anything isserious in France--it seems to be all rant, tinsel, and stage-play. Shamliberty, sham monarchy, sham glory, sham justice, --où diable donc lavérité va-t-elle se nicher?

 . . . . . . 

The last rocket of the fête of July has just mounted, exploded, made aportentous bang, and emitted a gorgeous show of blue lights, and then(like many reputations) disappeared totally: the hundredth gun on theInvalid terrace has uttered its last roar--and a great comfort it is foreyes and ears that the festival is over. We shall be able to go aboutour everyday business again, and not be hustled by the gendarmes or thecrowd. 

The sight which I have just come away from is as brilliant, happy, andbeautiful as can be conceived; and if you want to see French people tothe greatest advantage, you should go to a festival like this, wheretheir manners, and innocent gayety, show a very pleasing contrast to thecoarse and vulgar hilarity which the same class would exhibit in ourown country--at Epsom racecourse, for instance, or Greenwich Fair. Thegreatest noise that I heard was that of a company of jolly villagersfrom a place in the neighborhood of Paris, who, as soon as the fireworkswere over, formed themselves into a line, three or four abreast, and somarched singing home. As for the fireworks, squibs and crackers are veryhard to describe, and very little was to be seen of them: to me, theprettiest sight was the vast, orderly, happy crowd, the number ofchildren, and the extraordinary care and kindness of the parents towardsthese little creatures. It does one good to see honest, heavy épiciers, fathers of families, playing with them in the Tuileries, or, asto-night, bearing them stoutly on their shoulders, through many longhours, in order that the little ones too may have their share of thefun. John Bull, I fear, is more selfish: he does not take Mrs. Bull tothe public-house; but leaves her, for the most part, to take care of thechildren at home. 

The fête, then, is over; the pompous black pyramid at the Louvre is onlya skeleton now; all the flags have been miraculously whisked away duringthe night, and the fine chandeliers which glittered down the ChampsElysées for full half a mile, have been consigned to their dens anddarkness. Will they ever be reproduced for other celebrations of theglorious 29th of July?--I think not; the Government which vowed thatthere should be no more persecutions of the press, was, on that very29th, seizing a Legitimist paper, for some real or fancied offenceagainst it: it had seized, and was seizing daily, numbers of personsmerely suspected of being disaffected (and you may fancy how liberty isunderstood, when some of these prisoners, the other day, on coming totrial, were found guilty and sentenced to ONE day's imprisonment, afterTHIRTY-SIX DAYS' DETENTION ON SUSPICION). I think the Governmentwhich follows such a system, cannot be very anxious about any fartherrevolutionary fêtes, and that the Chamber may reasonably refuse to votemore money for them. Why should men be so mighty proud of having, on acertain day, cut a certain number of their fellow-countrymen's throats?The Guards and the Line employed this time nine years did no more thanthose who cannonaded the starving Lyonnese, or bayoneted the lucklessinhabitants of the Rue Transnounain:--they did but fulfil the soldier'shonorable duty:--his superiors bid him kill and he killeth:--perhaps, had he gone to his work with a little more heart, the result would havebeen different, and then--would the conquering party have been justifiedin annually rejoicing over the conquered? Would we have thought CharlesX. Justified in causing fireworks to be blazed, and concerts to be sung, and speeches to be spouted, in commemoration of his victory over hisslaughtered countrymen?--I wish for my part they would allow the peopleto go about their business as on the other 362 days of the year, and leave the Champs Elysées free for the omnibuses to run, and theTuileries' in quiet, so that the nurse-maids might come as usual, andthe newspapers be read for a halfpenny apiece. 

Shall I trouble you with an account of the speculations of these latter, and the state of the parties which they represent? The complicationis not a little curious, and may form, perhaps, a subject of graverdisquisition. The July fêtes occupy, as you may imagine, a considerablepart of their columns just now, and it is amusing to follow them one byone; to read Tweedledum's praise, and Tweedledee's indignation--to read, in the Débats how the King was received with shouts and loyal vivats--inthe Nation, how not a tongue was wagged in his praise, but, on theinstant of his departure, how the people called for the "Marseillaise"and applauded THAT. --But best say no more about the fête. TheLegitimists were always indignant at it. The high Philippist partysneers at and despises it; the Republicans hate it: it seems a jokeagainst THEM. Why continue it?--If there be anything sacred in the nameand idea of loyalty, why renew this fête? It only shows how a rightfulmonarch was hurled from his throne, and a dexterous usurper stole hisprecious diadem. If there be anything noble in the memory of a day, whencitizens, unused to war, rose against practised veterans, and, armedwith the strength of their cause, overthrew them, why speak of it now?or renew the bitter recollections of the bootless struggle and victory?O Lafayette! O hero of two worlds! O accomplished Cromwell Grandison!you have to answer for more than any mortal man who has played a part inhistory: two republics and one monarchy does the world owe to you; andespecially grateful should your country be to you. Did you not, in '90, make clear the path for honest Robespierre, and in '30, prepare the wayfor--

 . . . . . . 

[The Editor of the Bungay Beacon would insert no more of this letter, which is, therefore, for ever lost to the public. ]

ON THE FRENCH SCHOOL OF PAINTING:

WITH APPROPRIATE ANECDOTES, ILLUSTRATIONS, AND PHILOSOPHICALDISQUISITIONS. 

IN A LETTER TO MR. MACGILP, OF LONDON. 

The three collections of pictures at the Louvre, the Luxembourg, and theEcole des Beaux Arts, contain a number of specimens of French art, sinceits commencement almost, and give the stranger a pretty fair opportunityto study and appreciate the school. The French list of painters containssome very good names--no very great ones, except Poussin (unless theadmirers of Claude choose to rank him among great painters), --and Ithink the school was never in so flourishing a condition as it is atthe present day. They say there are three thousand artists in this townalone: of these a handsome minority paint not merely tolerably, butwell understand their business: draw the figure accurately; sketch withcleverness; and paint portraits, churches, or restaurateurs' shops, in adecent manner. 

To account for a superiority over England which, I think, as regardsart, is incontestable--it must be remembered that the painter's trade, in France, is a very good one; better appreciated, better understood, and, generally, far better paid than with us. There are a dozenexcellent schools which a lad may enter here, and, under the eye of apractised master, learn the apprenticeship of his art at an expenseof about ten pounds a year. In England there is no school except theAcademy, unless the student can afford to pay a very large sum, andplace himself under the tuition of some particular artist. Here, a youngman, for his ten pounds, has all sorts of accessory instruction, models, &c. ; and has further, and for nothing, numberless incitements to studyhis profession which are not to be found in England:--the streets arefilled with picture-shops, the people themselves are pictures walkingabout; the churches, theatres, eating-houses, concert-rooms are coveredwith pictures: Nature itself is inclined more kindly to him, for the skyis a thousand times more bright and beautiful, and the sun shines forthe greater part of the year. Add to this, incitements more selfish, but quite as powerful: a French artist is paid very handsomely; for fivehundred a year is much where all are poor; and has a rank in societyrather above his merits than below them, being caressed by hosts andhostesses in places where titles are laughed at and a baron is thoughtof no more account than a banker's clerk. 

The life of the young artist here is the easiest, merriest, dirtiestexistence possible. He comes to Paris, probably at sixteen, from hisprovince; his parents settle forty pounds a year on him, and pay hismaster; he establishes himself in the Pays Latin, or in the new quarterof Notre Dame de Lorette (which is quite peopled with painters); hearrives at his atelier at a tolerably early hour, and labors among ascore of companions as merry and poor as himself. Each gentleman has hisfavorite tobacco-pipe; and the pictures are painted in the midst of acloud of smoke, and a din of puns and choice French slang, and a roar ofchoruses, of which no one can form an idea who has not been present atsuch an assembly. 

You see here every variety of coiffure that has ever been known. Someyoung men of genius have ringlets hanging over their shoulders--you maysmell the tobacco with which they are scented across the street; somehave straight locks, black, oily, and redundant; some have toupets inthe famous Louis-Philippe fashion; some are cropped close; some haveadopted the present mode--which he who would follow must, in order to doso, part his hair in the middle, grease it with grease, and gum it withgum, and iron it flat down over his ears; when arrived at the ears, you take the tongs and make a couple of ranges of curls close round thewhole head, --such curls as you may see under a gilt three-cornered hat, and in her Britannic Majesty's coachman's state wig. 

This is the last fashion. As for the beards, there is no end of them;all my friends the artists have beards who can raise them; and Nature, though she has rather stinted the bodies and limbs of the French nation, has been very liberal to them of hair, as you may see by the followingspecimen. Fancy these heads and beards under all sorts of caps--Chinesecaps, Mandarin caps, Greek skull-caps, English jockey-caps, Russian orKuzzilbash caps, Middle-age caps (such as are called, in heraldry, capsof maintenance), Spanish nets, and striped worsted nightcaps. Fancy allthe jackets you have ever seen, and you have before you, as well as pencan describe, the costumes of these indescribable Frenchmen. 

In this company and costume the French student of art passes his daysand acquires knowledge; how he passes his evenings, at what theatres, atwhat guinguettes, in company with what seducing little milliner, there is no need to say; but I knew one who pawned his coat to go to acarnival ball, and walked abroad very cheerfully in his blouse for sixweeks, until he could redeem the absent garment. 

These young men (together with the students of sciences) comportthemselves towards the sober citizen pretty much as the German burschtowards the philister, or as the military man, during the empire, didto the pékin:--from the height of their poverty they look down uponhim with the greatest imaginable scorn--a scorn, I think, by which thecitizen seems dazzled, for his respect for the arts is intense. The caseis very different in England, where a grocer's daughter would think shemade a misalliance by marrying a painter, and where a literary man (inspite of all we can say against it) ranks below that class of gentrycomposed of the apothecary, the attorney, the wine-merchant, whosepositions, in country towns at least, are so equivocal. As, forinstance, my friend the Rev. James Asterisk, who has an undeniablepedigree, a paternal estate, and a living to boot, once dined inWarwickshire, in company with several squires and parsons of thatenlightened county. Asterisk, as usual, made himself extraordinarilyagreeable at dinner, and delighted all present with his learning andwit. "Who is that monstrous pleasant fellow?" said one of the squires. "Don't you know?" replied another. "It's Asterisk, the author ofso-and-so, and a famous contributor to such and such a magazine. " "Goodheavens!" said the squire, quite horrified! "a literary man! I thoughthe had been a gentleman!"

Another instance: M. Guizot, when he was Minister here, had the grandhotel of the Ministry, and gave entertainments to all the great de parle monde, as Brantôme says, and entertained them in a proper ministerialmagnificence. The splendid and beautiful Duchess of Dash was at one ofhis ministerial parties; and went, a fortnight afterwards, as in dutybound, to pay her respects to M. Guizot. But it happened, in thisfortnight, that M. Guizot was Minister no longer; having given up hisportfolio, and his grand hotel, to retire into private life, and tooccupy his humble apartments in the house which he possesses, and ofwhich he lets the greater portion. A friend of mine was present atone of the ex-Minister's soirées, where the Duchess of Dash madeher appearance. He says the Duchess, at her entrance, seemed quiteastounded, and examined the premises with a most curious wonder. Two orthree shabby little rooms, with ordinary furniture, and a Minister enretraite, who lives by letting lodgings! In our country was ever such athing heard of? No, thank heaven! and a Briton ought to be proud of thedifference. 

But to our muttons. This country is surely the paradise of paintersand penny-a-liners; and when one reads of M. Horace Vernet at Rome, exceeding ambassadors at Rome by his magnificence, and leading such alife as Rubens or Titian did of old; when one sees M. Thiers's grandvilla in the Rue St. George (a dozen years ago he was not even apenny-a-liner: no such luck); when one contemplates, in imagination, M. Gudin, the marine painter, too lame to walk through the picture-galleryof the Louvre, accommodated, therefore, with a wheel-chair, a privilegeof princes only, and accompanied--nay, for what I know, actuallytrundled--down the gallery by majesty itself--who does not long to makeone of the great nation, exchange his native tongue for the melodiousjabber of France; or, at least, adopt it for his native country, likeMarshal Saxe, Napoleon, and Anacharsis Clootz? Noble people! they madeTom Paine a deputy; and as for Tom Macaulay, they would make a DYNASTYof him. 

Well, this being the case, no wonder there are so many painters inFrance; and here, at least, we are back to them. At the Ecole Royaledes Beaux Arts, you see two or three hundred specimens of theirperformances; all the prize-men, since 1750, I think, being bound toleave their prize sketch or picture. Can anything good come out ofthe Royal Academy? is a question which has been considerably mooted inEngland (in the neighborhood of Suffolk Street especially). The hundredsof French samples are, I think, not very satisfactory. The subjects arealmost all what are called classical: Orestes pursued by every varietyof Furies; numbers of little wolf-sucking Romuluses; Hectors andAndromaches in a complication of parting embraces, and so forth; for itwas the absurd maxim of our forefathers, that because these subjects hadbeen the fashion twenty centuries ago, they must remain so in saeculasaeculorum; because to these lofty heights giants had scaled, behold therace of pigmies must get upon stilts and jump at them likewise! and onthe canvas, and in the theatre, the French frogs (excuse the pleasantry)were instructed to swell out and roar as much as possible like bulls. 

What was the consequence, my dear friend? In trying to make themselvesinto bulls, the frogs make themselves into jackasses, as might beexpected. For a hundred and ten years the classical humbug oppressedthe nation; and you may see, in this gallery of the Beaux Arts, seventyyears' specimens of the dulness which it engendered. 

Now, as Nature made every man with a nose and eyes of his own, she gavehim a character of his own too; and yet we, O foolish race! must try ourvery best to ape some one or two of our neighbors, whose ideas fit usno more than their breeches! It is the study of nature, surely, thatprofits us, and not of these imitations of her. A man, as a man, from adustman up to Æschylus, is God's work, and good to read, as all works ofNature are: but the silly animal is never content; is ever trying to fititself into another shape; wants to deny its own identity, and has notthe courage to utter its own thoughts. Because Lord Byron was wicked, and quarrelled with the world; and found himself growing fat, andquarrelled with his victuals, and thus, naturally, grew ill-humored, didnot half Europe grow ill-humored too? Did not every poet feel hisyoung affections withered, and despair and darkness cast upon his soul?Because certain mighty men of old could make heroical statues andplays, must we not be told that there is no other beauty but classicalbeauty?--must not every little whipster of a French poet chalk you outplays, "Henriades, " and such-like, and vow that here was the real thing, the undeniable Kalon?

The undeniable fiddlestick! For a hundred years, my dear sir, the worldwas humbugged by the so-called classical artists, as they now are bywhat is called the Christian art (of which anon); and it is curious tolook at the pictorial traditions as here handed down. The consequenceof them is, that scarce one of the classical pictures exhibited is worthmuch more than two-and-sixpence. Borrowed from statuary, in the firstplace, the color of the paintings seems, as much as possible, toparticipate in it; they are mostly of a misty, stony green, dismal hue, as if they had been painted in a world where no color was. In everypicture, there are, of course, white mantles, white urns, white columns, white statues--those obligé accomplishments of the sublime. There arethe endless straight noses, long eyes, round chins, short upper lips, just as they are ruled down for you in the drawing-books, as if thelatter were the revelations of beauty, issued by supreme authority, fromwhich there was no appeal? Why is the classical reign to endure? Why isyonder simpering Venus de' Medicis to be our standard of beauty, or theGreek tragedies to bound our notions of the sublime? There was no reasonwhy Agamemnon should set the fashions, and remain [Greek text omitted]to eternity: and there is a classical quotation, which you may haveoccasionally heard, beginning Vixere fortes, &c. , which, as it aversthat there were a great number of stout fellows before Agamemnon, maynot unreasonably induce us to conclude that similar heroes were tosucceed him. Shakspeare made a better man when his imaginationmoulded the mighty figure of Macbeth. And if you will measure Satan byPrometheus, the blind old Puritan's work by that of the fiery Grecianpoet, does not Milton's angel surpass Æschylus's--surpass him by "many arood?"

In the same school of the Beaux Arts, where are to be found such anumber of pale imitations of the antique, Monsieur Thiers (and he oughtto be thanked for it) has caused to be placed a full-sized copy of "TheLast Judgment" of Michel Angelo, and a number of casts from statuesby the same splendid hand. There IS the sublime, if you please--a newsublime--an original sublime--quite as sublime as the Greek sublime. Seeyonder, in the midst of his angels, the Judge of the world descending inglory; and near him, beautiful and gentle, and yet indescribably augustand pure, the Virgin by his side. There is the "Moses, " the grandestfigure that ever was carved in stone. It has about it somethingfrightfully majestic, if one may so speak. In examining this, and theastonishing picture of "The Judgment, " or even a single figure of it, the spectator's sense amounts almost to pain. I would not like to beleft in a room alone with the "Moses. " How did the artist live amongstthem, and create them? How did he suffer the painful labor of invention?One fancies that he would have been scorched up, like Semele, by sightstoo tremendous for his vision to bear. One cannot imagine him, with oursmall physical endowments and weaknesses, a man like ourselves. 

As for the Ecole Royale des Beaux Arts, then, and all the good itsstudents have done, as students, it is stark naught. When the men didanything, it was after they had left the academy, and began thinking forthemselves. There is only one picture among the many hundreds that has, to my idea, much merit (a charming composition of Homer singing, signedJourdy); and the only good that the Academy has done by its pupils wasto send them to Rome, where they might learn better things. At home, theintolerable, stupid classicalities, taught by men who, belonging to theleast erudite country in Europe, were themselves, from their profession, the least learned among their countrymen, only weighed the pupils down, and cramped their hands, their eyes, and their imaginations; drove themaway from natural beauty, which, thank God, is fresh and attainable byus all, to-day, and yesterday, and to-morrow; and sent them ramblingafter artificial grace, without the proper means of judging or attainingit. 

A word for the building of the Palais des Beaux Arts. It is beautiful, and as well finished and convenient as beautiful. With its light andelegant fabric, its pretty fountain, its archway of the Renaissance, andfragments of sculpture, you can hardly see, on a fine day, a place moreriant and pleasing. 

Passing from thence up the picturesque Rue de Seine, let us walk to theLuxembourg, where bonnes, students, grisettes, and old gentlemen withpigtails, love to wander in the melancholy, quaint old gardens; wherethe peers have a new and comfortable court of justice, to judge all theémeutes which are to take place; and where, as everybody knows, is thepicture-gallery of modern French artists, whom government thinks worthyof patronage. 

A very great proportion of the pictures, as we see by the catalogue, are by the students whose works we have just been to visit at the BeauxArts, and who, having performed their pilgrimage to Rome, have takenrank among the professors of the art. I don't know a more pleasingexhibition; for there are not a dozen really bad pictures in thecollection, some very good, and the rest showing great skill andsmartness of execution. 

In the same way, however, that it has been supposed that no man could bea great poet unless he wrote a very big poem, the tradition is kept upamong the painters, and we have here a vast number of large canvases, with figures of the proper heroical length and nakedness. Theanticlassicists did not arise in France until about 1827; and, inconsequence, up to that period, we have here the old classical faith infull vigor. There is Brutus, having chopped his son's head off, with allthe agony of a father, and then, calling for number two; there is Æneascarrying off old Anchises; there are Paris and Venus, as naked as twoHottentots, and many more such choice subjects from Lemprière. 

But the chief specimens of the sublime are in the way of murders, withwhich the catalogue swarms. Here are a few extracts from it:--

7. Beaume, Chevalier de la Légion d'Honneur. "The Grand DauphinessDying. "

18. Blondel, Chevalier de la, &c. "Zenobia found Dead. "

36. Debay, Chevalier. "The Death of Lucretia. "

38. Dejuinne. "The Death of Hector. "

34. Court, Chevalier de la, &c. "The Death of Caesar. "

39, 40, 41. Delacroix, Chevalier. "Dante and Virgil in theInfernal Lake, " "The Massacre of Scio, " and "Medea going toMurder her Children. "

43. Delaroche, Chevalier. "Joas taken from among the Dead. "

44. "The Death of Queen Elizabeth. "

45. "Edward V. And his Brother" (preparing for death). 

50. "Hecuba going to be Sacrificed. " Drolling, Chevalier. 

51. Dubois. "Young Clovis found Dead. "

56. Henry, Chevalier. "The Massacre of St. Bartholomew. "

75. Guérin, Chevalier. "Cain, after the Death of Abel. "

83. Jacquand. "Death of Adelaide de Comminges. "

88. "The Death of Eudamidas. "

93. "The Death of Hymetto. "

103. "The Death of Philip of Austria. "--And so on. 

You see what woful subjects they take, and how profusely they aredecorated with knighthood. They are like the Black Brunswickers, thesepainters, and ought to be called Chevaliers de la Mort. I don't know whythe merriest people in the world should please themselves with such grimrepresentations and varieties of murder, or why murder itself should beconsidered so eminently sublime and poetical. It is good at the end ofa tragedy; but, then, it is good because it is the end, and because, by the events foregone, the mind is prepared for it. But these men willhave nothing but fifth acts; and seem to skip, as unworthy, all thecircumstances leading to them. This, however, is part of the scheme--thebloated, unnatural, stilted, spouting, sham sublime, that our teachershave believed and tried to pass off as real, and which your humbleservant and other antihumbuggists should heartily, according to thestrength that is in them, endeavor to pull down. What, for instance, could Monsieur Lafond care about the death of Eudamidas? What was Hecubato Chevalier Drolling, or Chevalier Drolling to Hecuba? I would lay awager that neither of them ever conjugated [Greek text omitted], andthat their school learning carried them not as far as the letter, butonly to the game of taw. How were they to be inspired by such subjects?From having seen Talma and Mademoiselle Georges flaunting in sham Greekcostumes, and having read up the articles Eudamidas, Hecuba, in the"Mythological Dictionary. " What a classicism, inspired by rouge, gas-lamps, and a few lines in Lemprière, and copied, half from ancientstatues, and half from a naked guardsman at one shilling and sixpencethe hour!

Delacroix is a man of a very different genius, and his "Medea" isa genuine creation of a noble fancy. For most of the others, Mrs. Brownrigg, and her two female 'prentices, would have done as well asthe desperate Colchian with her [Greek text omitted]. M. Delacroix hasproduced a number of rude, barbarous pictures; but there is the stamp ofgenius on all of them, --the great poetical INTENTION, which is worth allyour execution. Delaroche is another man of high merit; with not such agreat HEART, perhaps, as the other, but a fine and careful draughtsman, and an excellent arranger of his subject. "The Death of Elizabeth" is araw young performance seemingly--not, at least, to my taste. The "Enfansd'Edouard" is renowned over Europe, and has appeared in a hundreddifferent ways in print. It is properly pathetic and gloomy, and meritsfully its high reputation. This painter rejoices in such subjects--inwhat Lord Portsmouth used to call "black jobs. " He has killed CharlesI. And Lady Jane Grey, and the Dukes of Guise, and I don't know whombesides. He is, at present, occupied with a vast work at the BeauxArts, where the writer of this had the honor of seeing him, --a little, keen-looking man, some five feet in height. He wore, on this importantoccasion, a bandanna round his head, and was in the act of smoking acigar. 

Horace Vernet, whose beautiful daughter Delaroche married, is the kingof French battle-painters--an amazingly rapid and dexterous draughtsman, who has Napoleon and all the campaigns by heart, and has painted theGrenadier Français under all sorts of attitudes. His pictures on suchsubjects are spirited, natural, and excellent; and he is so clevera man, that all he does is good to a certain degree. His "Judith" issomewhat violent, perhaps. His "Rebecca" most pleasing; and not the lessso for a little pretty affectation of attitude and needless singularityof costume. "Raphael and Michael Angelo" is as clever a picture ascan be--clever is just the word--the groups and drawing excellent, thecoloring pleasantly bright and gaudy; and the French students study itincessantly; there are a dozen who copy it for one who copies Delacroix. His little scraps of wood-cuts, in the now publishing "Life ofNapoleon, " are perfect gems in their way, and the noble price paid forthem not a penny more than he merits. 

The picture, by Court, of "The Death of Caesar, " is remarkable foreffect and excellent workmanship: and the head of Brutus (who lookslike Armand Carrel) is full of energy. There are some beautiful headsof women, and some very good color in the picture. Jacquand's "Death ofAdelaide de Comminges" is neither more nor less than beautiful. Adelaidehad, it appears, a lover, who betook himself to a convent of Trappists. She followed him thither, disguised as a man, took the vows, and was notdiscovered by him till on her death-bed. The painter has told this storyin a most pleasing and affecting manner: the picture is full of onctionand melancholy grace. The objects, too, are capitally represented; andthe tone and color very good. Decaisne's "Guardian Angel" is not so goodin color, but is equally beautiful in expression and grace. A littlechild and a nurse are asleep: an angel watches the infant. You see womenlook very wistfully at this sweet picture; and what triumph would apainter have more?

We must not quit the Luxembourg without noticing the dashingsea-pieces of Gudin, and one or two landscapes by Giroux (the plainof Grasivaudan), and "The Prometheus" of Aligny. This is an imitation, perhaps; as is a noble picture of "Jesus Christ and the Children, " byFlandrin: but the artists are imitating better models, at any rate; andone begins to perceive that the odious classical dynasty is no more. Poussin's magnificent "Polyphemus" (I only know a print of thatmarvellous composition) has, perhaps, suggested the first-named picture;and the latter has been inspired by a good enthusiastic study of theRoman schools. 

Of this revolution, Monsieur Ingres has been one of the chiefinstruments. He was, before Horace Vernet, president of the FrenchAcademy at Rome, and is famous as a chief of a school. When he brokeup his atelier here, to set out for his presidency, many of his pupilsattended him faithfully some way on his journey; and some, with scarcelya penny in their pouches, walked through France and across the Alps, ina pious pilgrimage to Rome, being determined not to forsake their oldmaster. Such an action was worthy of them, and of the high rank whichtheir profession holds in France, where the honors to be acquired by artare only inferior to those which are gained in war. One reads of suchperegrinations in old days, when the scholars of some great Italianpainter followed him from Venice to Rome, or from Florence to Ferrara. In regard of Ingres's individual merit as a painter, the writer of thisis not a fair judge, having seen but three pictures by him; one being aplafond in the Louvre, which his disciples much admire. 

Ingres stands between the Imperio-Davido-classical school of French art, and the namby-pamby mystical German school, which is for carrying usback to Cranach and Dürer, and which is making progress here. 

For everything here finds imitation: the French have the genius ofimitation and caricature. This absurd humbug, called the Christian orCatholic art, is sure to tickle our neighbors, and will be a favoritewith them, when better known. My dear MacGilp, I do believe this to bea greater humbug than the humbug of David and Girodet, inasmuch as thelatter was founded on Nature at least; whereas the former is made up ofsilly affectations, and improvements upon Nature. Here, for instance, isChevalier Ziegler's picture of "St. Luke painting the Virgin. " St. Lukehas a monk's dress on, embroidered, however, smartly round the sleeves. The Virgin sits in an immense yellow-ochre halo, with her son in herarms. She looks preternaturally solemn; as does St. Luke, who is eyinghis paint-brush with an intense ominous mystical look. They call thisCatholic art. There is nothing, my dear friend, more easy in life. First take your colors, and rub them down clean, --bright carmine, bright yellow, bright sienna, bright ultramarine, bright green. Make thecostumes of your figures as much as possible like the costumes ofthe early part of the fifteenth century. Paint them in with the abovecolors; and if on a gold ground, the more "Catholic" your art is. Dressyour apostles like priests before the altar; and remember to have a goodcommodity of crosiers, censers, and other such gimcracks, as you maysee in the Catholic chapels, in Sutton Street and elsewhere. Deal inVirgins, and dress them like a burgomaster's wife by Cranach or VanEyck. Give them all long twisted tails to their gowns, and properangular draperies. Place all their heads on one side, with the eyesshut, and the proper solemn simper. At the back of the head, draw, and gild with gold-leaf, a halo or glory, of the exact shape of acart-wheel: and you have the thing done. It is Catholic art tout craché, as Louis Philippe says. We have it still in England, handed down to usfor four centuries, in the pictures on the cards, as the redoubtableking and queen of clubs. Look at them: you will see that the costumesand attitudes are precisely similar to those which figure in thecatholicities of the school of Overbeck and Cornelius. 

Before you take your cane at the door, look for one instant at thestatue-room. Yonder is Jouffley's "Jeune Fille confiant son premiersecret à Vénus. " Charming, charming! It is from the exhibition ofthis year only; and I think the best sculpture in the gallery--pretty, fanciful, naïve; admirable in workmanship and imitation of Nature. Ihave seldom seen flesh better represented in marble. Examine, also, Jaley's "Pudeur, " Jacquot's "Nymph, " and Rude's "Boy with the Tortoise. "These are not very exalted subjects, or what are called exalted, and donot go beyond simple, smiling beauty and nature. But what then? Are wegods, Miltons, Michel Angelos, that can leave earth when we please;and soar to heights immeasurable? No, my dear MacGilp; but the fools ofacademicians would fain make us so. Are you not, and half the paintersin London, panting for an opportunity to show your genius in a great"historical picture?" O blind race! Have you wings? Not a feather: andyet you must be ever puffing, sweating up to the tops of rugged hills;and, arrived there, clapping and shaking your ragged elbows, and makingas if you would fly! Come down, silly Daedalus; come down to the lowlyplaces in which Nature ordered you to walk. The sweet flowers arespringing there; the fat muttons are waiting there; the pleasant sunshines there; be content and humble, and take your share of the goodcheer. 

While we have been indulging in this discussion, the omnibus has gaylyconducted us across the water; and le garde qui veille a la porte duLouvre ne défend pas our entry. 

What a paradise this gallery is for French students, or foreigners whosojourn in the capital! It is hardly necessary to say that the brethrenof the brush are not usually supplied by Fortune with any extraordinarywealth, or means of enjoying the luxuries with which Paris, more thanany other city, abounds. But here they have a luxury which surpasses allothers, and spend their days in a palace which all the money of all theRothschilds could not buy. They sleep, perhaps, in a garret, and dinein a cellar; but no grandee in Europe has such a drawing-room. Kings'houses have, at best, but damask hangings, and gilt cornices. What arethese to a wall covered with canvas by Paul Veronese, or a hundredyards of Rubens? Artists from England, who have a national gallery thatresembles a moderate-sized gin-shop, who may not copy pictures, exceptunder particular restrictions, and on rare and particular days, mayrevel here to their hearts' content. Here is a room half a mile long, with as many windows as Aladdin's palace, open from sunrise tillevening, and free to all manners and all varieties of study: the onlypuzzle to the student is to select the one he shall begin upon, and keephis eyes away from the rest. 

Fontaine's grand staircase, with its arches, and painted ceilings andshining Doric columns, leads directly to the gallery; but it is thoughttoo fine for working days, and is only opened for the public entranceon Sabbath. A little back stair (leading from a court, in which standnumerous bas-reliefs, and a solemn sphinx, of polished granite, ) is thecommon entry for students and others, who, during the week, enter thegallery. 

Hither have lately been transported a number of the works of Frenchartists, which formerly covered the walls of the Luxembourg (deathonly entitles the French painter to a place in the Louvre); and let usconfine ourselves to the Frenchmen only, for the space of this letter. 

I have seen, in a fine private collection at St. Germain, one or twoadmirable single figures of David, full of life, truth, and gayety. The color is not good, but all the rest excellent; and one of these somuch-lauded pictures is the portrait of a washer-woman. "Pope Pius, " atthe Louvre, is as bad in color as remarkable for its vigor and look oflife. The man had a genius for painting portraits and common life, butmust attempt the heroic;--failed signally; and what is worse, carried awhole nation blundering after him. Had you told a Frenchman so, twentyyears ago, he would have thrown the démenti in your teeth; or, at least, laughed at you in scornful incredulity. They say of us that we don'tknow when we are beaten: they go a step further, and swear their defeatsare victories. David was a part of the glory of the empire; and onemight as well have said then that "Romulus" was a bad picture, as thatToulouse was a lost battle. Old-fashioned people, who believe inthe Emperor, believe in the Théâtre Français, and believe that Ducisimproved upon Shakspeare, have the above opinion. Still, it is curiousto remark, in this place, how art and literature become party matters, and political sects have their favorite painters and authors. 

Nevertheless, Jacques Louis David is dead, he died about a year afterhis bodily demise in 1825. The romanticism killed him. Walter Scott, from his Castle of Abbotsford, sent out a troop of gallant young Scotchadventurers, merry outlaws, valiant knights, and savage Highlanders, who, with trunk hosen and buff jerkins, fierce two-handed swords, andharness on their back, did challenge, combat, and overcome the heroesand demigods of Greece and Rome. Notre Dame à la rescousse! Sir Briande Bois Guilbert has borne Hector of Troy clear out of his saddle. Andromache may weep: but her spouse is beyond the reach of physic. See!Robin Hood twangs his bow, and the heathen gods fly, howling. MontjoieSaint Denis! down goes Ajax under the mace of Dunois; and yonderare Leonidas and Romulus begging their lives of Rob Roy Macgregor. Classicism is dead. Sir John Froissart has taken Dr. Lemprière by thenose, and reigns sovereign. 

Of the great pictures of David the defunct, we need not, then, say much. Romulus is a mighty fine young fellow, no doubt; and if he has come outto battle stark naked (except a very handsome helmet), it is because thecostume became him, and shows off his figure to advantage. But was thereever anything so absurd as this passion for the nude, which was followedby all the painters of the Davidian epoch? And how are we to supposeyonder straddle to be the true characteristic of the heroic and thesublime? Romulus stretches his legs as far as ever nature will allow;the Horatii, in receiving their swords, think proper to stretch theirlegs too, and to thrust forward their arms, thus, --

[Drawing omitted]

Romulus's is in the exact action of a telegraph; and the Horatii are allin the position of the lunge. Is this the sublime? Mr. Angelo, of BondStreet, might admire the attitude; his namesake, Michel, I don't thinkwould. 

The little picture of "Paris and Helen, " one of the master's earliest, I believe, is likewise one of his best: the details are exquisitelypainted. Helen looks needlessly sheepish, and Paris has a most odiousogle; but the limbs of the male figure are beautifully designed, andhave not the green tone which you see in the later pictures of themaster. What is the meaning of this green? Was it the fashion, or thevarnish? Girodet's pictures are green; Gros's emperors and grenadiershave universally the jaundice. Gerard's "Psyche" has a most decidedgreen-sickness; and I am at a loss, I confess, to account for theenthusiasm which this performance inspired on its first appearancebefore the public. 

In the same room with it is Girodet's ghastly "Deluge, " and Gericault'sdismal "Medusa. " Gericault died, they say, for want of fame. He was aman who possessed a considerable fortune of his own; but pined becauseno one in his day would purchase his pictures, and so acknowledge histalent. At present, a scrawl from his pencil brings an enormous price. All his works have a grand cachet: he never did anything mean. When hepainted the "Raft of the Medusa, " it is said he lived for a long timeamong the corpses which he painted, and that his studio was a secondMorgue. If you have not seen the picture, you are familiar probably, with Reynolds's admirable engraving of it. A huge black sea; a raftbeating upon it; a horrid company of men dead, half dead, writhingand frantic with hideous hunger or hideous hope; and, far away, black, against a stormy sunset, a sail. The story is powerfully told, and has alegitimate tragic interest, so to speak, --deeper, because more natural, than Girodet's green "Deluge, " for instance: or his livid "Orestes, " orred-hot "Clytemnestra. "

Seen from a distance the latter's "Deluge" has a certain awe-inspiringair with it. A slimy green man stands on a green rock, and clutches holdof a tree. On the green man's shoulders is his old father, in a greenold age; to him hangs his wife, with a babe on her breast, and danglingat her hair, another child. In the water floats a corpse (a beautifulhead) and a green sea and atmosphere envelops all this dismal group. Theold father is represented with a bag of money in his hand; and the tree, which the man catches, is cracking, and just on the point of giving way. These two points were considered very fine by the critics: they are twosuch ghastly epigrams as continually disfigure French Tragedy. Forthis reason I have never been able to read Racine with pleasure, --thedialogue is so crammed with these lugubrious good things--melancholyantitheses--sparkling undertakers' wit; but this is heresy, and hadbetter be spoken discreetly. 

The gallery contains a vast number of Poussin's pictures; they put me inmind of the color of objects in dreams, --a strange, hazy, lurid hue. Hownoble are some of his landscapes! What a depth of solemn shadow is inyonder wood, near which, by the side of a black water, halts Diogenes. The air is thunder-laden, and breathes heavily. You hear ominouswhispers in the vast forest gloom. 

Near it is a landscape, by Carel Dujardin, I believe, conceived in quitea different mood, but exquisitely poetical too. A horseman is ridingup a hill, and giving money to a blowsy beggar-wench. O matutini roresauraeque salubres! in what a wonderful way has the artist managed tocreate you out of a few bladders of paint and pots of varnish. Youcan see the matutinal dews twinkling in the grass, and feel the fresh, salubrious airs ("the breath of Nature blowing free, " as the corn-lawman sings) blowing free over the heath; silvery vapors are rising upfrom the blue lowlands. You can tell the hour of the morning and thetime of the year: you can do anything but describe it in words. As withregard to the Poussin above mentioned, one can never pass it withoutbearing away a certain pleasing, dreamy feeling of awe and musing;the other landscape inspires the spectator infallibly with the mostdelightful briskness and cheerfulness of spirit. Herein lies the vastprivilege of the landscape-painter: he does not address you with onefixed particular subject or expression, but with a thousand nevercontemplated by himself, and which only arise out of occasion. Youmay always be looking at a natural landscape as at a fine pictorialimitation of one; it seems eternally producing new thoughts in yourbosom, as it does fresh beauties from its own. I cannot fancy moredelightful, cheerful, silent companions for a man than half a dozenlandscapes hung round his study. Portraits, on the contrary, and largepieces of figures, have a painful, fixed, staring look, which must jarupon the mind in many of its moods. Fancy living in a room with David'ssans-culotte Leonidas staring perpetually in your face!

There is a little Watteau here, and a rare piece of fantasticalbrightness and gayety it is. What a delightful affectation about yonderladies flirting their fans, and trailing about in their long brocades!What splendid dandies are those, ever-smirking, turning out their toes, with broad blue ribbons to tie up their crooks and their pigtails, andwonderful gorgeous crimson satin breeches! Yonder, in the midst of agolden atmosphere, rises a bevy of little round Cupids, bubbling up inclusters as out of a champagne-bottle, and melting away in air. Thereis, to be sure, a hidden analogy between liquors and pictures: the eyeis deliciously tickled by these frisky Watteaus, and yields itself up toa light, smiling, gentlemanlike intoxication. Thus, were we inclined topursue further this mighty subject, yonder landscape of Claude, --calm, fresh, delicate, yet full of flavor, --should be likened to a bottle ofChâteau Margaux. And what is the Poussin before spoken of but RomanéeGelée?--heavy, sluggish, --the luscious odor almost sickens you; a sultrysort of drink; your limbs sink under it; you feel as if you had beendrinking hot blood. 

An ordinary man would be whirled away in a fever, or would hobble offthis mortal stage in a premature gout-fit, if he too early or too oftenindulged in such tremendous drink. I think in my heart I am fonder ofpretty third-rate pictures than of your great thundering first-rates. Confess how many times you have read Béranger, and how many Milton?If you go to the "Star and Garter, " don't you grow sick of that vast, luscious landscape, and long for the sight of a couple of cows, or adonkey, and a few yards of common? Donkeys, my dear MacGilp, since wehave come to this subject, say not so; Richmond Hill for them. Miltonthey never grow tired of; and are as familiar with Raphael as Bottomwith exquisite Titania. Let us thank heaven, my dear sir, for accordingto us the power to taste and appreciate the pleasures of mediocrity. Ihave never heard that we were great geniuses. Earthy are we, and ofthe earth; glimpses of the sublime are but rare to us; leave we them togreat geniuses, and to the donkeys; and if it nothing profit us aëriastentâsse domos along with them, let us thankfully remain below, beingmerry and humble. 

I have now only to mention the charming "Cruche Cassée" of Greuze, whichall the young ladies delight to copy; and of which the color (a thoughttoo blue, perhaps) is marvellously graceful and delicate. There arethree more pictures by the artist, containing exquisite female heads andcolor; but they have charms for French critics which are difficult tobe discovered by English eyes; and the pictures seem weak to me. A veryfine picture by Bon Bollongue, "Saint Benedict resuscitating a Child, "deserves particular attention, and is superb in vigor and richness ofcolor. You must look, too, at the large, noble, melancholy landscapesof Philippe de Champagne; and the two magnificent Italian pictures ofLéopold Robert: they are, perhaps, the very finest pictures that theFrench school has produced, --as deep as Poussin, of a better color, andof a wonderful minuteness and veracity in the representation of objects. 

Every one of Lesueur's church-pictures is worth examining and admiring;they are full of "unction" and pious mystical grace. "Saint Scholastica"is divine; and the "Taking down from the Cross" as noble a compositionas ever was seen; I care not by whom the other may be. There is morebeauty, and less affectation, about this picture than you will find inthe performances of many Italian masters, with high-sounding names (outwith it, and say RAPHAEL at once). I hate those simpering Madonnas. Ideclare that the "Jardinière" is a puking, smirking miss, withnothing heavenly about her. I vow that the "Saint Elizabeth" is abad picture, --a bad composition, badly drawn, badly colored, in a badimitation of Titian, --a piece of vile affectation. I say, that whenRaphael painted this picture two years before his death, the spirit ofpainting had gone from out of him; he was no longer inspired; IT WASTIME THAT HE SHOULD DIE!!

There, --the murder is out! My paper is filled to the brim, and there isno time to speak of Lesueur's "Crucifixion, " which is odiously colored, to be sure; but earnest, tender, simple, holy. But such things are mostdifficult to translate into words;--one lays down the pen, and thinksand thinks. The figures appear, and take their places one by one:ranging themselves according to order, in light or in gloom, the colorsare reflected duly in the little camera obscura of the brain, and thewhole picture lies there complete; but can you describe it? No, not ifpens were fitch-brushes, and words were bladders of paint. With which, for the present, adieu. 

Your faithful

M. A. T. 

To Mr. ROBERT MACGILP, NEWMAN STREET, LONDON. 

THE PAINTER'S BARGAIN. 

Simon Gambouge was the son of Solomon Gambouge; and as all the worldknows, both father and son were astonishingly clever fellows at theirprofession. Solomon painted landscapes, which nobody bought; and Simontook a higher line, and painted portraits to admiration, only nobodycame to sit to him. 

As he was not gaining five pounds a year by his profession, and hadarrived at the age of twenty, at least, Simon determined to betterhimself by taking a wife, --a plan which a number of other wise menadopt, in similar years and circumstances. So Simon prevailed upon abutcher's daughter (to whom he owed considerably for cutlets) to quitthe meat-shop and follow him. Griskinissa--such was the fair creature'sname--"was as lovely a bit of mutton, " her father said, "as ever a manwould wish to stick a knife into. " She had sat to the painter for allsorts of characters; and the curious who possess any of Gambouge'spictures will see her as Venus, Minerva, Madonna, and in numberlessother characters: Portrait of a lady--Griskinissa; SleepingNymph--Griskinissa, without a rag of clothes, lying in a forest;Maternal Solicitude--Griskinissa again, with young Master Gambouge, whowas by this time the offspring of their affections. 

The lady brought the painter a handsome little fortune of a couple ofhundred pounds; and as long as this sum lasted no woman could bemore lovely or loving. But want began speedily to attack their littlehousehold; bakers' bills were unpaid; rent was due, and the recklesslandlord gave no quarter; and, to crown the whole, her father, unnaturalbutcher! suddenly stopped the supplies of mutton-chops; and swore thathis daughter, and the dauber; her husband, should have no more of hiswares. At first they embraced tenderly, and, kissing and crying overtheir little infant, vowed to heaven that they would do without: butin the course of the evening Griskinissa grew peckish, and poor Simonpawned his best coat. 

When this habit of pawning is discovered, it appears to the poor a kindof Eldorado. Gambouge and his wife were so delighted, that they, in thecourse of a month, made away with her gold chain, her great warming-pan, his best crimson plush inexpressibles, two wigs, a washhand basin andewer, fire-irons, window-curtains, crockery, and arm-chairs. Griskinissasaid, smiling, that she had found a second father in HER UNCLE, --abase pun, which showed that her mind was corrupted, and that she was nolonger the tender, simple Griskinissa of other days. 

I am sorry to say that she had taken to drinking; she swallowed thewarming-pan in the course of three days, and fuddled herself one wholeevening with the crimson plush breeches. 

Drinking is the devil--the father, that is to say, of all vices. Griskinissa's face and her mind grew ugly together; her good humorchanged to bilious, bitter discontent; her pretty, fond epithets, tofoul abuse and swearing; her tender blue eyes grew watery and blear, andthe peach-color on her cheeks fled from its old habitation, and crowdedup into her nose, where, with a number of pimples, it stuck fast. Add tothis a dirty, draggle-tailed chintz; long, matted hair, wandering intoher eyes, and over her lean shoulders, which were once so snowy, and youhave the picture of drunkenness and Mrs. Simon Gambouge. 

Poor Simon, who had been a gay, lively fellow enough in the days of hisbetter fortune, was completely cast down by his present ill luck, andcowed by the ferocity of his wife. From morning till night the neighborscould hear this woman's tongue, and understand her doings; bellows wentskimming across the room, chairs were flumped down on the floor, and poor Gambouge's oil and varnish pots went clattering through thewindows, or down the stairs. The baby roared all day; and Simon sat paleand idle in a corner, taking a small sup at the brandy-bottle, when Mrs. Gambouge was out of the way. 

One day, as he sat disconsolately at his easel, furbishing up a pictureof his wife, in the character of Peace, which he had commenced a yearbefore, he was more than ordinarily desperate, and cursed and swore inthe most pathetic manner. "O miserable fate of genius!" cried he, "wasI, a man of such commanding talents, born for this? to be bullied by afiend of a wife; to have my masterpieces neglected by the world, or soldonly for a few pieces? Cursed be the love which has misled me; cursed, be the art which is unworthy of me! Let me dig or steal, let me sellmyself as a soldier, or sell myself to the Devil, I should not be morewretched than I am now!"

"Quite the contrary, " cried a small, cheery voice. 

"What!" exclaimed Gambouge, trembling and surprised. "Who'sthere?--where are you?--who are you?"

"You were just speaking of me, " said the voice. 

Gambouge held, in his left hand, his palette; in his right, a bladderof crimson lake, which he was about to squeeze out upon the mahogany. "Where are you?" cried he again. 

"S-q-u-e-e-z-e!" exclaimed the little voice. 

Gambouge picked out the nail from the bladder, and gave a squeeze; when, as sure as I am living, a little imp spurted out from the hole upon thepalette, and began laughing in the most singular and oily manner. 

When first born he was little bigger than a tadpole; then he grew tobe as big as a mouse; then he arrived at the size of a cat; and thenhe jumped off the palette, and, turning head over heels, asked the poorpainter what he wanted with him. 

The strange little animal twisted head over heels, and fixed himself atlast upon the top of Gambouge's easel, --smearing out, with his heels, all the white and vermilion which had just been laid on the allegoricportrait of Mrs. Gambouge. 

"What!" exclaimed Simon, "is it the--"

"Exactly so; talk of me, you know, and I am always at hand: besides, Iam not half so black as I am painted, as you will see when you know me alittle better. "

"Upon my word, " said the painter, "it is a very singular surprisewhich you have given me. To tell truth, I did not even believe in yourexistence. "

The little imp put on a theatrical air, and, with one of Mr. Macready'sbest looks, said, --

 "There are more things in heaven and earth, Gambogio, Than are dreamed of in your philosophy. "

Gambouge, being a Frenchman, did not understand the quotation, but feltsomehow strangely and singularly interested in the conversation of hisnew friend. 

Diabolus continued: "You are a man of merit, and want money; you willstarve on your merit; you can only get money from me. Come, my friend, how much is it? I ask the easiest interest in the world: old Mordecai, the usurer, has made you pay twice as heavily before now: nothing butthe signature of a bond, which is a mere ceremony, and the transferof an article which, in itself, is a supposition--a valueless, windy, uncertain property of yours, called, by some poet of your own, I think, an animula, vagula, blandula--bah! there is no use beating about thebush--I mean A SOUL. Come, let me have it; you know you will sell itsome other way, and not get such good pay for your bargain!"--and, having made this speech, the Devil pulled out from his fob a sheet asbig as a double Times, only there was a different STAMP in the corner. 

It is useless and tedious to describe law documents: lawyers only loveto read them; and they have as good in Chitty as any that are to befound in the Devil's own; so nobly have the apprentices emulated theskill of the master. Suffice it to say, that poor Gambouge read over thepaper, and signed it. He was to have all he wished for seven years, and at the end of that time was to become the property of the -----;PROVIDED that, during the course of the seven years, every single wishwhich he might form should be gratified by the other of the contractingparties; otherwise the deed became null and non-avenue, and Gambougeshould be left "to go to the ----- his own way. "

"You will never see me again, " said Diabolus, in shaking hands with poorSimon, on whose fingers he left such a mark as is to be seen at thisday--"never, at least, unless you want me; for everything you ask willbe performed in the most quiet and every-day manner: believe me, it isbest and most gentlemanlike, and avoids anything like scandal. But ifyou set me about anything which is extraordinary, and out of the courseof nature, as it were, come I must, you know; and of this you arethe best judge. " So saying, Diabolus disappeared; but whether up thechimney, through the keyhole, or by any other aperture or contrivance, nobody knows. Simon Gambouge was left in a fever of delight, as, heavenforgive me! I believe many a worthy man would be, if he were allowed anopportunity to make a similar bargain. 

"Heigho!" said Simon. "I wonder whether this be a reality or a dream. --Iam sober, I know; for who will give me credit for the means to be drunk?and as for sleeping, I'm too hungry for that. I wish I could see a caponand a bottle of white wine. "

"MONSIEUR SIMON!" cried a voice on the landing-place. 

"C'est ici, " quoth Gambouge, hastening to open the door. He did so; andlo! there was a restaurateur's boy at the door, supporting a tray, a tin-covered dish, and plates on the same; and, by its side, a tallamber-colored flask of Sauterne. 

"I am the new boy, sir, " exclaimed this youth, on entering; "but Ibelieve this is the right door, and you asked for these things. "

Simon grinned, and said, "Certainly, I did ASK FOR these things. " Butsuch was the effect which his interview with the demon had had on hisinnocent mind, that he took them, although he knew that they were forold Simon, the Jew dandy, who was mad after an opera girl, and lived onthe floor beneath. 

"Go, my boy, " he said; "it is good: call in a couple of hours, andremove the plates and glasses. "

The little waiter trotted down stairs, and Simon sat greedily down todiscuss the capon and the white wine. He bolted the legs, he devouredthe wings, he cut every morsel of flesh from the breast;--seasoninghis repast with pleasant draughts of wine, and caring nothing for theinevitable bill, which was to follow all. 

"Ye gods!" said he, as he scraped away at the backbone, "what a dinner!what wine!--and how gayly served up too!" There were silver forks andspoons, and the remnants of the fowl were upon a silver dish. "Why, themoney for this dish and these spoons, " cried Simon, "would keep me andMrs. G. For a month! I WISH"--and here Simon whistled, and turned roundto see that nobody was peeping--"I wish the plate were mine. "

Oh, the horrid progress of the Devil! "Here they are, " thought Simonto himself; "why should not I TAKE THEM?" And take them he did. "Detection, " said he, "is not so bad as starvation; and I would as soonlive at the galleys as live with Madame Gambouge. "

So Gambouge shovelled dish and spoons into the flap of his surtout, andran down stairs as if the Devil were behind him--as, indeed, he was. 

He immediately made for the house of his old friend the pawnbroker--thatestablishment which is called in France the Mont de Piété. "I am obligedto come to you again, my old friend, " said Simon, "with some familyplate, of which I beseech you to take care. "

The pawnbroker smiled as he examined the goods. "I can give you nothingupon them, " said he. 

"What!" cried Simon; "not even the worth of the silver?"

"No; I could buy them at that price at the 'Café Morisot, ' Rue de laVerrerie, where, I suppose, you got them a little cheaper. " And, sosaying, he showed to the guilt-stricken Gambouge how the name of thatcoffee-house was inscribed upon every one of the articles which he hadwished to pawn. 

The effects of conscience are dreadful indeed. Oh! how fearful isretribution, how deep is despair, how bitter is remorse for crime--WHENCRIME IS FOUND OUT!--otherwise, conscience takes matters much moreeasily. Gambouge cursed his fate, and swore henceforth to be virtuous. 

"But, hark ye, my friend, " continued the honest broker, "there is noreason why, because I cannot lend upon these things, I should not buythem: they will do to melt, if for no other purpose. Will you have halfthe money?--speak, or I peach. "

Simon's resolves about virtue were dissipated instantaneously. "Give mehalf, " he said, "and let me go. --What scoundrels are these pawnbrokers!"ejaculated he, as he passed out of the accursed shop, "seeking everywicked pretext to rob the poor man of his hard-won gain. "

When he had marched forwards for a street or two, Gambouge counted themoney which he had received, and found that he was in possession ofno less than a hundred francs. It was night, as he reckoned out hisequivocal gains, and he counted them at the light of a lamp. He lookedup at the lamp, in doubt as to the course he should next pursue: uponit was inscribed the simple number, 152. "A gambling-house, " thoughtGambouge. "I wish I had half the money that is now on the table, upstairs. "

He mounted, as many a rogue has done before him, and found half ahundred persons busy at a table of rouge et noir. Gambouge's fivenapoleons looked insignificant by the side of the heaps which werearound him; but the effects of the wine, of the theft, and of thedetection by the pawnbroker, were upon him, and he threw down hiscapital stoutly upon the 0 0. 

It is a dangerous spot that 0 0, or double zero; but to Simon itwas more lucky than to the rest of the world. The ball went spinninground--in "its predestined circle rolled, " as Shelley has it, afterGoethe--and plumped down at last in the double zero. One hundred andthirty-five gold napoleons (louis they were then) were counted out tothe delighted painter. "Oh, Diabolus!" cried he, "now it is that Ibegin to believe in thee! Don't talk about merit, " he cried; "talk aboutfortune. Tell me not about heroes for the future--tell me of ZEROES. "And down went twenty napoleons more upon the 0. 

The Devil was certainly in the ball: round it twirled, and droppedinto zero as naturally as a duck pops its head into a pond. Our friendreceived five hundred pounds for his stake; and the croupiers andlookers-on began to stare at him. 

There were twelve thousand pounds on the table. Suffice it to say, thatSimon won half, and retired from the Palais Royal with a thick bundleof bank-notes crammed into his dirty three-cornered hat. He had been buthalf an hour in the place, and he had won the revenues of a prince forhalf a year!

Gambouge, as soon as he felt that he was a capitalist, and that he had astake in the country, discovered that he was an altered man. He repentedof his foul deed, and his base purloining of the restaurateur's plate. "O honesty!" he cried, "how unworthy is an action like this of a man whohas a property like mine!" So he went back to the pawnbroker with thegloomiest face imaginable. "My friend, " said he, "I have sinned againstall that I hold most sacred: I have forgotten my family and my religion. Here is thy money. In the name of heaven, restore me the plate which Ihave wrongfully sold thee!"

But the pawnbroker grinned, and said, "Nay, Mr. Gambouge, I will sellthat plate for a thousand francs to you, or I never will sell it atall. "

"Well, " cried Gambouge, "thou art an inexorable ruffian, Troisboules;but I will give thee all I am worth. " And here he produced a billet offive hundred francs. "Look, " said he, "this money is all I own; it isthe payment of two years' lodging. To raise it, I have toiled for manymonths; and, failing, I have been a criminal. O heaven! I STOLE thatplate that I might pay my debt, and keep my dear wife from wanderinghouseless. But I cannot bear this load of ignominy--I cannot suffer thethought of this crime. I will go to the person to whom I did wrong, Iwill starve, I will confess; but I will, I WILL do right!"

The broker was alarmed. "Give me thy note, " he cried; "here is theplate. "

"Give me an acquittal first, " cried Simon, almost broken-hearted; "signme a paper, and the money is yours. " So Troisboules wrote according toGambouge's dictation; "Received, for thirteen ounces of plate, twentypounds. "

"Monster of iniquity!" cried the painter, "fiend of wickedness! thou artcaught in thine own snares. Hast thou not sold me five pounds' worth ofplate for twenty? Have I it not in my pocket? Art thou not a convicteddealer in stolen goods? Yield, scoundrel, yield thy money, or I willbring thee to justice!"

The frightened pawnbroker bullied and battled for a while; but he gaveup his money at last, and the dispute ended. Thus it will be seen thatDiabolus had rather a hard bargain in the wily Gambouge. He had takena victim prisoner, but he had assuredly caught a Tartar. Simon nowreturned home, and, to do him justice, paid the bill for his dinner, andrestored the plate. 

And now I may add (and the reader should ponder upon this, as a profoundpicture of human life), that Gambouge, since he had grown rich, grewlikewise abundantly moral. He was a most exemplary father. He fed thepoor, and was loved by them. He scorned a base action. And I have nodoubt that Mr. Thurtell, or the late lamented Mr. Greenacre, in similarcircumstances, would have acted like the worthy Simon Gambouge. 

There was but one blot upon his character--he hated Mrs. Gam. Worse thanever. As he grew more benevolent, she grew more virulent: when he wentto plays, she went to Bible societies, and vice versâ: in fact, she ledhim such a life as Xantippe led Socrates, or as a dog leads a cat inthe same kitchen. With all his fortune--for, as may be supposed, Simonprospered in all worldly things--he was the most miserable dog in thewhole city of Paris. Only in the point of drinking did he and Mrs. Simonagree; and for many years, and during a considerable number of hoursin each day, he thus dissipated, partially, his domestic chagrin. O philosophy! we may talk of thee: but, except at the bottom of thewinecup, where thou liest like truth in a well, where shall we findthee?

He lived so long, and in his worldly matters prospered so much, therewas so little sign of devilment in the accomplishment of his wishes, and the increase of his prosperity, that Simon, at the end of six years, began to doubt whether he had made any such bargain at all, as thatwhich we have described at the commencement of this history. He hadgrown, as we said, very pious and moral. He went regularly to mass, andhad a confessor into the bargain. He resolved, therefore, to consultthat reverend gentleman, and to lay before him the whole matter. 

"I am inclined to think, holy sir, " said Gambouge, after he hadconcluded his history, and shown how, in some miraculous way, all hisdesires were accomplished, "that, after all, this demon was no otherthan the creation of my own brain, heated by the effects of that bottleof wine, the cause of my crime and my prosperity. "

The confessor agreed with him, and they walked out of church comfortablytogether, and entered afterwards a café, where they sat down to refreshthemselves after the fatigues of their devotion. 

A respectable old gentleman, with a number of orders at his buttonhole, presently entered the room, and sauntered up to the marble table, beforewhich reposed Simon and his clerical friend. "Excuse me, gentlemen, " hesaid, as he took a place opposite them, and began reading the papers ofthe day. 

"Bah!" said he, at last, --"sont-ils grands ces journaux Anglais?Look, sir, " he said, handing over an immense sheet of The Times to Mr. Gambouge, "was ever anything so monstrous?"

Gambouge smiled politely, and examined the proffered page. "It isenormous" he said; "but I do not read English. "

"Nay, " said the man with the orders, "look closer at it, SignorGambouge; it is astonishing how easy the language is. "

Wondering, Simon took a sheet of paper. He turned pale as he looked atit, and began to curse the ices and the waiter. "Come, M. L'Abbé, " hesaid; "the heat and glare of this place are intolerable. "

The stranger rose with them. "Au plaisir de vous revoir, mon chermonsieur, " said he; "I do not mind speaking before the Abbé here, who will be my very good friend one of these days: but I thoughtit necessary to refresh your memory, concerning our little businesstransaction six years since; and could not exactly talk of it AT CHURCH, as you may fancy. "

Simon Gambouge had seen, in the double-sheeted Times, the paper signedby himself, which the little Devil had pulled out of his fob. 

There was no doubt on the subject; and Simon, who had but a year tolive, grew more pious, and more careful than ever. He had consultationswith all the doctors of the Sorbonne and all the lawyers of the Palais. But his magnificence grew as wearisome to him as his poverty had beenbefore; and not one of the doctors whom he consulted could give him apennyworth of consolation. 

Then he grew outrageous in his demands upon the Devil, and put him toall sorts of absurd and ridiculous tasks; but they were all punctuallyperformed, until Simon could invent no new ones, and the Devil sat allday with his hands in his pockets doing nothing. 

One day, Simon's confessor came bounding into the room, with thegreatest glee. "My friend, " said he, "I have it! Eureka!--I have foundit. Send the Pope a hundred thousand crowns, build a new Jesuit collegeat Rome, give a hundred gold candlesticks to St. Peter's; and tell hisHoliness you will double all, if he will give you absolution!"

Gambouge caught at the notion, and hurried off a courier to Rome ventreà terre. His Holiness agreed to the request of the petition, and senthim an absolution, written out with his own fist, and all in due form. 

"Now, " said he, "foul fiend, I defy you! arise, Diabolus! your contractis not worth a jot: the Pope has absolved me, and I am safe on theroad to salvation. " In a fervor of gratitude he clasped the hand of hisconfessor, and embraced him: tears of joy ran down the cheeks of thesegood men. 

They heard an inordinate roar of laughter, and there was Diabolussitting opposite to them, holding his sides, and lashing his tail about, as if he would have gone mad with glee. 

"Why, " said he, "what nonsense is this! do you suppose I care aboutTHAT?" and he tossed the Pope's missive into a corner. "M. L'Abbéknows, " he said, bowing and grinning, "that though the Pope's paper maypass current HERE, it is not worth twopence in our country. What do Icare about the Pope's absolution? You might just as well be absolved byyour under butler. "

"Egad, " said the Abbé, "the rogue is right--I quite forgot the fact, which he points out clearly enough. "

"No, no, Gambouge, " continued Diabolus, with horrid familiarity, "go thyways, old fellow, that COCK WON'T FIGHT. " And he retired up the chimney, chuckling at his wit and his triumph. Gambouge heard his tail scuttlingall the way up, as if he had been a sweeper by profession. 

Simon was left in that condition of grief in which, according to thenewspapers, cities and nations are found when a murder is committed, ora lord ill of the gout--a situation, we say, more easy to imagine thanto describe. 

To add to his woes, Mrs. Gambouge, who was now first made acquaintedwith his compact, and its probable consequences, raised such a stormabout his ears, as made him wish almost that his seven years wereexpired. She screamed, she scolded, she swore, she wept, she went intosuch fits of hysterics, that poor Gambouge, who had completely knockedunder to her, was worn out of his life. He was allowed no rest, nightor day: he moped about his fine house, solitary and wretched, and cursedhis stars that he ever had married the butcher's daughter. 

It wanted six months of the time. 

A sudden and desperate resolution seemed all at once to have takenpossession of Simon Gambouge. He called his family and his friendstogether--he gave one of the greatest feasts that ever was known in thecity of Paris--he gayly presided at one end of his table, while Mrs. Gam. , splendidly arrayed, gave herself airs at the other extremity. 

After dinner, using the customary formula, he called upon Diabolus toappear. The old ladies screamed, and hoped he would not appear naked;the young ones tittered, and longed to see the monster: everybody waspale with expectation and affright. 

A very quiet, gentlemanly man, neatly dressed in black, made hisappearance, to the surprise of all present, and bowed all round tothe company. "I will not show my CREDENTIALS, " he said, blushing, andpointing to his hoofs, which were cleverly hidden by his pumps andshoe-buckles, "unless the ladies absolutely wish it; but I am the personyou want, Mr. Gambouge; pray tell me what is your will. "

"You know, " said that gentleman, in a stately and determined voice, "that you are bound to me, according to our agreement, for six months tocome. "

"I am, " replied the new comer. 

"You are to do all that I ask, whatsoever it may be, or you forfeit thebond which I gave you?"

"It is true. "

"You declare this before the present company?"

"Upon my honor, as a gentleman, " said Diabolus, bowing, and laying hishand upon his waistcoat. 

A whisper of applause ran round the room: all were charmed with thebland manners of the fascinating stranger. 

"My love, " continued Gambouge, mildly addressing his lady, "will yoube so polite as to step this way? You know I must go soon, and I amanxious, before this noble company, to make a provision for one who, insickness as in health, in poverty as in riches, has been my truest andfondest companion. "

Gambouge mopped his eyes with his handkerchief--all the company didlikewise. Diabolus sobbed audibly, and Mrs. Gambouge sidled up to herhusband's side, and took him tenderly by the hand. "Simon!" said she, "is it true? and do you really love your Griskinissa?"

Simon continued solemnly: "Come hither, Diabolus; you are bound to obeyme in all things for the six months during which our contract has torun; take, then, Griskinissa Gambouge, live alone with her for half ayear, never leave her from morning till night, obey all her caprices, follow all her whims, and listen to all the abuse which falls fromher infernal tongue. Do this, and I ask no more of you; I will delivermyself up at the appointed time. "

Not Lord G---, when flogged by lord B---, in the House, --not Mr. Cartlitch, of Astley's Amphitheatre, in his most pathetic passages, could look more crestfallen, and howl more hideously, than Diabolus didnow. "Take another year, Gambouge, " screamed he; "two more--ten more--acentury; roast me on Lawrence's gridiron, boil me in holy water, butdon't ask that: don't, don't bid me live with Mrs. Gambouge!"

Simon smiled sternly. "I have said it, " he cried; "do this, or ourcontract is at an end. "

The Devil, at this, grinned so horribly that every drop of beer in thehouse turned sour: he gnashed his teeth so frightfully that every personin the company wellnigh fainted with the cholic. He slapped down thegreat parchment upon the floor, trampled upon it madly, and lashed itwith his hoofs and his tail: at last, spreading out a mighty pair ofwings as wide as from here to Regent Street, he slapped Gambouge withhis tail over one eye, and vanished, abruptly, through the keyhole. 

Gambouge screamed with pain and started up. "You drunken, lazyscoundrel!" cried a shrill and well-known voice, "you have been asleepthese two hours:" and here he received another terrific box on the ear. 

It was too true, he had fallen asleep at his work; and the beautifulvision had been dispelled by the thumps of the tipsy Griskinissa. Nothing remained to corroborate his story, except the bladder of lake, and this was spirted all over his waistcoat and breeches. 

"I wish, " said the poor fellow, rubbing his tingling cheeks, "thatdreams were true;" and he went to work again at his portrait. 

My last accounts of Gambouge are, that he has left the arts, and isfootman in a small family. Mrs. Gam. Takes in washing; and it is saidthat, her continual dealings with soap-suds and hot water have been theonly things in life which have kept her from spontaneous combustion. 

CARTOUCHE. 

I have been much interested with an account of the exploits of MonsieurLouis Dominic Cartouche, and as Newgate and the highways are so muchthe fashion with us in England, we may be allowed to look abroad forhistories of a similar tendency. It is pleasant to find that virtue iscosmopolite, and may exist among wooden-shoed Papists as well as honestChurch-of-England men. 

Louis Dominic was born in a quarter of Paris called the Courtille, saysthe historian whose work lies before me;--born in the Courtille, andin the year 1693. Another biographer asserts that he was born two yearslater, and in the Marais;--of respectable parents, of course. Think ofthe talent that our two countries produced about this time: Marlborough, Villars, Mandrin, Turpin, Boileau, Dryden, Swift, Addison, Molière, Racine, Jack Sheppard, and Louis Cartouche, --all famous within the sametwenty years, and fighting, writing, robbing à l'envi!

Well, Marlborough was no chicken when he began to show his genius; Swiftwas but a dull, idle, college lad; but if we read the histories ofsome other great men mentioned in the above list--I mean the thieves, especially--we shall find that they all commenced very early: theyshowed a passion for their art, as little Raphael did, or littleMozart; and the history of Cartouche's knaveries begins almost with hisbreeches. 

Dominic's parents sent him to school at the college of Clermont (nowLouis le Grand); and although it has never been discovered that theJesuits, who directed that seminary, advanced him much in classicalor theological knowledge, Cartouche, in revenge, showed, by repeatedinstances, his own natural bent and genius, which no difficulties werestrong enough to overcome. His first great action on record, althoughnot successful in the end, and tinctured with the innocence of youth, isyet highly creditable to him. He made a general swoop of a hundred andtwenty nightcaps belonging to his companions, and disposed of them tohis satisfaction; but as it was discovered that of all the youths inthe college of Clermont, he only was the possessor of a cap to sleep in, suspicion (which, alas! was confirmed) immediately fell upon him: and bythis little piece of youthful naïveté, a scheme, prettily conceived andsmartly performed, was rendered naught. 

Cartouche had a wonderful love for good eating, and put all theapple-women and cooks, who came to supply the students, undercontribution. Not always, however, desirous of robbing these, he used todeal with them, occasionally, on honest principles of barter; that is, whenever he could get hold of his schoolfellows' knives, books, rulers, or playthings, which he used fairly to exchange for tarts andgingerbread. 

It seemed as if the presiding genius of evil was determined to patronizethis young man; for before he had been long at college, and soon afterhe had, with the greatest difficulty, escaped from the nightcap scrape, an opportunity occurred by which he was enabled to gratify both hispropensities at once, and not only to steal, but to steal sweetmeats. It happened that the principal of the college received some pots ofNarbonne honey, which came under the eyes of Cartouche, and in whichthat young gentleman, as soon as ever he saw them, determined to puthis fingers. The president of the college put aside his honey-pots inan apartment within his own; to which, except by the one door which ledinto the room which his reverence usually occupied, there was no outlet. There was no chimney in the room; and the windows looked into the court, where there was a porter at night, and where crowds passed by day. Whatwas Cartouche to do?--have the honey he must. 

Over this chamber, which contained what his soul longed after, and overthe president's rooms, there ran a set of unoccupied garrets, into whichthe dexterous Cartouche penetrated. These were divided from the roomsbelow, according to the fashion of those days, by a set of large beams, which reached across the whole building, and across which rude plankswere laid, which formed the ceiling of the lower story and the floor ofthe upper. Some of these planks did young Cartouche remove; and havingdescended by means of a rope, tied a couple of others to the neck of thehoney-pots, climbed back again, and drew up his prey in safety. He thencunningly fixed the planks again in their old places, and retired togorge himself upon his booty. And, now, see the punishment of avarice!Everybody knows that the brethren of the order of Jesus are bound bya vow to have no more than a certain small sum of money in theirpossession. The principal of the college of Clermont had amassed alarger sum, in defiance of this rule: and where do you think the oldgentleman had hidden it? In the honey-pots! As Cartouche dug his spooninto one of them, he brought out, besides a quantity of golden honey, acouple of golden louis, which, with ninety-eight more of their fellows, were comfortably hidden in the pots. Little Dominic, who, before, hadcut rather a poor figure among his fellow-students, now appeared inas fine clothes as any of them could boast of; and when asked by hisparents, on going home, how he came by them, said that a young noblemanof his schoolfellows had taken a violent fancy to him, and made him apresent of a couple of his suits. Cartouche the elder, good man, wentto thank the young nobleman; but none such could be found, and youngCartouche disdained to give any explanation of his manner of gaining themoney. 

Here, again, we have to regret and remark the inadvertence of youth. Cartouche lost a hundred louis--for what? For a pot of honey not worth acouple of shillings. Had he fished out the pieces, and replaced the potsand the honey, he might have been safe, and a respectable citizen allhis life after. The principal would not have dared to confess the lossof his money, and did not, openly; but he vowed vengeance against thestealer of his sweetmeat, and a rigid search was made. Cartouche, asusual, was fixed upon; and in the tick of his bed, lo! there were founda couple of empty honey-pots! From this scrape there is no knowinghow he would have escaped, had not the president himself been a littleanxious to hush the matter up; and accordingly, young Cartouche was madeto disgorge the residue of his ill-gotten gold pieces, oldCartouche made up the deficiency, and his son was allowed to remainunpunished--until the next time. 

This, you may fancy, was not very long in coming; and though historyhas not made us acquainted with the exact crime which Louis Dominic nextcommitted, it must have been a serious one; for Cartouche, who hadborne philosophically all the whippings and punishments which wereadministered to him at college, did not dare to face that one whichhis indignant father had in pickle for him. As he was coming home fromschool, on the first day after his crime, when he received permission togo abroad, one of his brothers, who was on the look-out for him, methim at a short distance from home, and told him what was in preparation;which so frightened this young thief, that he declined returning homealtogether, and set out upon the wide world to shift for himself as hecould. 

Undoubted as his genius was, he had not arrived at the full exercise ofit, and his gains were by no means equal to his appetite. In whateverprofessions he tried, --whether he joined the gipsies, which hedid, --whether he picked pockets on the Pont Neuf, which occupationhistory attributes to him, --poor Cartouche was always hungry. Hungryand ragged, he wandered from one place and profession to another, andregretted the honey-pots at Clermont, and the comfortable soup andbouilli at home. 

Cartouche had an uncle, a kind man, who was a merchant, and had dealingsat Rouen. One day, walking on the quays of that city, this gentleman sawa very miserable, dirty, starving lad, who had just made a pounce uponsome bones and turnip-peelings, that had been flung out on the quay, andwas eating them as greedily as if they had been turkeys and truffles. The worthy man examined the lad a little closer. O heavens! it was theirrunaway prodigal--it was little Louis Dominic! The merchant was touchedby his case; and forgetting the nightcaps, the honey-pots, and the ragsand dirt of little Louis, took him to his arms, and kissed and huggedhim with the tenderest affection. Louis kissed and hugged too, andblubbered a great deal: he was very repentant, as a man often is when heis hungry; and he went home with his uncle, and his peace was made; andhis mother got him new clothes, and filled his belly, and for a whileLouis was as good a son as might be. 

But why attempt to balk the progress of genius? Louis's was not to bekept down. He was sixteen years of age by this time--a smart, livelyyoung fellow, and, what is more, desperately enamored of a lovelywasherwoman. To be successful in your love, as Louis knew, you must havesomething more than mere flames and sentiment;--a washer, or any otherwoman, cannot live upon sighs only; but must have new gowns and caps, and a necklace every now and then, and a few handkerchiefs and silkstockings, and a treat into the country or to the play. Now, how are allthese things to be had without money? Cartouche saw at once that it wasimpossible; and as his father would give him none, he was obliged tolook for it elsewhere. He took to his old courses, and lifted apurse here, and a watch there; and found, moreover, an accommodatinggentleman, who took the wares off his hands. 

This gentleman introduced him into a very select and agreeable society, in which Cartouche's merit began speedily to be recognized, and in whichhe learnt how pleasant it is in life to have friends to assist one, andhow much may be done by a proper division of labor. M. Cartouche, infact, formed part of a regular company or gang of gentlemen, who wereassociated together for the purpose of making war on the public and thelaw. 

Cartouche had a lovely young sister, who was to be married to a richyoung gentleman from the provinces. As is the fashion in France, theparents had arranged the match among themselves; and the young peoplehad never met until just before the time appointed for the marriage, when the bridegroom came up to Paris with his title-deeds, andsettlements, and money. Now there can hardly be found in history afiner instance of devotion than Cartouche now exhibited. He went to hiscaptain, explained the matter to him, and actually, for the good ofhis country, as it were (the thieves might be called his country), sacrificed his sister's husband's property. Informations were taken, thehouse of the bridegroom was reconnoitred, and, one night, Cartouche, incompany with some chosen friends, made his first visit to the house ofhis brother-in-law. All the people were gone to bed; and, doubtless, forfear of disturbing the porter, Cartouche and his companions spared himthe trouble of opening the door, by ascending quietly at the window. They arrived at the room where the bridegroom kept his great chest, andset industriously to work, filing and picking the locks which defendedthe treasure. 

The bridegroom slept in the next room; but however tenderly Cartoucheand his workmen handled their tools, from fear of disturbing hisslumbers, their benevolent design was disappointed, for awaken him theydid; and quietly slipping out of bed, he came to a place where he had acomplete view of all that was going on. He did not cry out, or frightenhimself sillily; but, on the contrary, contented himself with watchingthe countenances of the robbers, so that he might recognize them onanother occasion; and, though an avaricious man, he did not feel theslightest anxiety about his money-chest; for the fact is, he had removedall the cash and papers the day before. 

As soon, however, as they had broken all the locks, and found thenothing which lay at the bottom of the chest, he shouted with such aloud voice, "Here, Thomas!--John!--officer!--keep the gate, fire at therascals!" that they, incontinently taking fright, skipped nimbly out ofwindow, and left the house free. 

Cartouche, after this, did not care to meet his brother-in-law, buteschewed all those occasions on which the latter was to be present athis father's house. The evening before the marriage came; and then hisfather insisted upon his appearance among the other relatives of thebride's and bridegroom's families, who were all to assemble and makemerry. Cartouche was obliged to yield; and brought with him one or twoof his companions, who had been, by the way, present in the affair ofthe empty money-boxes; and though he never fancied that there was anydanger in meeting his brother-in-law, for he had no idea that he hadbeen seen on the night of the attack, with a natural modesty, which didhim really credit, he kept out of the young bridegroom's sight as muchas he could, and showed no desire to be presented to him. At supper, however, as he was sneaking modestly down to a side-table, his fathershouted after him, "Ho, Dominic, come hither, and sit opposite toyour brother-in-law:" which Dominic did, his friends following. Thebridegroom pledged him very gracefully in a bumper; and was in the actof making him a pretty speech, on the honor of an alliance with sucha family, and on the pleasures of brother-in-lawship in general, when, looking in his face--ye gods! he saw the very man who had been filing athis money-chest a few nights ago! By his side, too, sat a couple more ofthe gang. The poor fellow turned deadly pale and sick, and, settinghis glass down, ran quickly out of the room, for he thought he was incompany of a whole gang of robbers. And when he got home, he wrote aletter to the elder Cartouche, humbly declining any connection with hisfamily. 

Cartouche the elder, of course, angrily asked the reason of such anabrupt dissolution of the engagement; and then, much to his horror, heard of his eldest son's doings. "You would not have me marry intosuch a family?" said the ex-bridegroom. And old Cartouche, an honest oldcitizen, confessed, with a heavy heart, that he would not. What was heto do with the lad? He did not like to ask for a lettre de cachet, and shut him up in the Bastile. He determined to give him a year'sdiscipline at the monastery of St. Lazare. 

But how to catch the young gentleman? Old Cartouche knew that, werehe to tell his son of the scheme, the latter would never obey, and, therefore, he determined to be very cunning. He told Dominic that hewas about to make a heavy bargain with the fathers, and should requirea witness; so they stepped into a carriage together, and droveunsuspectingly to the Rue St. Denis. But, when they arrived near theconvent, Cartouche saw several ominous figures gathering round thecoach, and felt that his doom was sealed. However, he made as if he knewnothing of the conspiracy; and the carriage drew up, and his father, descended, and, bidding him wait for a minute in the coach, promised toreturn to him. Cartouche looked out; on the other side of the way half adozen men were posted, evidently with the intention of arresting him. 

Cartouche now performed a great and celebrated stroke of genius, which, if he had not been professionally employed in the morning, he nevercould have executed. He had in his pocket a piece of linen, which he hadlaid hold of at the door of some shop, and from which he quickly torethree suitable stripes. One he tied round his head, after the fashion ofa nightcap; a second round his waist, like an apron; and with the thirdhe covered his hat, a round one, with a large brim. His coat and hisperiwig lie left behind him in the carriage; and when he stepped outfrom it (which he did without asking the coachman to let down thesteps), he bore exactly the appearance of a cook's boy carrying a dish;and with this he slipped through the exempts quite unsuspected, and badeadieu to the Lazarists and his honest father, who came out speedily toseek him, and was not a little annoyed to find only his coat and wig. 

With that coat and wig, Cartouche left home, father, friends, conscience, remorse, society, behind him. He discovered (like a greatnumber of other philosophers and poets, when they have committedrascally actions) that the world was all going wrong, and he quarrelledwith it outright. One of the first stories told of the illustriousCartouche, when he became professionally and openly a robber, redoundshighly to his credit, and shows that he knew how to take advantage ofthe occasion, and how much he had improved in the course of a very fewyears' experience. His courage and ingenuity were vastly admired by hisfriends; so much so, that, one day, the captain of the band thought fitto compliment him, and vowed that when he (the captain) died, Cartoucheshould infallibly be called to the command-in-chief. This conversation, so flattering to Cartouche, was carried on between the two gentlemen, as they were walking, one night, on the quays by the side of the Seine. Cartouche, when the captain made the last remark, blushingly protestedagainst it, and pleaded his extreme youth as a reason why his comradescould never put entire trust in him. "Psha, man!" said the captain, "thyyouth is in thy favor; thou wilt live only the longer to lead thy troopsto victory. As for strength, bravery, and cunning, wert thou as old asMethuselah, thou couldst not be better provided than thou art now, ateighteen. " What was the reply of Monsieur Cartouche? He answered, not bywords, but by actions. Drawing his knife from his girdle, he instantlydug it into the captain's left side, as near his heart as possible; andthen, seizing that imprudent commander, precipitated him violentlyinto the waters of the Seine, to keep company with the gudgeons andriver-gods. When he returned to the band, and recounted how the captainhad basely attempted to assassinate him, and how he, on the contrary, had, by exertion of superior skill, overcome the captain, not one ofthe society believed a word of his history; but they elected him captainforthwith. I think his Excellency Don Rafael Maroto, the pacificator ofSpain, is an amiable character, for whom history has not been written invain. 

Being arrived at this exalted position, there is no end of the featswhich Cartouche performed; and his band reached to such a pitch ofglory, that if there had been a hundred thousand, instead of a hundredof them, who knows but that a new and popular dynasty might not havebeen founded, and "Louis Dominic, premier Empereur des Français, " mighthave performed innumerable glorious actions, and fixed himself in thehearts of his people, just as other monarchs have done, a hundred yearsafter Cartouche's death. 

A story similar to the above, and equally moral, is that of Cartouche, who, in company with two other gentlemen, robbed the coche, or packet-boat, from Melun, where they took a good quantity ofbooty, --making the passengers lie down on the decks, and rifling themat leisure. "This money will be but very little among three, " whisperedCartouche to his neighbor, as the three conquerors were making merryover their gains; "if you were but to pull the trigger of your pistolin the neighborhood of your comrade's ear, perhaps it might go off, and then there would be but two of us to share. " Strangely enough, asCartouche said, the pistol DID go off, and No. 3 perished. "Give himanother ball, " said Cartouche; and another was fired into him. Butno sooner had Cartouche's comrade discharged both his pistols, thanCartouche himself, seized with a furious indignation, drew his: "Learn, monster, " cried he, "not to be so greedy of gold, and perish, the victimof thy disloyalty and avarice!" So Cartouche slew the second robber; andthere is no man in Europe who can say that the latter did not merit wellhis punishment. 

I could fill volumes, and not mere sheets of paper, with tales of thetriumphs of Cartouche and his band; how he robbed the Countess of O----, going to Dijon, in her coach, and how the Countess fell in love withhim, and was faithful to him ever after; how, when the lieutenant ofpolice offered a reward of a hundred pistoles to any man who would bringCartouche before him, a noble Marquess, in a coach and six, drove upto the hotel of the police; and the noble Marquess, desiring to seeMonsieur de la Reynie, on matters of the highest moment, alone, thelatter introduced him into his private cabinet; and how, when there, theMarquess drew from his pocket a long, curiously shaped dagger: "Look atthis, Monsieur de la Reynie, " said he; "this dagger is poisoned!"

"Is it possible?" said M. De la Reynie. 

"A prick of it would do for any man, " said the Marquess. 

"You don't say so!" said M. De la Reynie. 

"I do, though; and, what is more, " says the Marquess, in a terriblevoice, "if you do not instantly lay yourself flat on the ground, withyour face towards it, and your hands crossed over your back, or ifyou make the slightest noise or cry, I will stick this poisoned daggerbetween your ribs, as sure as my name is Cartouche?"

At the sound of this dreadful name, M. De la Reynie sunk incontinentlydown on his stomach, and submitted to be carefully gagged and corded;after which Monsieur Cartouche laid his hands upon all the money whichwas kept in the lieutenant's cabinet. Alas! and alas! many a stoutbailiff, and many an honest fellow of a spy, went, for that day, withouthis pay and his victuals. 

There is a story that Cartouche once took the diligence to Lille, andfound in it a certain Abbé Potter, who was full of indignation againstthis monster of a Cartouche, and said that when he went back to Paris, which he proposed to do in about a fortnight, he should give thelieutenant of police some information, which would infallibly leadto the scoundrel's capture. But poor Potter was disappointed in hisdesigns; for, before he could fulfil them, he was made the victim ofCartouche's cruelty. 

A letter came to the lieutenant of police, to state that Cartouche hadtravelled to Lille, in company with the Abbé de Potter, of that town;that, on the reverend gentleman's return towards Paris, Cartouche hadwaylaid him, murdered him, taken his papers, and would come to Parishimself, bearing the name and clothes of the unfortunate Abbé, by theLille coach, on such a day. The Lille coach arrived, was surroundedby police agents; the monster Cartouche was there, sure enough, in theAbbé's guise. He was seized, bound, flung into prison, brought out to beexamined, and, on examination, found to be no other than the Abbé Potterhimself! It is pleasant to read thus of the relaxations of great men, and find them condescending to joke like the meanest of us. 

Another diligence adventure is recounted of the famous Cartouche. Ithappened that he met, in the coach, a young and lovely lady, clad inwidow's weeds, and bound to Paris, with a couple of servants. The poorthing was the widow of a rich old gentleman of Marseilles, and was goingto the capital to arrange with her lawyers, and to settle her husband'swill. The Count de Grinche (for so her fellow-passenger was called) wasquite as candid as the pretty widow had been, and stated that he was acaptain in the regiment of Nivernois; that he was going to Paris to buya colonelcy, which his relatives, the Duke de Bouillon, the Prince deMontmorency, the Commandeur de la Trémoille, with all their interest atcourt, could not fail to procure for him. To be short, in the course ofthe four days' journey, the Count Louis Dominic de Grinche played hiscards so well, that the poor little widow half forgot her late husband;and her eyes glistened with tears as the Count kissed her hand atparting--at parting, he hoped, only for a few hours. 

Day and night the insinuating Count followed her; and when, at theend of a fortnight, and in the midst of a tête-à-tête, he plunged, onemorning, suddenly on his knees, and said, "Leonora, do you love me?" thepoor thing heaved the gentlest, tenderest, sweetest sigh in the world;and sinking her blushing head on his shoulder, whispered, "Oh, Dominic, je t'aime! Ah!" said she, "how noble is it of my Dominic to take mewith the little I have, and he so rich a nobleman!" The fact is, the oldBaron's titles and estates had passed away to his nephews; his dowagerwas only left with three hundred thousand livres, in rentes surl'état--a handsome sum, but nothing to compare to the rent-roll of CountDominic, Count de la Grinche, Seigneur de la Haute Pigre, Baron de laBigorne; he had estates and wealth which might authorize him to aspireto the hand of a duchess, at least. 

The unfortunate widow never for a moment suspected the cruel trick thatwas about to be played on her; and, at the request of her affiancedhusband, sold out her money, and realized it in gold, to be made over tohim on the day when the contract was to be signed. The day arrived;and, according to the custom in France, the relations of both partiesattended. The widow's relatives, though respectable, were not of thefirst nobility, being chiefly persons of the finance or the robe: therewas the president of the court of Arras, and his lady; a farmer-general;a judge of a court of Paris; and other such grave and respectablepeople. As for Monsieur le Comte de la Grinche, he was not bound fornames; and, having the whole peerage to choose from, brought a host ofMontmorencies, Créquis, De la Tours, and Guises at his back. His hommed'affaires brought his papers in a sack, and displayed the plans of hisestates, and the titles of his glorious ancestry. The widow's lawyershad her money in sacks; and between the gold on the one side, and theparchments on the other, lay the contract which was to make the widow'sthree hundred thousand francs the property of the Count de Grinche. TheCount de la Grinche was just about to sign; when the Marshal de Villars, stepping up to him, said, "Captain, do you know who the president of thecourt of Arras, yonder, is? It is old Manasseh, the fence, of Brussels. I pawned a gold watch to him, which I stole from Cadogan, when I waswith Malbrook's army in Flanders. "

Here the Duc de la Roche Guyon came forward, very much alarmed. "Run methrough the body!" said his Grace, "but the comptroller-general's lady, there, is no other than that old hag of a Margoton who keeps the ----"Here the Duc de la Roche Guyon's voice fell. 

Cartouche smiled graciously, and walked up to the table. He took up oneof the widow's fifteen thousand gold pieces;--it was as pretty a bit ofcopper as you could wish to see. "My dear, " said he politely, "there issome mistake here, and this business had better stop. "

"Count!" gasped the poor widow. 

"Count be hanged!" answered the bridegroom, sternly "my name isCARTOUCHE!"

ON SOME FRENCH FASHIONABLE NOVELS. 

WITH A PLEA FOR ROMANCES IN GENERAL. 

There is an old story of a Spanish court painter, who, being pressed formoney, and having received a piece of damask, which he was to wear in astate procession, pawned the damask, and appeared, at the show, dressedout in some very fine sheets of paper, which he had painted so asexactly to resemble silk. Nay, his coat looked so much richer than thedoublets of all the rest, that the Emperor Charles, in whose honor theprocession was given, remarked the painter, and so his deceit was foundout. 

I have often thought that, in respect of sham and real histories, asimilar fact may be noticed; the sham story appearing a great deal moreagreeable, life-like, and natural than the true one: and all who, fromlaziness as well as principle, are inclined to follow the easy andcomfortable study of novels, may console themselves with the notion thatthey are studying matters quite as important as history, and that theirfavorite duodecimos are as instructive as the biggest quartos in theworld. 

If then, ladies, the big-wigs begin to sneer at the course of ourstudies, calling our darling romances foolish, trivial, noxious to themind, enervators of intellect, fathers of idleness, and what not, letus at once take a high ground, and say, --Go you to your own employments, and to such dull studies as you fancy; go and bob for triangles, fromthe Pons Asinorum; go enjoy your dull black draughts of metaphysics;go fumble over history books, and dissert upon Herodotus and Livy;OUR histories are, perhaps, as true as yours; our drink is the brisksparkling champagne drink, from the presses of Colburn, Bentley andCo. ; our walks are over such sunshiny pleasure-grounds as Scott andShakspeare have laid out for us; and if our dwellings are castles inthe air, we find them excessively splendid and commodious;--be notyou envious because you have no wings to fly thither. Let the big-wigsdespise us; such contempt of their neighbors is the custom of allbarbarous tribes;--witness, the learned Chinese: Tippoo Sultaun declaredthat there were not in all Europe ten thousand men: the Sklavonichordes, it is said, so entitled themselves from a word in their jargon, which signifies "to speak;" the ruffians imagining that they had amonopoly of this agreeable faculty, and that all other nations weredumb. 

Not so: others may be DEAF; but the novelist has a loud, eloquent, instructive language, though his enemies may despise or deny it ever somuch. What is more, one could, perhaps, meet the stoutest historian onhis own ground, and argue with him; showing that sham histories weremuch truer than real histories; which are, in fact, mere contemptiblecatalogues of names and places, that can have no moral effect upon thereader. 

As thus:--

 Julius Caesar beat Pompey, at Pharsalia. The Duke of Marlborough beat Marshal Tallard at Blenheim. The Constable of Bourbon beat Francis the First, at Pavia. 

And what have we here?--so many names, simply. Suppose Pharsalia hadbeen, at that mysterious period when names were given, called Pavia;and that Julius Caesar's family name had been John Churchill;--the factwould have stood in history, thus:--

 "Pompey ran away from the Duke of Marlborough at Pavia. "

And why not?--we should have been just as wise. Or it might be statedthat--

 "The tenth legion charged the French infantry at Blenheim; and Caesar, writing home to his mamma, said, 'Madame, tout est perdu fors l'honneur. '"

What a contemptible science this is, then, about which quartos arewritten, and sixty-volumed Biographies Universelles, and Lardner'sCabinet Cyclopaedias, and the like! the facts are nothing in it, thenames everything and a gentleman might as well improve his mind bylearning Walker's "Gazetteer, " or getting by heart a fifty-years-oldedition of the "Court Guide. "

Having thus disposed of the historians, let us come to the point inquestion--the novelists. 

On the title-page of these volumes the reader has, doubtless, remarked, that among the pieces introduced, some are announced as "copies" and"compositions. " Many of the histories have, accordingly, been neatlystolen from the collections of French authors (and mutilated, accordingto the old saying, so that their owners should not know them) and, forcompositions, we intend to favor the public with some studies of Frenchmodern works, that have not as yet, we believe, attracted the notice ofthe English public. 

Of such works there appear many hundreds yearly, as may be seen bythe French catalogues; but the writer has not so much to do with workspolitical, philosophical, historical, metaphysical, scientifical, theological, as with those for which he has been putting forward aplea--novels, namely; on which he has expended a great deal of timeand study. And passing from novels in general to French novels, letus confess, with much humiliation, that we borrow from these stories agreat deal more knowledge of French society than from our own personalobservation we ever can hope to gain: for, let a gentleman who hasdwelt two, four, or ten years in Paris (and has not gone thither forthe purpose of making a book, when three weeks are sufficient)--let anEnglish gentleman say, at the end of any given period, how much he knowsof French society, how many French houses he has entered, and how manyFrench friends he has made?--He has enjoyed, at the end of the year, say--

 At the English Ambassador's, so many soirées. At houses to which he has brought letters, so many tea-parties. At Cafés, so many dinners. At French private houses, say three dinners, and very lucky too. 

He has, we say, seen an immense number of wax candles, cups of tea, glasses of orgeat, and French people, in best clothes, enjoying thesame; but intimacy there is none; we see but the outsides of the people. Year by year we live in France, and grow gray, and see no more. We playécarté with Monsieur de Trêfle every night; but what know we of theheart of the man--of the inward ways, thoughts, and customs of Trêfle?If we have good legs, and love the amusement, we dance with CountessFlicflac, Tuesday's and Thursdays, ever since the Peace; and how far arewe advanced in acquaintance with her since we first twirled her round aroom? We know her velvet gown, and her diamonds (about three-fourths ofthem are sham, by the way); we know her smiles, and her simpers, andher rouge--but no more: she may turn into a kitchen wench at twelve onThursday night, for aught we know; her voiture, a pumpkin; and her gens, so many rats: but the real, rougeless, intime Flicflac, we know not. This privilege is granted to no Englishman: we may understand the Frenchlanguage as well as Monsieur de Levizac, but never can penetrateinto Flicflac's confidence: our ways are not her ways; our mannersof thinking, not hers: when we say a good thing, in the course of thenight, we are wondrous lucky and pleased; Flicflac will trill you offfifty in ten minutes, and wonder at the bêtise of the Briton, who hasnever a word to say. We are married, and have fourteen children, andwould just as soon make love to the Pope of Rome as to any one but ourown wife. If you do not make love to Flicflac, from the day after hermarriage to the day she reaches sixty, she thinks you a fool. We won'tplay at écarté with Trêfle on Sunday nights; and are seen walking, aboutone o'clock (accompanied by fourteen red-haired children, with fourteengleaming prayer-books), away from the church. "Grand Dieu!" criesTrêfle, "is that man mad? He won't play at cards on a Sunday; he goes tochurch on a Sunday: he has fourteen children!"

Was ever Frenchman known to do likewise? Pass we on to our argument, which is, that with our English notions and moral and physicalconstitution, it is quite impossible that we should become intimatewith our brisk neighbors; and when such authors as Lady Morgan andMrs. Trollope, having frequented a certain number of tea-parties in theFrench capital, begin to prattle about French manners and men, --with allrespect for the talents of those ladies, we do believe their informationnot to be worth a sixpence; they speak to us not of men but oftea-parties. Tea-parties are the same all the world over; with theexception that, with the French, there are more lights and prettierdresses; and with us, a mighty deal more tea in the pot. 

There is, however, a cheap and delightful way of travelling, that aman may perform in his easy-chair, without expense of passports orpost-boys. On the wings of a novel, from the next circulating library, he sends his imagination a-gadding, and gains acquaintance with peopleand manners whom he could not hope otherwise to know. Twopence a volumebears us whithersoever we will;--back to Ivanhoe and Coeur de Lion, orto Waverley and the Young Pretender, along with Walter Scott; up theheights of fashion with the charming enchanters of the silver-forkschool; or, better still, to the snug inn-parlor, or the jovialtap-room, with Mr. Pickwick and his faithful Sancho Weller. I am surethat a man who, a hundred years hence should sit down to write thehistory of our time, would do wrong to put that great contemporaryhistory of "Pickwick" aside as a frivolous work. It contains truecharacter under false names; and, like "Roderick Random, " an inferiorwork, and "Tom Jones" (one that is immeasurably superior), gives us abetter idea of the state and ways of the people than one could gatherfrom any more pompous or authentic histories. 

We have, therefore, introduced into these volumes one or two shortreviews of French fiction writers, of particular classes, whose Parissketches may give the reader some notion of manners in that capital. Ifnot original, at least the drawings are accurate; for, as a Frenchmanmight have lived a thousand years in England, and never could havewritten "Pickwick, " an Englishman cannot hope to give a good descriptionof the inward thoughts and ways of his neighbors. 

To a person inclined to study these, in that light and amusing fashionin which the novelist treats them, let us recommend the works of a newwriter, Monsieur de Bernard, who has painted actual manners, withoutthose monstrous and terrible exaggerations in which late French writershave indulged; and who, if he occasionally wounds the English sense ofpropriety (as what French man or woman alive will not?) does so more byslighting than by outraging it, as, with their labored descriptions ofall sorts of imaginable wickedness, some of his brethren of the presshave done. M. De Bernard's characters are men and women of genteelsociety--rascals enough, but living in no state of convulsive crimes;and we follow him in his lively, malicious account of their manners, without risk of lighting upon any such horrors as Balzac or Dumas hasprovided for us. 

Let us give an instance:--it is from the amusing novel called "Les Ailesd'Icare, " and contains what is to us quite a new picture of a Frenchfashionable rogue. The fashions will change in a few years, and therogue, of course, with them. Let us catch this delightful fellow erehe flies. It is impossible to sketch the character in a more sparkling, gentlemanlike way than M. De Bernard's; but such light things are verydifficult of translation, and the sparkle sadly evaporates during theprocess of DECANTING. 

A FRENCH FASHIONABLE LETTER. 

"MY DEAR VICTOR--It is six in the morning: I have just come from theEnglish Ambassador's ball, and as my plans, for the day do not admit ofmy sleeping, I write you a line; for, at this moment, saturated as I amwith the enchantments of a fairy night, all other pleasures would be toowearisome to keep me awake, except that of conversing with you. Indeed, were I not to write to you now, when should I find the possibility ofdoing so? Time flies here with such a frightful rapidity, my pleasuresand my affairs whirl onwards together in such a torrentuous galopade, that I am compelled to seize occasion by the forelock; for each momenthas its imperious employ. Do not then accuse me of negligence: if mycorrespondence has not always that regularity which I would fain giveit, attribute the fault solely to the whirlwind in which I live, andwhich carries me hither and thither at its will. 

"However, you are not the only person with whom I am behindhand: Iassure you, on the contrary, that you are one of a very numerous andfashionable company, to whom, towards the discharge of my debts, Ipropose to consecrate four hours to-day. I give you the preference toall the world, even to the lovely Duchess of San Severino, a deliciousItalian, whom, for my special happiness, I met last summer at the Watersof Aix. I have also a most important negotiation to conclude with one ofour Princes of Finance: but n'importe, I commence with thee: friendshipbefore love or money--friendship before everything. My despatchesconcluded, I am engaged to ride with the Marquis de Grigneure, theComte de Castijars, and Lord Cobham, in order that we may recover, for abreakfast at the Rocher de Cancale that Grigneure has lost, the appetitewhich we all of us so cruelly abused last night at the Ambassador'sgala. On my honor, my dear fellow, everybody was of a capriceprestigieux and a comfortable mirobolant. Fancy, for a banquet-hall, a royal orangery hung with white damask; the boxes of the shrubstransformed into so many sideboards; lights gleaming through thefoliage; and, for guests, the loveliest women and most brilliantcavaliers of Paris. Orleans and Nemours were there, dancing and eatinglike simple mortals. In a word, Albion did the thing very handsomely, and I accord it my esteem. 

"Here I pause, to call for my valet-de-chambre, and call for tea; formy head is heavy, and I've no time for a headache. In serving me, thisrascal of a Frédéric has broken a cup, true Japan, upon my honor--therogue does nothing else. Yesterday, for instance, did he not thump meprodigiously, by letting fall a goblet, after Cellini, of which thecarving alone cost me three hundred francs? I must positively putthe wretch out of doors, to ensure the safety of my furniture; and inconsequence of this, Eneas, an audacious young negro, in whom wisdomhath not waited for years--Eneas, my groom, I say, will probably beelevated to the post of valet-de-chambre. But where was I? I think I wasspeaking to you of an oyster breakfast, to which, on our return from thePark (du Bois), a company of pleasant rakes are invited. After quittingBorel's, we propose to adjourn to the Barrière du Combat, where LordCobham proposes to try some bull-dogs, which he has brought over fromEngland--one of these, O'Connell (Lord Cobham is a Tory, ) has a face inwhich I place much confidence; I have a bet of ten louis with Castijarson the strength of it. After the fight, we shall make our accustomedappearance at the 'Cafe de Paris, ' (the only place, by the way, wherea man who respects himself may be seen, )--and then away with frocks andspurs, and on with our dress-coats for the rest of the evening. In thefirst place, I shall go doze for a couple of hours at the Opera, wheremy presence is indispensable; for Coralie, a charming creature, passesthis evening from the rank of the RATS to that of the TIGERS, in apas-de-trois, and our box patronizes her. After the Opera, I must showmy face to two or three salons in the Faubourg St. Honoré; and havingthus performed my duties to the world of fashion, I return to theexercise of my rights as a member of the Carnival. At two o'clock allthe world meets at the Théâtre Ventadour: lions and tigers--the wholeof our menagerie will be present. Evoé! off we go! roaring and boundingBacchanal and Saturnal; 'tis agreed that we shall be everything thatis low. To conclude, we sup with Castijars, the most 'furiouslydishevelled' orgy that ever was known. "

The rest of the letter is on matters of finance, equally curious andinstructive. But pause we for the present, to consider the fashionablepart: and caricature as it is, we have an accurate picture of the actualFrench dandy. Bets, breakfasts, riding, dinners at the "Café de Paris, "and delirious Carnival balls: the animal goes through all such franticpleasures at the season that precedes Lent. He has a wondrous respectfor English "gentlemen-sportsmen;" he imitates their clubs--their loveof horse-flesh: he calls his palefrenier a groom, wears blue birds's-eyeneck-cloths, sports his pink out hunting, rides steeple-chases, and hashis Jockey Club. The "tigers and lions" alluded to in the report havebeen borrowed from our own country, and a great compliment is it toMonsieur de Bernard, the writer of the above amusing sketch, that he hassuch a knowledge of English names and things, as to give a Tory lord thedecent title of Lord Cobham, and to call his dog O'Connell. Paul de Kockcalls an English nobleman, in one of his last novels, Lord Boulingrog, and appears vastly delighted at the verisimilitude of the title. 

For the "rugissements et bondissements, bacchanale et saturnale, galopinfernal, ronde du sabbat tout le tremblement, " these words give a mostclear, untranslatable idea of the Carnival ball. A sight more hideouscan hardly strike a man's eye. I was present at one where the fourthousand guests whirled screaming, reeling, roaring, out of theball-room in the Rue St. Honoré, and tore down to the column in thePlace Vendôme, round which they went shrieking their own music, twentymiles an hour, and so tore madly back again. Let a man go alone to sucha place of amusement, and the sight for him is perfectly terrible:the horrid frantic gayety of the place puts him in mind more of themerriment of demons than of men: bang, bang, drums, trumpets, chairs, pistol-shots, pour out of the orchestra, which seems as mad as thedancers; whiz, a whirlwind of paint and patches, all the costumes underthe sun, all the ranks in the empire, all the he and she scoundrels ofthe capital, writhed and twisted together, rush by you; if a man falls, woe be to him: two thousand screaming menads go trampling over hiscarcass: they have neither power nor will to stop. 

A set of Malays drunk with bhang and running amuck, a company of howlingdervishes, may possibly, in our own day, go through similar franticvagaries; but I doubt if any civilized European people but the Frenchwould permit and enjoy such scenes. Yet our neighbors see little shamein them; and it is very true that men of all classes, high and low, here congregate and give themselves up to the disgusting worship ofthe genius of the place. --From the dandy of the Boulevard and the"Café Anglais, " let us turn to the dandy of "Flicoteau's" and the PaysLatin--the Paris student, whose exploits among the grisettes are socelebrated, and whose fierce republicanism keeps gendarmes for ever onthe alert. The following is M. De Bernard's description of him:--

"I became acquainted with Dambergeac when we were students at the Ecolede Droit; we lived in the same Hotel on the Place du Panthéon. Nodoubt, madam, you have occasionally met little children dedicated to theVirgin, and, to this end, clothed in white raiment from head to foot: myfriend, Dambergeac, had received a different consecration. His father, agreat patriot of the Revolution, had determined that his son shouldbear into the world a sign of indelible republicanism; so, to the greatdispleasure of his godmother and the parish curate, Dambergeac waschristened by the pagan name of Harmodius. It was a kind of moraltricolor-cockade, which the child was to bear through the vicissitudesof all the revolutions to come. Under such influences, my friend'scharacter began to develop itself, and, fired by the example of hisfather, and by the warm atmosphere of his native place, Marseilles, he grew up to have an independent spirit, and a grand liberality ofpolitics, which were at their height when first I made his acquaintance. 

"He was then a young man of eighteen, with a tall, slim figure, a broadchest, and a flaming black eye, out of all which personal charms he knewhow to draw the most advantage; and though his costume was such as Staubmight probably have criticised, he had, nevertheless, a style peculiarto himself--to himself and the students, among whom he was the leaderof the fashion. A tight black coat, buttoned up to the chin, acrossthe chest, set off that part of his person; a low-crowned hat, witha voluminous rim, cast solemn shadows over a countenance bronzed by asouthern sun: he wore, at one time, enormous flowing black locks, whichhe sacrificed pitilessly, however, and adopted a Brutus, as being morerevolutionary: finally, he carried an enormous club, that was his codeand digest: in like manner, De Retz used to carry a stiletto in hispocket by way of a breviary. 

"Although of different ways of thinking in politics, certain sympathiesof character and conduct united Dambergeac and myself, and we speedilybecame close friends. I don't think, in the whole course of his threeyears' residence, Dambergeac ever went through a single course oflectures. For the examinations, he trusted to luck, and to his ownfacility, which was prodigious: as for honors, he never aimed at them, but was content to do exactly as little as was necessary for him togain his degree. In like manner he sedulously avoided those horriblecirculating libraries, where daily are seen to congregate the 'readingmen' of our schools. But, in revenge, there was not a milliner'sshop, or a lingère's, in all our quartier Latin, which he did notindustriously frequent, and of which he was not the oracle. Nay, it wassaid that his victories were not confined to the left bank of theSeine; reports did occasionally come to us of fabulous adventures by himaccomplished in the far regions of the Rue de la Paix and the BoulevardPoissonnière. Such recitals were, for us less favored mortals, liketales of Bacchus conquering in the East; they excited our ambition, butnot our jealousy; for the superiority of Harmodius was acknowledged byus all, and we never thought of a rivalry with him. No man ever cantereda hack through the Champs Elysées with such elegant assurance; no manever made such a massacre of dolls at the shooting-gallery; or won you arubber at billiards with more easy grace; or thundered out a couplet outof Béranger with such a roaring melodious bass. He was the monarch ofthe Prado in winter: in summer of the Chaumière and Mont Parnasse. Nota frequenter of those fashionable places of entertainment showed amore amiable laisser-aller in the dance--that peculiar dance at whichgendarmes think proper to blush, and which squeamish society hasbanished from her salons. In a word, Harmodius was the prince of mauvaissujets, a youth with all the accomplishments of Göttingen and Jena, andall the eminent graces of his own country. 

"Besides dissipation and gallantry, our friend had one other vast andabsorbing occupation--politics, namely; in which he was as turbulentand enthusiastic as in pleasure. La Patrie was his idol, his heaven, his nightmare; by day he spouted, by night he dreamed, of his country. Ihave spoken to you of his coiffure à la Sylla; need I mention his pipe, his meerschaum pipe, of which General Foy's head was the bowl; hishandkerchief with the Charte printed thereon; and his celebratedtricolor braces, which kept the rallying sign of his country ever closeto his heart? Besides these outward and visible signs of sedition, he had inward and secret plans of revolution: he belonged to clubs, frequented associations, read the Constitutionnel (Liberals, in thosedays, swore by the Constitutionnel), harangued peers and deputies whohad deserved well of their country; and if death happened to fall onsuch, and the Constitutionnel declared their merit, Harmodius was thevery first to attend their obsequies, or to set his shoulder to theircoffins. 

"Such were his tastes and passions: his antipathies were not lesslively. He detested three things: a Jesuit, a gendarme, and a claqueurat a theatre. At this period, missionaries were rife about Paris, andendeavored to re-illume the zeal of the faithful by public preachings inthe churches. 'Infâmes jesuites!' would Harmodius exclaim, who, in theexcess of his toleration, tolerated nothing; and, at the head of a bandof philosophers like himself, would attend with scrupulous exactitudethe meetings of the reverend gentlemen. But, instead of a contriteheart, Harmodius only brought the abomination of desolation into theirsanctuary. A perpetual fire of fulminating balls would bang from underthe feet of the faithful; odors of impure assafoetida would mingle withthe fumes of the incense; and wicked drinking choruses would rise upalong with the holy canticles, in hideous dissonance, reminding one ofthe old orgies under the reign of the Abbot of Unreason. 

"His hatred of the gendarmes was equally ferocious: and as for theclaqueurs, woe be to them when Harmodius was in the pit! They knew him, and trembled before him, like the earth before Alexander; and hisfamous war-cry, 'La Carte au chapeau!' was so much dreaded, that the'entrepreneurs de succès dramatiques' demanded twice as much to dothe Odeon Theatre (which we students and Harmodius frequented), as toapplaud at any other place of amusement: and, indeed, their double paywas hardly gained; Harmodius taking care that they should earn the mostof it under the benches. "

This passage, with which we have taken some liberties, will give thereader a more lively idea of the reckless, jovial, turbulent Parisstudent, than any with which a foreigner could furnish him: thegrisette is his heroine; and dear old Béranger, the cynic-epicurean, hascelebrated him and her in the most delightful verses in the world. Ofthese we may have occasion to say a word or two anon. Meanwhile let usfollow Monsieur de Bernard in his amusing descriptions of his countrymensomewhat farther; and, having seen how Dambergeac was a ferociousrepublican, being a bachelor, let us see how age, sense, and a littlegovernment pay--the great agent of conversions in France--nay, inEngland--has reduced him to be a pompous, quiet, loyal supporter of thejuste milieu: his former portrait was that of the student, the presentwill stand for an admirable lively likeness of

 THE SOUS-PRÉFET. 

"Saying that I would wait for Dambergeac in his own study, I wasintroduced into that apartment, and saw around me the usual furnitureof a man in his station. There was, in the middle of the room, a largebureau, surrounded by orthodox arm-chairs; and there were many shelveswith boxes duly ticketed; there were a number of maps, and among them agreat one of the department over which Dambergeac ruled; and facingthe windows, on a wooden pedestal, stood a plaster-cast of the 'Roi desFrançais. ' Recollecting my friend's former republicanism, I smiled atthis piece of furniture; but before I had time to carry my observationsany farther, a heavy rolling sound of carriage-wheels, that causedthe windows to rattle and seemed to shake the whole edifice of thesub-prefecture, called my attention to the court without. Its iron gateswere flung open, and in rolled, with a great deal of din, a chariotescorted by a brace of gendarmes, sword in hand. A tall gentleman, with a cocked-hat and feathers, wearing a blue and silver uniform coat, descended from the vehicle; and having, with much grave condescension, saluted his escort, mounted the stair. A moment afterwards the door ofthe study was opened, and I embraced my friend. 

"After the first warmth and salutations, we began to examine each otherwith an equal curiosity, for eight years had elapsed since we had lastmet. 

"'You are grown very thin and pale, ' said Harmodius, after a moment. 

"'In revenge I find you fat and rosy: if I am a walking satire oncelibacy, --you, at least, are a living panegyric on marriage. '

"In fact a great change, and such an one as many people would call achange for the better, had taken place in my friend: he had grown fat, and announced a decided disposition to become what French people call abel homme: that is, a very fat one. His complexion, bronzed before, wasnow clear white and red: there were no more political allusions in hishair, which was, on the contrary, neatly frizzed, and brushed overthe forehead, shell-shape. This head-dress, joined to a thin pair ofwhiskers, cut crescent-wise from the ear to the nose, gave my friend aregular bourgeois physiognomy, wax-doll-like: he looked a great deal toowell; and, added to this, the solemnity of his prefectural costume, gavehis whole appearance a pompous well-fed look that by no means pleased. 

"'I surprise you, ' said I, 'in the midst of your splendor: do you knowthat this costume and yonder attendants have a look excessively awfuland splendid? You entered your palace just now with the air of a pasha. '

"'You see me in uniform in honor of Monseigneur the Bishop, who has justmade his diocesan visit, and whom I have just conducted to the limit ofthe arrondissement. '

"'What!' said I, 'you have gendarmes for guards, and dance attendanceon bishops? There are no more janissaries and Jesuits, I suppose?' Thesub-prefect smiled. 

"'I assure you that my gendarmes are very worthy fellows; and that amongthe gentlemen who compose our clergy there are some of the verybest rank and talent: besides, my wife is niece to one of thevicars-general. '

"'What have you done with that great Tasso beard that poor Armandineused to love so?'

"'My wife does not like a beard; and you know that what is permitted toa student is not very becoming to a magistrate. '

"I began to laugh. 'Harmodius and a magistrate!--how shall I ever couplethe two words together? But tell me, in your correspondences, youraudiences, your sittings with village mayors and petty councils, how doyou manage to remain awake?'

"'In the commencement, ' said Harmodius, gravely, 'it WAS very difficult;and, in order to keep my eyes open, I used to stick pins into my legs:now, however, I am used to it; and I'm sure I don't take more than fiftypinches of snuff at a sitting. '

"'Ah! apropos of snuff: you are near Spain here, and were always afamous smoker. Give me a cigar, --it will take away the musty odor ofthese piles of papers. '

"'Impossible, my dear; I don't smoke; my wife cannot bear a cigar. '

"His wife! thought I; always his wife: and I remember Juliette, whoreally grew sick at the smell of a pipe, and Harmodius would smoke, until, at last, the poor thing grew to smoke herself, like a trooper. To compensate, however, as much as possible for the loss of my cigar, Dambergeac drew from his pocket an enormous gold snuff-box, on whichfigured the self-same head that I had before remarked in plaster, butthis time surrounded with a ring of pretty princes and princesses, allnicely painted in miniature. As for the statue of Louis Philippe, that, in the cabinet of an official, is a thing of course; but the snuff-boxseemed to indicate a degree of sentimental and personal devotion, suchas the old Royalists were only supposed to be guilty of. 

"'What! you are turned decided juste milieu?' said I. 

"'I am a sous-préfet, ' answered Harmodius. 

"I had nothing to say, but held my tongue, wondering, not at the changewhich had taken place in the habits, manners, and opinions of my friend, but at my own folly, which led me to fancy that I should find thestudent of '26 in the functionary of '34. At this moment a domesticappeared. 

"'Madame is waiting for Monsieur, ' said he: 'the last bell has gone, andmass beginning. '

"'Mass!' said I, bounding up from my chair. 'You at mass like a decentserious Christian, without crackers in your pocket, and bored keys towhistle through?'--The sous-préfet rose, his countenance was calm, andan indulgent smile played upon his lips, as he said, 'My arrondissementis very devout; and not to interfere with the belief of the populationis the maxim of every wise politician: I have precise orders fromGovernment on the point, too, and go to eleven o'clock mass everySunday. "'

There is a great deal of curious matter for speculation in the accountshere so wittily given by M. De Bernard: but, perhaps, it is stillmore curious to think of what he has NOT written, and to judge of hischaracters, not so much by the words in which he describes them, as bythe unconscious testimony that the words all together convey. In thefirst place, our author describes a swindler imitating the manners of adandy; and many swindlers and dandies be there, doubtless, in Londonas well as in Paris. But there is about the present swindler, andabout Monsieur Dambergeac the student, and Monsieur Dambergeac thesous-préfet, and his friend, a rich store of calm internal debauch, which does not, let us hope and pray, exist in England. Hearken to M. De Gustan, and his smirking whispers, about the Duchess of SanSeverino, who pour son bonheur particulier, &c. &c. Listen to MonsieurDambergeac's friend's remonstrances concerning pauvre Juliette who grewsick at the smell of a pipe; to his naïve admiration at the fact thatthe sous-préfet goes to church: and we may set down, as axioms, thatreligion is so uncommon among the Parisians, as to awaken the surpriseof all candid observers; that gallantry is so common as to create noremark, and to be considered as a matter of course. With us, at least, the converse of the proposition prevails: it is the man professingirreligion who would be remarked and reprehended in England; and, if thesecond-named vice exists, at any rate, it adopts the decency ofsecrecy and is not made patent and notorious to all the world. A Frenchgentleman thinks no more of proclaiming that he has a mistress than thathe has a tailor; and one lives the time of Boccaccio over again, in thethousand and one French novels which depict society in that country. 

For instance, here are before us a few specimens (do not, madam, bealarmed, you can skip the sentence if you like, ) to be found in as manyadmirable witty tales, by the before-lauded Monsieur de Bernard. He ismore remarkable than any other French author, to our notion, for writinglike a gentleman: there is ease, grace and ton, in his style, which, ifwe judge aright, cannot be discovered in Balzac, or Soulié, or Dumas. Wehave then--"Gerfaut, " a novel: a lovely creature is married to a brave, haughty, Alsacian nobleman, who allows her to spend her winters atParis, he remaining on his terres, cultivating, carousing, and huntingthe boar. The lovely-creature meets the fascinating Gerfaut at Paris;instantly the latter makes love to her; a duel takes place: baronkilled; wife throws herself out of window; Gerfaut plunges intodissipation; and so the tale ends. 

Next: "La Femme de Quarante Ans, " a capital tale, full of exquisite funand sparkling satire: La femme de quarante ans has a husband and THREElovers; all of whom find out their mutual connection one starry night;for the lady of forty is of a romantic poetical turn, and has given herthree admirers A STAR APIECE; saying to one and the other, "Alphonse, when yon pale orb rises in heaven, think of me;" "Isadore, when thatbright planet sparkles in the sky, remember your Caroline, " &c. 

"Un Acte de Vertu, " from which we have taken Dambergeac's history, contains him, the husband--a wife--and a brace of lovers; and a greatdeal of fun takes place in the manner in which one lover supplants theother. --Pretty morals truly!

If we examine an author who rejoices in the aristocratic name of leComte Horace de Viel-Castel, we find, though with infinitely less wit, exactly the same intrigues going on. A noble Count lives in the FaubourgSt. Honoré, and has a noble Duchess for a mistress: he introduces herGrace to the Countess his wife. The Countess his wife, in order toramener her lord to his conjugal duties, is counselled, by a friend, TO PRETEND TO TAKE A LOVER: one is found, who, poor fellow! takes theaffair in earnest: climax--duel, death, despair, and what not? Inthe "Faubourg St. Germain, " another novel by the same writer, whichprofesses to describe the very pink of that society which Napoleondreaded more than Russia, Prussia, and Austria, there is an old husband, of course; a sentimental young German nobleman, who falls in love withhis wife; and the moral of the piece lies in the showing up of theconduct of the lady, who is reprehended--not for deceiving her husband(poor devil!)--but for being a flirt, AND TAKING A SECOND LOVER, to theutter despair, confusion, and annihilation of the first. 

Why, ye gods, do Frenchmen marry at all? Had Père Enfantin (who, itis said, has shaved his ambrosial beard, and is now a clerk in abanking-house) been allowed to carry out his chaste, just, dignifiedsocial scheme, what a deal of marital discomfort might have beenavoided:--would it not be advisable that a great reformer and lawgiverof our own, Mr. Robert Owen, should be presented at the Tuileries, andthere propound his scheme for the regeneration of France?

He might, perhaps, be spared, for our country is not yet sufficientlyadvanced to give such a philosopher fair play. In London, as yet, thereare no blessed Bureaux de Mariage, where an old bachelor may have acharming young maiden--for his money; or a widow of seventy may buy agay young fellow of twenty, for a certain number of bank-billets. Ifmariages de convenance take place here (as they will wherever avarice, and poverty, and desire, and yearning after riches are to be found), atleast, thank God, such unions are not arranged upon a regular organizedSYSTEM: there is a fiction of attachment with us, and there is aconsolation in the deceit ("the homage, " according to the old mot ofRochefoucauld) "which vice pays to virtue"; for the very falsehood showsthat the virtue exists somewhere. We once heard a furious old Frenchcolonel inveighing against the chastity of English demoiselles:"Figurez-vous, sir, " said he (he had been a prisoner in England), "thatthese women come down to dinner in low dresses, and walk out alone withthe men!"--and, pray heaven, so may they walk, fancy-free in all sortsof maiden meditations, and suffer no more molestation than that younglady of whom Moore sings, and who (there must have been a famouslord-lieutenant in those days) walked through all Ireland, with richand rare gems, beauty, and a gold ring on her stick, without meeting orthinking of harm. 

Now, whether Monsieur de Viel-Castel has given a true picture of theFaubourg St. Germain, it is impossible for most foreigners to say; butsome of his descriptions will not fail to astonish the English reader;and all are filled with that remarkable naïf contempt of the institutioncalled marriage, which we have seen in M. De Bernard. The romantic youngnobleman of Westphalia arrives at Paris, and is admitted into what acelebrated female author calls la crême de la crême de la haute voléeof Parisian society. He is a youth of about twenty years of age. "No passion had as yet come to move his heart, and give life to hisfaculties; he was awaiting and fearing the moment of love; calling forit, and yet trembling at its approach; feeling in the depths of hissoul, that that moment would create a mighty change in his being, anddecide, perhaps, by its influence, the whole of his future life. "

Is it not remarkable, that a young nobleman, with these ideas, shouldnot pitch upon a demoiselle, or a widow, at least? but no, the roguemust have a married woman, bad luck to him; and what his fate is to be, is thus recounted by our author, in the shape of

A FRENCH FASHIONABLE CONVERSATION. 

"A lady, with a great deal of esprit, to whom forty years' experienceof the great world had given a prodigious perspicacity of judgment, theDuchess of Chalux, arbitress of the opinion to be held on all new comersto the Faubourg Saint Germain, and of their destiny and reception init;--one of those women, in a word, who make or ruin a man, --said, inspeaking of Gerard de Stolberg, whom she received at her own house, andmet everywhere, 'This young German will never gain for himself the titleof an exquisite, or a man of bonnes fortunes, among us. In spite of hiscalm and politeness, I think I can see in his character some rude andinsurmountable difficulties, which time will only increase, and whichwill prevent him for ever from bending to the exigencies of eitherprofession; but, unless I very much deceive myself, he will, one day, bethe hero of a veritable romance. '

"'He, madame?' answered a young man, of fair complexion and fair hair, one of the most devoted slaves of the fashion:--'He, Madame la Duchesse?why, the man is, at best, but an original, fished out of the Rhine: adull, heavy creature, as much capable of understanding a woman's heartas I am of speaking bas-Breton. '

"'Well, Monsieur de Belport, you will speak bas-Breton. Monsieur deStolberg has not your admirable ease of manner, nor your facility oftelling pretty nothings, nor your--in a word, that particular somethingwhich makes you the most recherché man of the Faubourg Saint Germain;and even I avow to you that, were I still young, and a coquette, ANDTHAT I TOOK IT INTO MY HEAD TO HAVE A LOVER, I would prefer you. '

"All this was said by the Duchess, with a certain air of raillery andsuch a mixture of earnest and malice, that Monsieur de Belport, piquednot a little, could not help saying, as he bowed profoundly before theDuchess's chair, 'And might I, madam, be permitted to ask the reason ofthis preference?'

"'O mon Dieu, oui, ' said the Duchess, always in the same tone; 'becausea lover like you would never think of carrying his attachment to theheight of passion; and these passions, do you know, have frightened meall my life. One cannot retreat at will from the grasp of a passionatelover; one leaves behind one some fragment of one's moral SELF, or thebest part of one's physical life. A passion, if it does not kill you, adds cruelly to your years; in a word, it is the very lowestpossible taste. And now you understand why I should prefer you, M. DeBelport--you who are reputed to be the leader of the fashion. '

"'Perfectly, ' murmured the gentleman, piqued more and more. 

"'Gerard de Stolberg WILL be passionate. I don't know what woman willplease him, or will be pleased by him' (here the Duchess of Chalux spokemore gravely); 'but his love will be no play, I repeat it to you oncemore. All this astonishes you, because you, great leaders of the tonthat you are, never fancy that a hero of romance should be found amongyour number. Gerard de Stolberg--but, look, here he comes!'

"M. De Belport rose, and quitted the Duchess, without believing in herprophecy; but he could not avoid smiling as he passed near the HERO OFROMANCE. 

"It was because M. De Stolberg had never, in all his life, been a heroof romance, or even an apprentice-hero of romance. 

"Gerard de Stolberg was not, as yet, initiated into the thousand secretsin the chronicle of the great world: he knew but superficially thesociety in which he lived; and, therefore, he devoted his evening tothe gathering of all the information which he could acquire from theindiscreet conversations of the people about him. His whole man becameear and memory; so much was Stolberg convinced of the necessity ofbecoming a diligent student in this new school, where was taught the artof knowing and advancing in the great world. In the recess of a windowhe learned more on this one night than months of investigation wouldhave taught him. The talk of a ball is more indiscreet than theconfidential chatter of a company of idle women. No man present at aball, whether listener or speaker, thinks he has a right to affectany indulgence for his companions, and the most learned in malice willalways pass for the most witty. 

"'How!' said the Viscount de Mondragé: 'the Duchess of Rivesalte arrivesalone to-night, without her inevitable Dormilly!'--And the Viscount, ashe spoke, pointed towards a tall and slender young woman, who, glidingrather than walking, met the ladies by whom she passed, with a gracefuland modest salute, and replied to the looks of the men BY BRILLIANTVEILED GLANCES FULL OF COQUETRY AND ATTACK. 

"'Parbleu!' said an elegant personage standing near the Viscount deMondragé, 'don't you see Dormilly ranged behind the Duchess, in qualityof train-bearer, and hiding, under his long locks and his great screenof moustaches, the blushing consciousness of his good luck?--They callhim THE FOURTH CHAPTER of the Duchess's memoirs. The little Marquised'Alberas is ready to die out of spite; but the best of the joke is, that she has only taken poor de Vendre for a lover in order to venther spleen on him. Look at him against the chimney yonder; if theMarchioness do not break at once with him by quitting him for somebodyelse, the poor fellow will turn an idiot. '

"'Is he jealous?' asked a young man, looking as if he did not know whatjealousy was and as if he had no time to be jealous. 

"'Jealous! the very incarnation of jealousy; the second edition, revised, corrected, and considerably enlarged; as jealous as poorGressigny, who is dying of it. '

"'What! Gressigny too? why, 'tis growing quite into fashion: egad! Imust try and be jealous, ' said Monsieur de Beauval. 'But see! here comesthe delicious Duchess of Bellefiore, '" &c. &c. &c. 

Enough, enough: this kind of fashionable Parisian conversation, which is, says our author, "a prodigious labor of improvising, " a"chef-d'oeuvre, " a "strange and singular thing, in which monotony isunknown, " seems to be, if correctly reported, a "strange and singularthing" indeed; but somewhat monotonous at least to an English reader, and "prodigious" only, if we may take leave to say so, for the wonderfulrascality which all the conversationists betray. Miss Neverout andthe Colonel, in Swift's famous dialogue, are a thousand times moreentertaining and moral; and, besides, we can laugh AT those worthies aswell as with them; whereas the "prodigious" French wits are to us quiteincomprehensible. Fancy a duchess as old as Lady ---- herself, and whoshould begin to tell us "of what she would do if ever she had a mindto take a lover;" and another duchess, with a fourth lover, trippingmodestly among the ladies, and returning the gaze of the men byveiled glances, full of coquetry and attack!--Parbleu, if Monsieur deViel-Castel should find himself among a society of French duchesses, andthey should tear his eyes out, and send the fashionable Orpheus floatingby the Seine, his slaughter might almost be considered as justifiableCOUNTICIDE. 

A GAMBLER'S DEATH. 

Anybody who was at C---- school some twelve years since, must recollectJack Attwood: he was the most dashing lad in the place, with more moneyin his pocket than belonged to the whole fifth form in which we werecompanions. 

When he was about fifteen, Jack suddenly retreated from C----, andpresently we heard that he had a commission in a cavalry regiment, andwas to have a great fortune from his father, when that old gentlemanshould die. Jack himself came to confirm these stories a few monthsafter, and paid a visit to his old school chums. He had laid aside hislittle school-jacket and inky corduroys, and now appeared in such asplendid military suit as won the respect of all of us. His hair wasdripping with oil, his hands were covered with rings, he had a duskydown over his upper lip which looked not unlike a moustache, and amultiplicity of frogs and braiding on his surtout which would havesufficed to lace a field-marshal. When old Swishtail, the usher, passedin his seedy black coat and gaiters, Jack gave him such a look ofcontempt as set us all a-laughing: in fact it was his turn to laugh now;for he used to roar very stoutly some months before, when Swishtail wasin the custom of belaboring him with his great cane. 

Jack's talk was all about the regiment and the fine fellows in it: howhe had ridden a steeple-chase with Captain Boldero, and licked him atthe last hedge; and how he had very nearly fought a duel with Sir GeorgeGrig, about dancing with Lady Mary Slamken at a ball. "I soon made thebaronet know what it was to deal with a man of the n--th, " said Jack. "Dammee, sir, when I lugged out my barkers, and talked of fightingacross the mess-room table, Grig turned as pale as a sheet, or as--"

"Or as you used to do, Attwood, when Swishtail hauled you up, " piped outlittle Hicks, the foundation-boy. 

It was beneath Jack's dignity to thrash anybody, now, but a grown-upbaronet; so he let off little Hicks, and passed over the general titterwhich was raised at his expense. However, he entertained us with hishistories about lords and ladies, and so-and-so "of ours, " until wethought him one of the greatest men in his Majesty's service, anduntil the school-bell rung; when, with a heavy heart, we got our bookstogether, and marched in to be whacked by old Swishtail. I promise youhe revenged himself on us for Jack's contempt of him. I got that day atleast twenty cuts to my share, which ought to have belonged to CornetAttwood, of the n--th dragoons. 

When we came to think more coolly over our quondam schoolfellow'sswaggering talk and manner, we were not quite so impressed by his meritsas at his first appearance among us. We recollected how he used, informer times, to tell us great stories, which were so monstrouslyimprobable that the smallest boy in the school would scout them; howoften we caught him tripping in facts, and how unblushingly he admittedhis little errors in the score of veracity. He and I, though never greatfriends, had been close companions: I was Jack's form-fellow (we foughtwith amazing emulation for the LAST place in the class); but still I wasrather hurt at the coolness of my old comrade, who had forgotten all ourformer intimacy, in his steeple-chases with Captain Boldero and his duelwith Sir George Grig. 

Nothing more was heard of Attwood for some years; a tailor one day camedown to C----, who had made clothes for Jack in his school-days, andfurnished him with regimentals: he produced a long bill for one hundredand twenty pounds and upwards, and asked where news might be had ofhis customer. Jack was in India, with his regiment, shooting tigersand jackals, no doubt. Occasionally, from that distant country, somemagnificent rumor would reach us of his proceedings. Once I heard thathe had been called to a court-martial for unbecoming conduct; anothertime, that he kept twenty horses, and won the gold plate at the Calcuttaraces. Presently, however, as the recollections of the fifth form woreaway, Jack's image disappeared likewise, and I ceased to ask or thinkabout my college chum. 

A year since, as I was smoking my cigar in the "Estaminet duGrand Balcon, " an excellent smoking-shop, where the tobacco isunexceptionable, and the Hollands of singular merit, a dark-looking, thick-set man, in a greasy well-cut coat, with a shabby hat, cocked onone side of his dirty face, took the place opposite me, at the littlemarble table, and called for brandy. I did not much admire the impudenceor the appearance of my friend, nor the fixed stare with which he choseto examine me. At last, he thrust a great greasy hand across the table, and said, "Titmarsh, do you forget your old friend Attwood?"

I confess my recognition of him was not so joyful as on the day tenyears earlier, when he had come, bedizened with lace and gold rings, tosee us at C---- school: a man in the tenth part of a century learns adeal of worldly wisdom, and his hand, which goes naturally forwardto seize the gloved finger of a millionnaire, or a milor, drawsinstinctively back from a dirty fist, encompassed by a ragged wristbandand a tattered cuff. But Attwood was in nowise so backward; and the ironsqueeze with which he shook my passive paw, proved that he was eithervery affectionate or very poor. You, my dear sir, who are reading thishistory, know very well the great art of shaking hands: recollect howyou shook Lord Dash's hand the other day, and how you shook OFF poorBlank, when he came to borrow five pounds of you. 

However, the genial influence of the Hollands speedily dissipatedanything like coolness between us and, in the course of an hour'sconversation, we became almost as intimate as when we were sufferingtogether under the ferule of old Swishtail. Jack told me that he hadquitted the army in disgust; and that his father, who was to leave him afortune, had died ten thousand pounds in debt: he did not touch uponhis own circumstances; but I could read them in his elbows, which werepeeping through his old frock. He talked a great deal, however, of runsof luck, good and bad; and related to me an infallible plan for breakingall the play-banks in Europe--a great number of old tricks;--and a vastquantity of gin-punch was consumed on the occasion; so long, in fact, did our conversation continue, that, I confess it with shame, thesentiment, or something stronger, quite got the better of me, and Ihave, to this day, no sort of notion how our palaver concluded. --Only, on the next morning, I did not possess a certain five-pound note whichon the previous evening was in my sketch-book (by far the prettiestdrawing by the way in the collection) but there, instead, was a strip ofpaper, thus inscribed:--

IOU Five Pounds. JOHN ATTWOOD, Late of the N--th Dragoons. 

I suppose Attwood borrowed the money, from this remarkable andceremonious acknowledgment on his part: had I been sober I would just assoon have lent him the nose on my face; for, in my then circumstances, the note was of much more consequence to me. 

As I lay, cursing my ill fortune, and thinking how on earth I shouldmanage to subsist for the next two months, Attwood burst into my littlegarret--his face strangely flushed--singing and shouting as if it hadbeen the night before. "Titmarsh, " cried he, "you are my preserver!--mybest friend! Look here, and here, and here!" And at every word Mr. Attwood produced a handful of gold, or a glittering heap of five-francpieces, or a bundle of greasy, dusky bank-notes, more beautiful thaneither silver or gold:--he had won thirteen thousand francs afterleaving me at midnight in my garret. He separated my poor little all, ofsix pieces, from this shining and imposing collection; and the passionof envy entered my soul: I felt far more anxious now than before, although starvation was then staring me in the face; I hated Attwood forCHEATING me out of all this wealth. Poor fellow! it had been better forhim had he never seen a shilling of it. 

However, a grand breakfast at the Café Anglais dissipated my chagrin;and I will do my friend the justice to say, that he nobly shared someportion of his good fortune with me. As far as the creature comfortswere concerned I feasted as well as he, and never was particular as tosettling my share of the reckoning. 

Jack now changed his lodgings; had cards, with Captain Attwood engravedon them, and drove about a prancing cab-horse, as tall as the giraffe atthe Jardin des Plantes; he had as many frogs on his coat as in the olddays, and frequented all the flash restaurateurs' and boarding-houses ofthe capital. Madame de Saint Laurent, and Madame la Baronne de Vaudrey, and Madame la Comtesse de Jonville, ladies of the highest rank, who keepa société choisie and condescend to give dinners at five-francs a head, vied with each other in their attentions to Jack. His was the wing ofthe fowl, and the largest portion of the Charlotte-Russe; his was theplace at the écarté table, where the Countess would ease him nightly ofa few pieces, declaring that he was the most charming cavalier, la fleurd'Albion. Jack's society, it may be seen, was not very select; nor, intruth, were his inclinations: he was a careless, daredevil, Macheathkind of fellow, who might be seen daily with a wife on each arm. 

It may be supposed that, with the life he led, his five hundred poundsof winnings would not last him long; nor did they; but, for some time, his luck never deserted him; and his cash, instead of growing lower, seemed always to maintain a certain level: he played every night. 

Of course, such a humble fellow as I, could not hope for a continuedacquaintance and intimacy with Attwood. He grew overbearing and cool, Ithought; at any rate I did not admire my situation as his follower anddependant, and left his grand dinner for a certain ordinary, whereI could partake of five capital dishes for ninepence. Occasionally, however, Attwood favored me with a visit, or gave me a drive behind hisgreat cab-horse. He had formed a whole host of friends besides. Therewas Fips, the barrister; heaven knows what he was doing at Paris; andGortz, the West Indian, who was there on the same business, and Flapper, a medical student, --all these three I met one night at Flapper's rooms, where Jack was invited, and a great "spread" was laid in honor of him. 

Jack arrived rather late--he looked pale and agitated; and, though heate no supper, he drank raw brandy in such a manner as made Flapper'seyes wink: the poor fellow had but three bottles, and Jack bade fair toswallow them all. However, the West Indian generously remedied the evil, and producing a napoleon, we speedily got the change for it in the shapeof four bottles of champagne. 

Our supper was uproariously harmonious; Fips sung the good "Old EnglishGentleman;" Jack the "British Grenadiers;" and your humble servant, whencalled upon, sang that beautiful ditty, "When the Bloom is on the Rye, "in a manner that drew tears from every eye, except Flapper's, who wasasleep, and Jack's, who was singing the "Bay of Biscay O, " at the sametime. Gortz and Fips were all the time lunging at each other with a pairof single-sticks, the barrister having a very strong notion that he wasRichard the Third. At last Fips hit the West Indian such a blow acrosshis sconce, that the other grew furious; he seized a champagne-bottle, which was, providentially, empty, and hurled it across the room at Fips:had that celebrated barrister not bowed his head at the moment, theQueen's Bench would have lost one of its most eloquent practitioners. 

Fips stood as straight as he could; his cheek was pale with wrath. "M-m-ister Go-gortz, " he said, "I always heard you were a blackguard;now I can pr-pr-peperove it. Flapper, your pistols! every ge-ge-genlmnknows what I mean. "

Young Mr. Flapper had a small pair of pocket-pistols, which the tipsybarrister had suddenly remembered, and with which he proposed tosacrifice the West Indian. Gortz was nothing loth, but was quite asvalorous as the lawyer. 

Attwood, who, in spite of his potations, seemed the soberest man ofthe party, had much enjoyed the scene, until this sudden demand for theweapons. "Pshaw!" said he, eagerly, "don't give these men the means ofmurdering each other; sit down and let us have another song. " But theywould not be still; and Flapper forthwith produced his pistol-case, andopened it, in order that the duel might take place on the spot. Therewere no pistols there! "I beg your pardon, " said Attwood, looking muchconfused; "I--I took the pistols home with me to clean them!"

I don't know what there was in his tone, or in the words, but we weresobered all of a sudden. Attwood was conscious of the singular effectproduced by him, for he blushed, and endeavored to speak of otherthings, but we could not bring our spirits back to the mark again, andsoon separated for the night. As we issued into the street Jack took measide, and whispered, "Have you a napoleon, Titmarsh, in your purse?"Alas! I was not so rich. My reply was, that I was coming to Jack, onlyin the morning, to borrow a similar sum. 

He did not make any reply, but turned away homeward: I never heard himspeak another word. 

Two mornings after (for none of our party met on the day succeeding thesupper), I was awakened by my porter, who brought a pressing letter fromMr. Gortz:--

"DEAR T. , --I wish you would come over here to breakfast. There's a rowabout Attwood. --Yours truly, "SOLOMON GORTZ. "

I immediately set forward to Gortz's; he lived in the Rue du Helder, afew doors from Attwood's new lodging. If the reader is curious to knowthe house in which the catastrophe of this history took place, he hasbut to march some twenty doors down from the Boulevard des Italiens, when he will see a fine door, with a naked Cupid shooting at him fromthe hall, and a Venus beckoning him up the stairs. On arriving at theWest Indian's, at about mid-day (it was a Sunday morning), I found thatgentleman in his dressing-gown, discussing, in the company of Mr Fips, alarge plate of bifteck aux pommes. 

"Here's a pretty row!" said Gortz, quoting from his letter;--"Attwood'soff--have a bit of beefsteak?"

"What do you mean?" exclaimed I, adopting the familiar phraseology of myacquaintances:--"Attwood off?--has he cut his stick?"

"Not bad, " said the feeling and elegant Fips--"not such a bad guess, myboy; but he has not exactly CUT HIS STICK. "

"What then?"

"WHY, HIS THROAT. " The man's mouth was full of bleeding beef as heuttered this gentlemanly witticism. 

I wish I could say that I was myself in the least affected by thenews. I did not joke about it like my friend Fips; this was more forpropriety's sake than for feeling's: but for my old school acquaintance, the friend of my early days, the merry associate of the last few months, I own, with shame, that I had not a tear or a pang. In some German talethere is an account of a creature most beautiful and bewitching, whomall men admire and follow; but this charming and fantastic spirit onlyleads them, one by one, into ruin, and then leaves them. The novelist, who describes her beauty, says that his heroine is a fairy, and HAS NOHEART. I think the intimacy which is begotten over the wine-bottle, isa spirit of this nature; I never knew a good feeling come from it, or anhonest friendship made by it; it only entices men and ruins them; itis only a phantom of friendship and feeling, called up by the deliriousblood, and the wicked spells of the wine. 

But to drop this strain of moralizing (in which the writer is not tooanxious to proceed, for he cuts in it a most pitiful figure), we passedsundry criticisms upon poor Attwood's character, expressed our horrorat his death--which sentiment was fully proved by Mr. Fips, who declaredthat the notion of it made him feel quite faint, and was obliged todrink a large glass of brandy; and, finally, we agreed that we would goand see the poor fellow's corpse, and witness, if necessary, his burial. 

Flapper, who had joined us, was the first to propose this visit: he saidhe did not mind the fifteen francs which Jack owed him for billiards, but he was anxious to GET BACK HIS PISTOL. Accordingly, we salliedforth, and speedily arrived at the hotel which Attwood inhabited still. He had occupied, for a time, very fine apartments in this house: and itwas only on arriving there that day that we found he had been graduallydriven from his magnificent suite of rooms au premier, to a littlechamber in the fifth story:--we mounted, and found him. It was a littleshabby room, with a few articles of rickety furniture, and a bed in analcove; the light from the one window was falling full upon the bed andthe body. Jack was dressed in a fine lawn shirt; he had kept it, poorfellow, TO DIE IN; for in all his drawers and cupboards there was not asingle article of clothing; he had pawned everything by which he couldraise a penny--desk, books, dressing-case, and clothes; and not a singlehalfpenny was found in his possession. *

 * In order to account for these trivial details, the reader must be told that the story is, for the chief part, a fact; and that the little sketch in this page was TAKEN FROM NATURE. The latter was likewise a copy from one found in the manner described. 

He was lying as I have drawn him, * one hand on his breast, the otherfalling towards the ground. There was an expression of perfect calm onthe face, and no mark of blood to stain the side towards the light. Onthe other side, however, there was a great pool of black blood, and init the pistol; it looked more like a toy than a weapon to take away thelife of this vigorous young man. In his forehead, at the side, was asmall black wound; Jack's life had passed through it; it was littlebigger than a mole. 

 * This refers to an illustrated edition of the work. 

"Regardez un peu, " said the landlady, "messieurs, il m'a gâté troismatelas, et il me doit quarante quatre francs. "

This was all his epitaph: he had spoiled three mattresses, and owed thelandlady four-and-forty francs. In the whole world there was not a soulto love him or lament him. We, his friends, were looking at his bodymore as an object of curiosity, watching it with a kind of interest withwhich one follows the fifth act of a tragedy, and leaving it with thesame feeling with which one leaves the theatre when the play is over andthe curtain is down. 

Beside Jack's bed, on his little "table de nuit, " lay the remains ofhis last meal, and an open letter, which we read. It was from one of hissuspicious acquaintances of former days, and ran thus:--

"Où es tu, cher Jack? why you not come and see me--tu me dois del'argent, entends tu?--un chapeau, une cachemire, a box of the Play. Viens demain soir, je t'attendrai at eight o'clock, Passage desPanoramas. My Sir is at his country. 

"Adieu à demain. 

"Fifine. 

"Samedi. "

I shuddered as I walked through this very Passage des Panoramas, inthe evening. The girl was there, pacing to and fro, and looking inthe countenance of every passer-by, to recognize Attwood. "ADIEU ÀDEMAIN!"--there was a dreadful meaning in the words, which the writer ofthem little knew. "Adieu à demain!"--the morrow was come, and the soulof the poor suicide was now in the presence of God. I dare not think ofhis fate; for, except in the fact of his poverty and desperation, was heworse than any of us, his companions, who had shared his debauches, andmarched with him up to the very brink of the grave?

There is but one more circumstance to relate regarding poor Jack--hisburial; it was of a piece with his death. 

He was nailed into a paltry coffin and buried, at the expense of thearrondissement, in a nook of the burial-place beyond the Barrière del'Etoile. They buried him at six o'clock, of a bitter winter's morning, and it was with difficulty that an English clergyman could be found toread a service over his grave. The three men who have figured in thishistory acted as Jack's mourners; and as the ceremony was to take placeso early in the morning, these men sat up the night through, AND WEREALMOST DRUNK as they followed his coffin to its resting-place. 

MORAL. 

"When we turned out in our great-coats, " said one of them afterwards, "reeking of cigars and brandy-and-water, d--e, sir, we quite frightenedthe old buck of a parson; he did not much like our company. " After theceremony was concluded, these gentlemen were very happy to get home toa warm and comfortable breakfast, and finished the day royally atFrascati's. 

NAPOLEON AND HIS SYSTEM. 

ON PRINCE LOUIS NAPOLEON'S WORK. 

Any person who recollects the history of the absurd outbreak ofStrasburg, in which Prince Louis Napoleon Bonaparte figured, three yearsago, must remember that, however silly the revolt was, however, foolishits pretext, however doubtful its aim, and inexperienced its leader, there was, nevertheless, a party, and a considerable one in France, thatwere not unwilling to lend the new projectors their aid. The troopswho declared against the Prince, were, it was said, all but willing todeclare for him; and it was certain that, in many of the regiments ofthe army, there existed a strong spirit of disaffection, and an eagerwish for the return of the imperial system and family. 

As to the good that was to be derived from the change, that is anotherquestion. Why the Emperor of the French should be better than the Kingof the French, or the King of the French better than the King of Franceand Navarre, it is not our business to inquire; but all the threemonarchs have no lack of supporters; republicanism has no lack ofsupporters; St. Simoninnism was followed by a respectable body ofadmirers; Robespierrism has a select party of friends. If, in a countrywhere so many quacks have had their day, Prince Louis Napoleon thoughthe might renew the imperial quackery, why should he not? It hasrecollections with it that must always be dear to a gallant nation; ithas certain claptraps in its vocabulary that can never fail to inflame avain, restless, grasping, disappointed one. 

In the first place, and don't let us endeavor to disguise it, they hateus. Not all the protestations of friendship, not all the wisdom of LordPalmerston, not all the diplomacy of our distinguished plenipotentiary, Mr. Henry Lytton Bulwer--and let us add, not all the benefit which bothcountries would derive from the alliance--can make it, in our times atleast, permanent and cordial. They hate us. The Carlist organs revileus with a querulous fury that never sleeps; the moderate party, if theyadmit the utility of our alliance, are continually pointing out ourtreachery, our insolence, and our monstrous infractions of it; and forthe Republicans, as sure as the morning comes, the columns of theirjournals thunder out volleys of fierce denunciations against ourunfortunate country. They live by feeding the natural hatred againstEngland, by keeping old wounds open, by recurring ceaselessly to thehistory of old quarrels, and as in these we, by God's help, by land andby sea, in old times and late, have had the uppermost, they perpetuatethe shame and mortification of the losing party, the bitterness of pastdefeats, and the eager desire to avenge them. A party which knows howto exploiter this hatred will always be popular to a certain extent; andthe imperial scheme has this, at least, among its conditions. 

Then there is the favorite claptrap of the "natural frontier. " TheFrenchman yearns to be bounded by the Rhine and the Alps; and nextfollows the cry, "Let France take her place among nations, and direct, as she ought to do, the affairs of Europe. " These are the two chiefarticles contained in the new imperial programme, if we may credit thejournal which has been established to advocate the cause. A naturalboundary--stand among the nations--popular development--Russianalliance, and a reduction of la perfide Albion to its properinsignificance. As yet we know little more of the plan: and yet suchfoundations are sufficient to build a party upon, and with such windyweapons a substantial Government is to be overthrown!

In order to give these doctrines, such as they are, a chance of findingfavor with his countrymen, Prince Louis has the advantage of being ableto refer to a former great professor of them--his uncle Napoleon. Hisattempt is at once pious and prudent; it exalts the memory of the uncle, and furthers the interests of the nephew, who attempts to show whatNapoleon's ideas really were; what good had already resulted from thepractice of them; how cruelly they had been thwarted by foreign wars anddifficulties; and what vast benefits WOULD have resulted from them; ay, and (it is reasonable to conclude) might still, if the French nationwould be wise enough to pitch upon a governor that would continue theinterrupted scheme. It is, however, to be borne in mind that the EmperorNapoleon had certain arguments in favor of his opinions for the timebeing, which his nephew has not employed. On the 13th Vendemiaire, whenGeneral Bonaparte believed in the excellence of a Directory, it may beremembered that he aided his opinions by forty pieces of artillery, andby Colonel Murat at the head of his dragoons. There was no resistingsuch a philosopher; the Directory was established forthwith, and thesacred cause of the minority triumphed, in like manner, when the Generalwas convinced of the weakness of the Directory, and saw fully thenecessity of establishing a Consulate, what were his arguments? Moreau, Lannes, Murat, Berthier, Leclerc, Lefebvre--gentle apostles of thetruth!--marched to St. Cloud, and there, with fixed bayonets, caused itto prevail. Error vanished in an instant. At once five hundred of itshigh-priests tumbled out of windows, and lo! three Consuls appeared toguide the destinies of France! How much more expeditious, reasonable, and clinching was this argument of the 18th Brumaire, than any one thatcan be found in any pamphlet! A fig for your duodecimos and octavos!Talk about points, there are none like those at the end of a bayonet;and the most powerful of styles is a good rattling "article" from anine-pounder. 

At least this is our interpretation of the manner in which were alwayspropagated the Idées Napoléoniennes. Not such, however, is PrinceLouis's belief; and, if you wish to go along with him in opinion, youwill discover that a more liberal, peaceable, prudent Prince neverexisted: you will read that "the mission of Napoleon" was to be the"testamentary executor of the revolution;" and the Prince should haveadded the legatee; or, more justly still, as well as the EXECUTOR, heshould be called the EXECUTIONER, and then his title would be complete. In Vendemiaire, the military Tartuffe, he threw aside the Revolution'snatural heirs, and made her, as it were, ALTER HER WILL; on the 18th ofBrumaire he strangled her, and on the 19th seized on her property, andkept it until force deprived him of it. Illustrations, to be sure, areno arguments, but the example is the Prince's, not ours. 

In the Prince's eyes, then, his uncle is a god; of all monarchs, themost wise, upright, and merciful. Thirty years ago the opinion hadmillions of supporters; while millions again were ready to avouch theexact contrary. It is curious to think of the former difference ofopinion concerning Napoleon; and, in reading his nephew's rapturousencomiums of him, one goes back to the days when we ourselves were asloud and mad in his dispraise. Who does not remember his own personalhatred and horror, twenty-five years ago, for the man whom we used tocall the "bloody Corsican upstart and assassin?" What stories did wenot believe of him?--what murders, rapes, robberies, not lay to hischarge?--we who were living within a few miles of his territory, andmight, by books and newspapers, be made as well acquainted with hismerits or demerits as any of his own countrymen. 

Then was the age when the Idées Napoléoniennes might have passed throughmany editions; for while we were thus outrageously bitter, our neighborswere as extravagantly attached to him by a strange infatuation--adoredhim like a god, whom we chose to consider as a fiend; and vowed that, under his government, their nation had attained its highest pitch ofgrandeur and glory. In revenge there existed in England (as is provedby a thousand authentic documents) a monster so hideous, a tyrant soruthless and bloody, that the world's history cannot show his parallel. This ruffian's name was, during the early part of the French revolution, Pittetcobourg. Pittetcobourg's emissaries were in every corner ofFrance; Pittetcobourg's gold chinked in the pockets of every traitor inEurope; it menaced the life of the godlike Robespierre; it drove intocellars and fits of delirium even the gentle philanthropist Marat; itfourteen times caused the dagger to be lifted against the bosom ofthe First Consul, Emperor, and King, --that first, great, glorious, irresistible, cowardly, contemptible, bloody hero and fiend, Bonaparte, before mentioned. 

On our side of the Channel we have had leisure, long since, tore-consider our verdict against Napoleon; though, to be sure, we havenot changed our opinion about Pittetcobourg. After five-and-thirty yearsall parties bear witness to his honesty, and speak with affectionatereverence of his patriotism, his genius, and his private virtue. InFrance, however, or, at least among certain parties in France, therehas been no such modification of opinion. With the Republicans, Pittetcobourg is Pittetcobourg still, --crafty, bloody, seeking whom hemay devour; and perfide Albion more perfidious than ever. This hatredis the point of union between the Republic and the Empire; it has beenfostered ever since, and must be continued by Prince Louis, if he wouldhope to conciliate both parties. 

With regard to the Emperor, then, Prince Louis erects to his memoryas fine a monument as his wits can raise. One need not say that theimperial apologist's opinion should be received with the utmost caution;for a man who has such a hero for an uncle may naturally be proud of andpartial to him; and when this nephew of the great man would be his heirlikewise, and, hearing his name, step also into his imperial shoes, onemay reasonably look for much affectionate panegyric. "The empire was thebest of empires, " cries the Prince; and possibly it was; undoubtedly, the Prince thinks it was; but he is the very last person who wouldconvince a man with the proper suspicious impartiality. One remembersa certain consultation of politicians which is recorded in theSpelling-book; and the opinion of that patriotic sage who avowed that, for a real blameless constitution, an impenetrable shield for liberty, and cheap defence of nations, there was nothing like leather. 

Let us examine some of the Prince's article. If we may be allowed humblyto express an opinion, his leather is not only quite insufficient forthose vast public purposes for which he destines it, but is, moreover, and in itself, very BAD LEATHER. The hides are poor, small, unsoundslips of skin; or, to drop this cobbling metaphor, the style is notparticularly brilliant, the facts not very startling, and, as for theconclusions, one may differ with almost every one of them. Here is anextract from his first chapter, "on governments in general:"--

"I speak it with regret, I can see but two governments, at this day, which fulfil the mission that Providence has confided to them; they arethe two colossi at the end of the world; one at the extremity of the oldworld, the other at the extremity of the new. Whilst our old Europeancentre is as a volcano, consuming itself in its crater, the two nationsof the East and the West, march without hesitation, towards perfection;the one under the will of a single individual, the other under liberty. 

"Providence has confided to the United States of North America the taskof peopling and civilizing that immense territory which stretches fromthe Atlantic to the South Sea, and from the North Pole to the Equator. The Government, which is only a simple administration, has only hithertobeen called upon to put in practice the old adage, Laissez faire, laissez passer, in order to favor that irresistible instinct whichpushes the people of America to the west. 

"In Russia it is to the imperial dynasty that is owing all the vastprogress which, in a century and a half, has rescued that empire frombarbarism. The imperial power must contend against all the ancientprejudices of our old Europe: it must centralize, as far as possible, all the powers of the state in the hands of one person, in order todestroy the abuses which the feudal and communal franchises haveserved to perpetuate. The last alone can hope to receive from it theimprovements which it expects. 

"But thou, France of Henry IV. , of Louis XIV. , of Carnot, ofNapoleon--thou, who wert always for the west of Europe the source ofprogress, who possessest in thyself the two great pillars of empire, thegenius for the arts of peace and the genius of war--hast thou no furthermission to fulfil? Wilt thou never cease to waste thy force and energiesin intestine struggles? No; such cannot be thy destiny: the day willsoon come, when, to govern thee, it will be necessary to understand thatthy part is to place in all treaties thy sword of Brennus on the side ofcivilization. "

These are the conclusions of the Prince's remarks upon governments ingeneral; and it must be supposed that the reader is very little wiser atthe end than at the beginning. But two governments in the world fulfiltheir mission: the one government, which is no government; the other, which is a despotism. The duty of France is IN ALL TREATIES to place hersword of Brennus in the scale of civilization. Without quarrelling withthe somewhat confused language of the latter proposition, may we askwhat, in heaven's name, is the meaning of all the three? What is thisépée de Brennus? and how is France to use it? Where is the greatsource of political truth, from which, flowing pure, we trace Americanrepublicanism in one stream, Russian despotism in another? Vastlyprosperous is the great republic, if you will: if dollars and centsconstitute happiness, there is plenty for all: but can any one, who hasread of the American doings in the late frontier troubles, and the dailydisputes on the slave question, praise the GOVERNMENT of the States?--aGovernment which dares not punish homicide or arson performed before itsvery eyes, and which the pirates of Texas and the pirates of Canada canbrave at their will? There is no government, but a prosperous anarchy;as the Prince's other favorite government is a prosperous slavery. What, then, is to be the épée de Brennus government? Is it to be a mixtureof the two? "Society, " writes the Prince, axiomatically, "contains initself two principles--the one of progress and immortality, the otherof disease and disorganization. " No doubt; and as the one tends towardsliberty, so the other is only to be cured by order: and then, with asingular felicity, Prince Louis picks us out a couple of governments, inone of which the common regulating power is as notoriously too weak, as it is in the other too strong, and talks in rapturous terms of themanner in which they fulfil their "providential mission!"

From these considerations on things in general, the Prince conducts usto Napoleon in particular, and enters largely into a discussion of themerits of the imperial system. Our author speaks of the Emperor's adventin the following grandiose way:--

"Napoleon, on arriving at the public stage, saw that his part was tobe the TESTAMENTARY EXECUTOR of the Revolution. The destructive fire ofparties was extinct; and when the Revolution, dying, but not vanquished, delegated to Napoleon the accomplishment of her last will, she said tohim, 'Establish upon solid bases the principal result of my efforts. Unite divided Frenchmen. Defeat feudal Europe that is leagued againstme. Cicatrize my wounds. Enlighten the nations. Execute that in width, which I have had to perform in depth. Be for Europe what I have been forFrance. And, even if you must water the tree of civilization withyour blood--if you must see your projects misunderstood, and your sonswithout a country, wandering over the face of the earth, never abandonthe sacred cause of the French people. Insure its triumph by all themeans which genius can discover and humanity approve. '

"This grand mission Napoleon performed to the end. His task wasdifficult. He had to place upon new principles a society stillboiling with hatred and revenge; and to use, for building up, the sameinstruments which had been employed for pulling down. 

"The common lot of every new truth that arises, is to wound ratherthan to convince--rather than to gain proselytes, to awaken fear. For, oppressed as it long has been, it rushes forward with additional force;having to encounter obstacles, it is compelled to combat them, andoverthrow them; until, at length, comprehended and adopted by thegenerality, it becomes the basis of new social order. 

"Liberty will follow the same march as the Christian religion. Armedwith death from the ancient society of Rome, it for a long while excitedthe hatred and fear of the people. At last, by force of martyrdoms andpersecutions, the religion of Christ penetrated into the conscience andthe soul; it soon had kings and armies at its orders, and Constantineand Charlemagne bore it triumphant throughout Europe. Religion then laiddown her arms of war. It laid open to all the principles of peace andorder which it contained; it became the prop of Government, as it wasthe organizing element of society. Thus will it be with liberty. In 1793it frightened people and sovereigns alike; then, having clothed itselfin a milder garb, IT INSINUATED ITSELF EVERYWHERE IN THE TRAIN OF OURBATTALIONS. In 1815 all parties adopted its flag, and armed themselveswith its moral force--covered themselves with its colors. The adoptionwas not sincere, and liberty was soon obliged to reassume its warlikeaccoutrements. With the contest their fears returned. Let us hope thatthey will soon cease, and that liberty will soon resume her peacefulstandards, to quit them no more. 

"The Emperor Napoleon contributed more than any one else towardsaccelerating the reign of liberty, by saving the moral influence ofthe revolution, and diminishing the fears which it imposed. Without theConsulate and the Empire, the revolution would have been only a granddrama, leaving grand revolutions but no traces: the revolution wouldhave been drowned in the counter-revolution. The contrary, however, was the case. Napoleon rooted the revolution in France, and introduced, throughout Europe, the principal benefits of the crisis of 1789. Touse his own words, 'He purified the revolution, he confirmed kings, andennobled people. ' He purified the revolution, in separating thetruths which it contained from the passions that, during its delirium, disfigured it. He ennobled the people in giving them the consciousnessof their force, and those institutions which raise men in their owneyes. The Emperor may be considered as the Messiah of the new ideas;for--and we must confess it--in the moments immediately succeeding asocial revolution, it is not so essential to put rigidly into practiceall the propositions resulting from the new theory, but to become masterof the regenerative genius, to identify one's self with the sentimentsof the people, and boldly to direct them towards the desired point. Toaccomplish such a task YOUR FIBRE SHOULD RESPOND TO THAT OF THE PEOPLE, as the Emperor said; you should feel like it, your interests shouldbe so intimately raised with its own, that you should vanquish or falltogether. "

Let us take breath after these big phrases, --grand round figuresof speech, --which, when put together, amount like certain othercombinations of round figures to exactly 0. We shall not stop to arguethe merits and demerits of Prince Louis's notable comparison between theChristian religion and the Imperial-revolutionary system. There aremany blunders in the above extract as we read it; blundering metaphors, blundering arguments, and blundering assertions; but this is surelythe grandest blunder of all; and one wonders at the blindness of thelegislator and historian who can advance such a parallel. And what arewe to say of the legacy of the dying revolution to Napoleon? Revolutionsdo not die, and, on their death-beds, making fine speeches, hand overtheir property to young officers of artillery. We have all read thehistory of his rise. The constitution of the year III. Was carried. Oldmen of the Montagne, disguised royalists, Paris sections, PITTETCOBOURG, above all, with his money-bags, thought that here was a fine opportunityfor a revolt, and opposed the new constitution in arms: the newconstitution had knowledge of a young officer who would not hesitate todefend its cause, and who effectually beat the majority. The tale may befound in every account of the revolution, and the rest of his story neednot be told. We know every step that he took: we know how, by dosesof cannon-balls promptly administered, he cured the fever of thesections--that fever which another camp-physician (Menou) declinedto prescribe for; we know how he abolished the Directory; and how theConsulship came; and then the Empire; and then the disgrace, exile, and lonely death. Has not all this been written by historians in alltongues?--by memoir-writing pages, chamberlains, marshals, lackeys, secretaries, contemporaries, and ladies of honor? Not a word of miracleis there in all this narration; not a word of celestial missions, or political Messiahs. From Napoleon's rise to his fall, the bayonetmarches alongside of him: now he points it at the tails of thescampering "five hundred, "--now he charges with it across the bloodyplanks of Arcola--now he flies before it over the fatal plain ofWaterloo. 

Unwilling, however, as he may be to grant that there are any spots inthe character of his hero's government, the Prince is, nevertheless, obliged to allow that such existed; that the Emperor's manner ofrule was a little more abrupt and dictatorial than might possibly beagreeable. For this the Prince has always an answer ready--it is thesame poor one that Napoleon uttered a million of times to his companionsin exile--the excuse of necessity. He WOULD have been very liberal, butthat the people were not fit for it; or that the cursed war preventedhim--or any other reason why. His first duty, however, says hisapologist, was to form a general union of Frenchmen, and he set abouthis plan in this wise:--

"Let us not forget, that all which Napoleon undertook, in order tocreate a general fusion, he performed without renouncing the principlesof the revolution. He recalled the émigrés, without touching uponthe law by which their goods had been confiscated and sold as publicproperty. He reestablished the Catholic religion at the same timethat he proclaimed the liberty of conscience, and endowed equally theministers of all sects. He caused himself to be consecrated by theSovereign Pontiff, without conceding to the Pope's demand any of theliberties of the Gallican church. He married a daughter of the Emperorof Austria, without abandoning any of the rights of France to theconquests she had made. He reestablished noble titles, without attachingto them any privileges or prerogatives, and these titles were conferredon all ranks, on all services, on all professions. Under the empireall idea of caste was destroyed; no man ever thought of vaunting hispedigree--no man ever was asked how he was born, but what he had done. 

"The first quality of a people which aspires to liberal government, is respect to the law. Now, a law has no other power than lies in theinterest which each citizen has to defend or to contravene it. In orderto make a people respect the law, it was necessary that it should beexecuted in the interest of all, and should consecrate the principle ofequality in all its extension. It was necessary to restore the prestigewith which the Government had been formerly invested, and to make theprinciples of the revolution take root in the public manners. Atthe commencement of a new society, it is the legislator who makes orcorrects the manners; later, it is the manners which make the law, orpreserve it from age to age intact. "

Some of these fusions are amusing. No man in the empire was asked howhe was born, but what he had done; and, accordingly, as a man's actionswere sufficient to illustrate him, the Emperor took care to make a hostof new title-bearers, princes, dukes, barons, and what not, whose rankhas descended to their children. He married a princess of Austria; but, for all that, did not abandon his conquests--perhaps not actually; buthe abandoned his allies, and, eventually, his whole kingdom. Who doesnot recollect his answer to the Poles, at the commencement of theRussian campaign? But for Napoleon's imperial father-in-law, Polandwould have been a kingdom, and his race, perhaps, imperial still. Whywas he to fetch this princess out of Austria to make heirs for histhrone? Why did not the man of the people marry a girl of the people?Why must he have a Pope to crown him--half a dozen kings for brothers, and a bevy of aides-de-camp dressed out like so many mountebanks fromAstley's, with dukes' coronets, and grand blue velvet marshals'bâtons? We have repeatedly his words for it. He wanted to create anaristocracy--another acknowledgment on his part of the Republicandilemma--another apology for the revolutionary blunder. To keep therepublic within bounds, a despotism is necessary; to rally round thedespotism, an aristocracy must be created; and for what have we beenlaboring all this while? for what have bastiles been battered down, andking's heads hurled, as a gage of battle, in the face of armed Europe?To have a Duke of Otranto instead of a Duke de la Tremouille, andEmperor Stork in place of King Log. O lame conclusion! Is the blessedrevolution which is prophesied for us in England only to end inestablishing a Prince Fergus O'Connor, or a Cardinal Wade, or a DukeDaniel Whittle Harvey? Great as those patriots are, we love them betterunder their simple family names, and scorn titles and coronets. 

At present, in France, the delicate matter of titles seems to be betterarranged, any gentleman, since the Revolution, being free to adopt anyone he may fix upon; and it appears that the Crown no longer confers anypatents of nobility, but contents itself with saying, as in the case ofM. De Pontois, the other day, "Le Roi trouve convenable that you takethe title of, " &c. 

To execute the legacy of the revolution, then; to fulfil hisprovidential mission; to keep his place, --in other words, for thesimplest are always the best, --to keep his place, and to keep hisGovernment in decent order, the Emperor was obliged to establish amilitary despotism, to re-establish honors and titles; it was necessary, as the Prince confesses, to restore the old prestige of the Government, in order to make the people respect it; and he adds--a truth which onehardly would expect from him, --"At the commencement of a new society, itis the legislator who makes and corrects the manners; later, it is themanners which preserve the laws. " Of course, and here is the great riskthat all revolutionizing people run--they must tend to despotism;"they must personify themselves in a man, " is the Prince's phrase; and, according as is his temperament or disposition--according as he is aCromwell, a Washington, or a Napoleon--the revolution becomes tyranny orfreedom, prospers or falls. 

Somewhere in the St. Helena memorials, Napoleon reports a message ofhis to the Pope. "Tell the Pope, " he says to an archbishop, "to rememberthat I have six hundred thousand armed Frenchmen, qui marcheront avecmoi, pour moi, et comme moi. " And this is the legacy of the revolution, the advancement of freedom! A hundred volumes of imperial specialpleading will not avail against such a speech as this--one so insolent, and at the same time so humiliating, which gives unwittingly the wholeof the Emperor's progress, strength, and weakness. The six hundredthousand armed Frenchmen were used up, and the whole fabric falls; thesix hundred thousand are reduced to sixty thousand, and straightway allthe rest of the fine imperial scheme vanishes: the miserable senate, socrawling and abject but now, becomes of a sudden endowed with a wondrousindependence; the miserable sham nobles, sham empress, sham kings, dukes, princes, chamberlains, pack up their plumes and embroideries, pounce upon what money and plate they can lay their hands on, and whenthe allies appear before Paris, when for courage and manliness thereis yet hope, when with fierce marches hastening to the relief of hiscapital, bursting through ranks upon ranks of the enemy, and crushing orscattering them from the path of his swift and victorious despair, theEmperor at last is at home, --where are the great dignitaries and thelieutenant-generals of the empire? Where is Maria Louisa, the EmpressEagle, with her little callow king of Rome? Is she going to defend hernest and her eaglet? Not she. Empress-queen, lieutenant-general, andcourt dignitaries, are off on the wings of all the winds--profligatisunt, they are away with the money-bags, and Louis Stanislas Xavierrolls into the palace of his fathers. 

With regard to Napoleon's excellences as an administrator, a legislator, a constructor of public works, and a skilful financier, his nephewspeaks with much diffuse praise, and few persons, we suppose, will bedisposed to contradict him. Whether the Emperor composed his famouscode, or borrowed it, is of little importance; but he established it, and made the law equal for every man in France except one. His vastpublic works and vaster wars were carried on without new loans orexorbitant taxes; it was only the blood and liberty of the people thatwere taxed, and we shall want a better advocate than Prince Louis toshow us that these were not most unnecessarily and lavishly thrown away. As for the former and material improvements, it is not necessary toconfess here that a despotic energy can effect such far more readilythan a Government of which the strength is diffused in many conflictingparties. No doubt, if we could create a despotical governing machine, asteam autocrat, --passionless, untiring, and supreme, --we should advancefurther, and live more at ease than under any other form of government. Ministers might enjoy their pensions and follow their own devices;Lord John might compose histories or tragedies at his leisure, and LordPalmerston, instead of racking his brains to write leading articlesfor Cupid, might crown his locks with flowers, and sing [Greek textomitted], his natural Anacreontics; but alas! not so: if the despoticGovernment has its good side, Prince Louis Napoleon must acknowledgethat it has its bad, and it is for this that the civilized worldis compelled to substitute for it something more orderly and lesscapricious. Good as the Imperial Government might have been, it must berecollected, too, that since its first fall, both the Emperor and hisadmirer and would-be successor have had their chance of re-establishingit. "Fly from steeple to steeple" the eagles of the former did actually, and according to promise perch for a while on the towers of Notre Dame. We know the event: if the fate of war declared against the Emperor, the country declared against him too; and, with old Lafayette for amouthpiece, the representatives of the nation did, in a neat speech, pronounce themselves in permanence, but spoke no more of the Emperorthan if he had never been. Thereupon the Emperor proclaimed his son theEmperor Napoleon II. "L'Empereur est mort, vive l'Empereur!" shoutedPrince Lucien. Psha! not a soul echoed the words: the play was played, and as for old Lafayette and his "permanent" representatives, a corporalwith a hammer nailed up the door of their spouting-club, and once moreLouis Stanislas Xavier rolled back to the bosom of his people. 

In like manner Napoleon III. Returned from exile, and made hisappearance on the frontier. His eagle appeared at Strasburg, and fromStrasburg advanced to the capital; but it arrived at Paris with akeeper, and in a post-chaise; whence, by the orders of the sovereign, itwas removed to the American shores, and there magnanimously let loose. Who knows, however, how soon it may be on the wing again, and what aflight it will take?

THE STORY OF MARY ANCEL. 

"Go, my nephew, " said old Father Jacob to me, "and complete thy studiesat Strasburg: Heaven surely hath ordained thee for the ministry in thesetimes of trouble, and my excellent friend Schneider will work out thedivine intention. "

Schneider was an old college friend of uncle Jacob's, was a Benedictinemonk, and a man famous for his learning; as for me, I was at that timemy uncle's chorister, clerk, and sacristan; I swept the church, chanted the prayers with my shrill treble, and swung the great copperincense-pot on Sundays and feasts; and I toiled over the Fathers for theother days of the week. 

The old gentleman said that my progress was prodigious, and, withoutvanity, I believe he was right, for I then verily considered thatpraying was my vocation, and not fighting, as I have found since. 

You would hardly conceive (said the Captain, swearing a great oath) howdevout and how learned I was in those days; I talked Latin faster thanmy own beautiful patois of Alsacian French; I could utterly overthrowin argument every Protestant (heretics we called them) parson in theneighborhood, and there was a confounded sprinkling of these unbelieversin our part of the country. I prayed half a dozen times a day; I fastedthrice in a week; and, as for penance, I used to scourge my littlesides, till they had no more feeling than a peg-top: such was the godlylife I led at my uncle Jacob's in the village of Steinbach. 

Our family had long dwelt in this place, and a large farm and a pleasanthouse were then in the possession of another uncle--uncle Edward. He wasthe youngest of the three sons of my grandfather; but Jacob, the elder, had shown a decided vocation for the church, from, I believe, the age ofthree, and now was by no means tired of it at sixty. My father, whowas to have inherited the paternal property, was, as I hear, a terriblescamp and scapegrace, quarrelled with his family, and disappearedaltogether, living and dying at Paris; so far we knew through my mother, who came, poor woman, with me, a child of six months, on her bosom, wasrefused all shelter by my grandfather, but was housed and kindly caredfor by my good uncle Jacob. 

Here she lived for about seven years, and the old gentleman, when shedied, wept over her grave a great deal more than I did, who was then tooyoung to mind anything but toys or sweetmeats. 

During this time my grandfather was likewise carried off: he left, as Isaid, the property to his son Edward, with a small proviso in his willthat something should be done for me, his grandson. 

Edward was himself a widower, with one daughter, Mary, about three yearsolder than I, and certainly she was the dearest little treasure withwhich Providence ever blessed a miserly father; by the time she wasfifteen, five farmers, three lawyers, twelve Protestant parsons, and alieutenant of Dragoons had made her offers: it must not be denied thatshe was an heiress as well as a beauty, which, perhaps, had somethingto do with the love of these gentlemen. However, Mary declared that sheintended to live single, turned away her lovers one after another, anddevoted herself to the care of her father. 

Uncle Jacob was as fond of her as he was of any saint or martyr. As forme, at the mature age of twelve I had made a kind of divinity of her, and when we sang "Ave Maria" on Sundays I could not refrain from turningto her, where she knelt, blushing and praying and looking like an angel, as she was. Besides her beauty, Mary had a thousand good qualities; shecould play better on the harpsichord, she could dance more lightly, shecould make better pickles and puddings, than any girl in Alsace; therewas not a want or a fancy of the old hunks her father, or a wish of mineor my uncle's, that she would not gratify if she could; as for herself, the sweet soul had neither wants nor wishes except to see us happy. 

I could talk to you for a year of all the pretty kindnesses that shewould do for me; how, when she found me of early mornings among mybooks, her presence "would cast a light upon the day;" how she used tosmooth and fold my little surplice, and embroider me caps and gowns forhigh feast-days; how she used to bring flowers for the altar, and whocould deck it so well as she? But sentiment does not come glibly fromunder a grizzled moustache, so I will drop it, if you please. 

Amongst other favors she showed me, Mary used to be particularly fond ofkissing me: it was a thing I did not so much value in those days, but Ifound that the more I grew alive to the extent of the benefit, the lessshe would condescend to confer it on me; till at last, when I was aboutfourteen, she discontinued it altogether, of her own wish at least; onlysometimes I used to be rude, and take what she had now become so mightyunwilling to give. 

I was engaged in a contest of this sort one day with Mary, when, justas I was about to carry off a kiss from her cheek, I was saluted with astaggering slap on my own, which was bestowed by uncle Edward, and sentme reeling some yards down the garden. 

The old gentleman, whose tongue was generally as close as his purse, nowpoured forth a flood of eloquence which quite astonished me. I did notthink that so much was to be said on any subject as he managed to utteron one, and that was abuse of me; he stamped, he swore, he screamed;and then, from complimenting me, he turned to Mary, and saluted her ina manner equally forcible and significant; she, who was very muchfrightened at the commencement of the scene, grew very angry at thecoarse words he used, and the wicked motives he imputed to her. 

"The child is but fourteen, " she said; "he is your own nephew, and acandidate for holy orders:--father, it is a shame that you should thusspeak of me, your daughter, or of one of his holy profession. "

I did not particularly admire this speech myself, but it had an effecton my uncle, and was the cause of the words with which this historycommences. The old gentleman persuaded his brother that I must besent to Strasburg, and there kept until my studies for the church wereconcluded. I was furnished with a letter to my uncle's old college chum, Professor Schneider, who was to instruct me in theology and Greek. 

I was not sorry to see Strasburg, of the wonders of which I had heardso much; but felt very loth as the time drew near when I must quit mypretty cousin, and my good old uncle. Mary and I managed, however, a parting walk, in which a number of tender things were said on bothsides. I am told that you Englishmen consider it cowardly to cry; as forme, I wept and roared incessantly: when Mary squeezed me, for the lasttime, the tears came out of me as if I had been neither more nor lessthan a great wet sponge. My cousin's eyes were stoically dry; herladyship had a part to play, and it would have been wrong for her tobe in love with a young chit of fourteen--so she carried herself withperfect coolness, as if there was nothing the matter. I should not haveknown that she cared for me, had it not been for a letter which shewrote me a month afterwards--THEN, nobody was by, and the consequencewas that the letter was half washed away with her weeping; if she hadused a watering-pot the thing could not have been better done. 

Well, I arrived at Strasburg--a dismal, old-fashioned, rickety town inthose days--and straightway presented myself and letter at Schneider'sdoor; over it was written--

 COMITÉ DE SALUT PUBLIC. 

Would you believe it? I was so ignorant a young fellow, that I had noidea of the meaning of the words; however, I entered the citizen's roomwithout fear, and sat down in his ante-chamber until I could be admittedto see him. 

Here I found very few indications of his reverence's profession; thewalls were hung round with portraits of Robespierre, Marat, and thelike; a great bust of Mirabeau, mutilated, with the word Traîtreunderneath; lists and republican proclamations, tobacco-pipes andfire-arms. At a deal-table, stained with grease and wine, sat agentleman, with a huge pigtail dangling down to that part of his personwhich immediately succeeds his back, and a red nightcap, containing aTRICOLOR cockade as large as a pancake. He was smoking a short pipe, reading a little book, and sobbing as if his heart would break. Everynow and then he would make brief remarks upon the personages or theincidents of his book, by which I could judge that he was a man ofthe very keenest sensibilities--"Ah, brigand!" "O malheureuse!" "OCharlotte, Charlotte!" The work which this gentleman was perusing iscalled "The Sorrows of Werter;" it was all the rage, in those days, andmy friend was only following the fashion. I asked him if I could seeFather Schneider? he turned towards me a hideous, pimpled face, which Idream of now at forty years' distance. 

"Father who?" said he. "Do you imagine that citizen Schneider has notthrown off the absurd mummery of priesthood? If you were a little olderyou would go to prison for calling him Father Schneider--many a man hasdied for less;" and he pointed to a picture of a guillotine, which washanging in the room. 

I was in amazement. 

"What is he? Is he not a teacher of Greek, an abbé, a monk, untilmonasteries were abolished, the learned editor of the songs of'Anacreon?'"

"He WAS all this, " replied my grim friend; "he is now a Member of theCommittee of Public Safety, and would think no more of ordering yourhead off than of drinking this tumbler of beer. "

He swallowed, himself, the frothy liquid, and then proceeded to give methe history of the man to whom my uncle had sent me for instruction. 

Schneider was born in 1756: was a student at Würzburg, and afterwardsentered a convent, where he remained nine years. He here becamedistinguished for his learning and his talents as a preacher, and becamechaplain to Duke Charles of Würtemberg. The doctrines of the Illuminatibegan about this time to spread in Germany, and Schneider speedilyjoined the sect. He had been a professor of Greek at Cologne; and beingcompelled, on account of his irregularity, to give up his chair, he cameto Strasburg at the commencement of the French Revolution, and acted forsome time a principal part as a revolutionary agent at Strasburg. 

["Heaven knows what would have happened to me had I continued long underhis tuition!" said the Captain. "I owe the preservation of my moralsentirely to my entering the army. A man, sir, who is a soldier, has verylittle time to be wicked; except in the case of a siege and the sack ofa town, when a little license can offend nobody. "]

By the time that my friend had concluded Schneider's biography, we hadgrown tolerably intimate, and I imparted to him (with that experience soremarkable in youth) my whole history--my course of studies, my pleasantcountry life, the names and qualities of my dear relations, and myoccupations in the vestry before religion was abolished by order of theRepublic. In the course of my speech I recurred so often to the nameof my cousin Mary, that the gentleman could not fail to perceive what atender place she had in my heart. 

Then we reverted to "The Sorrows of Werter, " and discussed the meritsof that sublime performance. Although I had before felt some misgivingsabout my new acquaintance, my heart now quite yearned towards him. Hetalked about love and sentiment in a manner which made me recollect thatI was in love myself; and you know that when a man is in that condition, his taste is not very refined, any maudlin trash of prose or verseappearing sublime to him, provided it correspond, in some degree, withhis own situation. 

"Candid youth!" cried my unknown, "I love to hear thy innocent story andlook on thy guileless face. There is, alas! so much of the contrary inthis world, so much terror and crime and blood, that we who mingle withit are only too glad to forget it. Would that we could shake off ourcares as men, and be boys, as thou art, again!"

Here my friend began to weep once more, and fondly shook my hand. Iblessed my stars that I had, at the very outset of my career, met withone who was so likely to aid me. What a slanderous world it is, thought I; the people in our village call these Republicans wicked andbloody-minded; a lamb could not be more tender than this sentimentalbottle-nosed gentleman! The worthy man then gave me to understand thathe held a place under Government. I was busy in endeavoring to discoverwhat his situation might be, when the door of the next apartment opened, and Schneider made his appearance. 

At first he did not notice me, but he advanced to my new acquaintance, and gave him, to my astonishment, something very like a blow. 

"You drunken, talking fool, " he said, "you are always after your time. Fourteen people are cooling their heels yonder, waiting until you havefinished your beer and your sentiment!"

My friend slunk muttering out of the room. 

"That fellow, " said Schneider, turning to me, "is our publicexecutioner: a capital hand too if he would but keep decent time; butthe brute is always drunk, and blubbering over 'The Sorrows of Werter!'"

I know not whether it was his old friendship for my uncle, or myproper merits, which won the heart of this the sternest ruffian ofRobespierre's crew; but certain it is, that he became strangely attachedto me, and kept me constantly about his person. As for the priesthoodand the Greek, they were of course very soon out of the question. TheAustrians were on our frontier; every day brought us accounts ofbattles won; and the youth of Strasburg, and of all France, indeed, werebursting with military ardor. As for me, I shared the general mania, and speedily mounted a cockade as large as that of my friend, theexecutioner. 

The occupations of this worthy were unremitting. Saint Just, who hadcome down from Paris to preside over our town, executed the laws andthe aristocrats with terrible punctuality; and Schneider used tomake country excursions in search of offenders with this fellow, asa provost-marshal, at his back. In the meantime, having entered mysixteenth year, and being a proper lad of my age, I had joined aregiment of cavalry, and was scampering now after the Austrianswho menaced us, and now threatening the Emigrés, who were banded atCoblentz. My love for my dear cousin increased as my whiskers grew; andwhen I was scarcely seventeen, I thought myself man enough to marry her, and to cut the throat of any one who should venture to say me nay. 

I need not tell you that during my absence at Strasburg, great changeshad occurred in our little village, and somewhat of the revolutionaryrage had penetrated even to that quiet and distant place. The hideous"Fête of the Supreme Being" had been celebrated at Paris; the practiceof our ancient religion was forbidden; its professors were most of themin concealment, or in exile, or had expiated on the scaffold their crimeof Christianity. In our poor village my uncle's church was closed, andhe, himself, an inmate in my brother's house, only owing his safety tohis great popularity among his former flock, and the influence of EdwardAncel. 

The latter had taken in the Revolution a somewhat prominent part; thatis, he had engaged in many contracts for the army, attended the clubsregularly, corresponded with the authorities of his department, and wasloud in his denunciations of the aristocrats in the neighborhood. Butowing, perhaps, to the German origin of the peasantry, and their quietand rustic lives, the revolutionary fury which prevailed in the citieshad hardly reached the country people. The occasional visit of acommissary from Paris or Strasburg served to keep the flame alive, andto remind the rural swains of the existence of a Republic in France. 

Now and then, when I could gain a week's leave of absence, I returned tothe village, and was received with tolerable politeness by my uncle, andwith a warmer feeling by his daughter. 

I won't describe to you the progress of our love, or the wrath of myuncle Edward, when he discovered that it still continued. He swore andhe stormed; he locked Mary into her chamber, and vowed that he wouldwithdraw the allowance he made me, if ever I ventured near her. Hisdaughter, he said, should never marry a hopeless, penniless subaltern;and Mary declared she would not marry without his consent. What had I todo?--to despair and to leave her. As for my poor uncle Jacob, he had nocounsel to give me, and, indeed, no spirit left: his little church wasturned into a stable, his surplice torn off his shoulders, and he wasonly too lucky in keeping HIS HEAD on them. A bright thought struck him:suppose you were to ask the advice of my old friend Schneider regardingthis marriage? he has ever been your friend, and may help you now asbefore. 

(Here the Captain paused a little. ) You may fancy (continued he) that itwas droll advice of a reverend gentleman like uncle Jacob to counselme in this manner, and to bid me make friends with such a murderouscut-throat as Schneider; but we thought nothing of it in those days;guillotining was as common as dancing, and a man was only thought thebetter patriot the more severe he might be. I departed forthwith toStrasburg, and requested the vote and interest of the Citizen Presidentof the Committee of Public Safety. 

He heard me with a great deal of attention. I described to him mostminutely the circumstance, expatiated upon the charms of my dear Mary, and painted her to him from head to foot. Her golden hair and herbright blushing cheeks, her slim waist and her tripping tiny feet;and furthermore, I added that she possessed a fortune which ought, byrights, to be mine, but for the miserly old father. "Curse him for anaristocrat!" concluded I, in my wrath. 

As I had been discoursing about Mary's charms Schneider listened withmuch complacency and attention: when I spoke about her fortune, hisinterest redoubled; and when I called her father an aristocrat, theworthy ex-Jesuit gave a grin of satisfaction, which was really quiteterrible. O fool that I was to trust him so far!

The very same evening an officer waited upon me with the following notefrom Saint Just:--

"STRASBURG, Fifth year of the Republic, one and indivisible, 11 Ventose. 

"The citizen Pierre Ancel is to leave Strasburg within two hours, andto carry the enclosed despatches to the President of the Committee ofPublic Safety at Paris. The necessary leave of absence from his militaryduties has been provided. Instant punishment will follow the slightestdelay on the road. 

"Salut et Fraternité. "

There was no choice but obedience, and off I sped on my weary way to thecapital. 

As I was riding out of the Paris gate I met an equipage which I knew tobe that of Schneider. The ruffian smiled at me as I passed, and wishedme a bon voyage. Behind his chariot came a curious machine, or cart; agreat basket, three stout poles, and several planks, all painted red, were lying in this vehicle, on the top of which was seated my friendwith the big cockade. It was the PORTABLE GUILLOTINE which Schneideralways carried with him on his travels. The bourreau was reading "TheSorrows of Werter, " and looked as sentimental as usual. 

I will not speak of my voyage in order to relate to you Schneider's. My story had awakened the wretch's curiosity and avarice, and he wasdetermined that such a prize as I had shown my cousin to be should fallinto no hands but his own. No sooner, in fact, had I quitted hisroom than he procured the order for my absence, and was on the way toSteinbach as I met him. 

The journey is not a very long one; and on the next day my uncle Jacobwas surprised by receiving a message that the citizen Schneider was inthe village, and was coming to greet his old friend. Old Jacob was inan ecstasy, for he longed to see his college acquaintance, and he hopedalso that Schneider had come into that part of the country upon themarriage-business of your humble servant. Of course Mary was summoned togive her best dinner, and wear her best frock; and her father made readyto receive the new State dignitary. 

Schneider's carriage speedily rolled into the court-yard, andSchneider's CART followed, as a matter of course. The ex-priest onlyentered the house; his companion remaining with the horses to dine inprivate. Here was a most touching meeting between him and Jacob. Theytalked over their old college pranks and successes; they capped Greekverses, and quoted ancient epigrams upon their tutors, who had beendead since the Seven Years' War. Mary declared it was quite touching tolisten to the merry friendly talk of these two old gentlemen. 

After the conversation had continued for a time in this strain, Schneider drew up all of a sudden, and said quietly, that he had comeon particular and unpleasant business--hinting about troublesome times, spies, evil reports, and so forth. Then he called uncle Edward aside, and had with him a long and earnest conversation: so Jacob went out andtalked with Schneider's FRIEND; they speedily became very intimate, forthe ruffian detailed all the circumstances of his interview with me. When he returned into the house, some time after this pleasing colloquy, he found the tone of the society strangely altered. Edward Ancel, paleas a sheet, trembling, and crying for mercy; poor Mary weeping; andSchneider pacing energetically about the apartment, raging about therights of man, the punishment of traitors, and the one and indivisiblerepublic. 

"Jacob, " he said, as my uncle entered the room, "I was willing, for thesake of our old friendship, to forget the crimes of your brother. He isa known and dangerous aristocrat; he holds communications with the enemyon the frontier; he is a possessor of great and ill-gotten wealth, ofwhich he has plundered the Republic. Do you know, " said he, turning toEdward Ancel, "where the least of these crimes, or the mere suspicion ofthem, would lead you?"

Poor Edward sat trembling in his chair, and answered not a word. Heknew full well how quickly, in this dreadful time, punishment followedsuspicion; and, though guiltless of all treason with the enemy, perhapshe was aware that, in certain contracts with the Government, he hadtaken to himself a more than patriotic share of profit. 

"Do you know, " resumed Schneider, in a voice of thunder, "forwhat purpose I came hither, and by whom I am accompanied? I am theadministrator of the justice of the Republic. The life of yourself andyour family is in my hands: yonder man, who follows me, is the executorof the law; he has rid the nation of hundreds of wretches like yourself. A single word from me, and your doom is sealed without hope, and yourlast hour is come. Ho! Gregoire!" shouted he; "is all ready?"

Gregoire replied from the court, "I can put up the machine in half anhour. Shall I go down to the village and call the troops and the lawpeople?"

"Do you hear him?" said Schneider. "The guillotine is in the court-yard;your name is on my list, and I have witnesses to prove your crime. Haveyou a word in your defence?"

Not a word came; the old gentleman was dumb; but his daughter, who didnot give way to his terror, spoke for him. 

"You cannot, sir, " said she, "although you say it, FEEL that my fatheris guilty; you would not have entered our house thus alone if you hadthought it. You threaten him in this manner because you have somethingto ask and to gain from us: what is it, citizen?--tell us how much youvalue our lives, and what sum we are to pay for our ransom?"

"Sum!" said uncle Jacob; "he does not want money of us: my old friend, my college chum, does not come hither to drive bargains with anybodybelonging to Jacob Ancel?"

"Oh, no, sir, no, you can't want money of us, " shrieked Edward; "we arethe poorest people of the village: ruined, Monsieur Schneider, ruined inthe cause of the Republic. "

"Silence, father, " said my brave Mary; "this man wants a PRICE: hecomes, with his worthy friend yonder, to frighten us, not to kill us. If we die, he cannot touch a sou of our money; it is confiscated to theState. Tell us, sir, what is the price of our safety?"

Schneider smiled, and bowed with perfect politeness. 

"Mademoiselle Marie, " he said, "is perfectly correct in her surmise. Ido not want the life of this poor drivelling old man: my intentionsare much more peaceable, be assured. It rests entirely with thisaccomplished young lady (whose spirit I like, and whose ready wit Iadmire), whether the business between us shall be a matter of love ordeath. I humbly offer myself, citizen Ancel, as a candidate for thehand of your charming daughter. Her goodness, her beauty, and thelarge fortune which I know you intend to give her, would render her adesirable match for the proudest man in the republic, and, I am sure, would make me the happiest. "

"This must be a jest, Monsieur Schneider, " said Mary, trembling, andturning deadly pale: "you cannot mean this; you do not know me: younever heard of me until to-day. "

"Pardon me, belle dame, " replied he; "your cousin Pierre has oftentalked to me of your virtues; indeed, it was by his special suggestionthat I made the visit. "

"It is false!--it is a base and cowardly lie!" exclaimed she (forthe young lady's courage was up), --"Pierre never could have forgottenhimself and me so as to offer me to one like you. You come here witha lie on your lips--a lie against my father, to swear his life away, against my dear cousin's honor and love. It is useless now to deny it:father, I love Pierre Ancel; I will marry no other but him--no, thoughour last penny were paid to this man as the price of our freedom. "

Schneider's only reply to this was a call to his friend Gregoire. 

"Send down to the village for the maire and some gendarmes; and tellyour people to make ready. "

"Shall I put THE MACHINE up?" shouted he of the sentimental turn. 

"You hear him, " said Schneider; "Marie Ancel, you may decide the fateof your father. I shall return in a few hours, " concluded he, "and willthen beg to know your decision. "

The advocate of the rights of man then left the apartment, and left thefamily, as you may imagine, in no very pleasant mood. 

Old uncle Jacob, during the few minutes which had elapsed in theenactment of this strange scene, sat staring wildly at Schneider, andholding Mary on his knees: the poor little thing had fled to him forprotection, and not to her father, who was kneeling almost senseless atthe window, gazing at the executioner and his hideous preparations. Theinstinct of the poor girl had not failed her; she knew that Jacob washer only protector, if not of her life--heaven bless him!--of her honor. "Indeed, " the old man said, in a stout voice, "this must never be, my dearest child--you must not marry this man. If it be the will ofProvidence that we fall, we shall have at least the thought to consoleus that we die innocent. Any man in France at a time like this, would bea coward and traitor if he feared to meet the fate of the thousand braveand good who have preceded us. "

"Who speaks of dying?" said Edward. "You, Brother Jacob?--you would notlay that poor girl's head on the scaffold, or mine, your dear brother's. You will not let us die, Mary; you will not, for a small sacrifice, bring your poor old father into danger?"

Mary made no answer. "Perhaps, " she said, "there is time for escape:he is to be here but in two hours; in two hours we may be safe, inconcealment, or on the frontier. " And she rushed to the door of thechamber, as if she would have instantly made the attempt: two gendarmeswere at the door. "We have orders, Mademoiselle, " they said, "toallow no one to leave this apartment until the return of the citizenSchneider. "

Alas! all hope of escape was impossible. Mary became quite silent for awhile; she would not speak to uncle Jacob; and, in reply to her father'seager questions, she only replied, coldly, that she would answerSchneider when he arrived. 

The two dreadful hours passed away only too quickly; and, punctualto his appointment, the ex-monk appeared. Directly he entered, Maryadvanced to him, and said, calmly, --

"Sir, I could not deceive you if I said that I freely accepted the offerwhich you have made me. I will be your wife; but I tell you that I loveanother; and that it is only to save the lives of those two old men thatI yield my person up to you. "

Schneider bowed, and said, --

"It is bravely spoken. I like your candor--your beauty. As for the love, excuse me for saying that is a matter of total indifference. I have nodoubt, however, that it will come as soon as your feelings in favor ofthe young gentleman, your cousin, have lost their present fervor. That engaging young man has, at present, another mistress--Glory. Heoccupies, I believe, the distinguished post of corporal in a regimentwhich is about to march to--Perpignan, I believe. "

It was, in fact, Monsieur Schneider's polite intention to banish me asfar as possible from the place of my birth; and he had, accordingly, selected the Spanish frontier as the spot where I was to display myfuture military talents. 

Mary gave no answer to this sneer: she seemed perfectly resigned andcalm: she only said, --

"I must make, however, some conditions regarding our proposed marriage, which a gentleman of Monsieur Schneider's gallantry cannot refuse. "

"Pray command me, " replied the husband elect. "Fair lady, you know I amyour slave. "

"You occupy a distinguished political rank, citizen representative, "said she; "and we in our village are likewise known and beloved. Ishould be ashamed, I confess, to wed you here; for our people wouldwonder at the sudden marriage, and imply that it was only by compulsionthat I gave you my hand. Let us, then, perform this ceremony atStrasburg, before the public authorities of the city, with the stateand solemnity which befits the marriage of one of the chief men of theRepublic. "

"Be it so, madam, " he answered, and gallantly proceeded to embrace hisbride. 

Mary did not shrink from this ruffian's kiss; nor did she reply whenpoor old Jacob, who sat sobbing in a corner, burst out, and said, --

"O Mary, Mary, I did not think this of thee!"

"Silence, brother!" hastily said Edward; "my good son-in-law will pardonyour ill-humor. "

I believe uncle Edward in his heart was pleased at the notion of themarriage; he only cared for money and rank, and was little scrupulous asto the means of obtaining them. 

The matter then was finally arranged; and presently, after Schneider hadtransacted the affairs which brought him into that part of the country, the happy bridal party set forward for Strasburg. Uncles Jacob andEdward occupied the back seat of the old family carriage, and theyoung bride and bridegroom (he was nearly Jacob's age) were seatedmajestically in front. Mary has often since talked to me of thisdreadful journey. She said she wondered at the scrupulous politeness ofSchneider during the route; nay, that at another period she could havelistened to and admired the singular talent of this man, his greatlearning, his fancy, and wit; but her mind was bent upon other things, and the poor girl firmly thought that her last day was come. 

In the meantime, by a blessed chance, I had not ridden three leaguesfrom Strasburg, when the officer of a passing troop of a cavalryregiment, looking at the beast on which I was mounted, was pleasedto take a fancy to it, and ordered me, in an authoritative tone, todescend, and to give up my steed for the benefit of the Republic. Irepresented to him, in vain, that I was a soldier, like himself, and thebearer of despatches to Paris. "Fool!" he said; "do you think they wouldsend despatches by a man who can ride at best but ten leagues a day?"And the honest soldier was so wroth at my supposed duplicity, that henot only confiscated my horse, but my saddle, and the little portmanteauwhich contained the chief part of my worldly goods and treasure. I hadnothing for it but to dismount, and take my way on foot back again toStrasburg. I arrived there in the evening, determining the next morningto make my case known to the citizen St. Just; and though I made myentry without a sou, I don't know what secret exultation I felt at againbeing able to return. 

The ante-chamber of such a great man as St. Just was, in those days, too crowded for an unprotected boy to obtain an early audience; two dayspassed before I could obtain a sight of the friend of Robespierre. Onthe third day, as I was still waiting for the interview, I heard a greatbustle in the courtyard of the house, and looked out with many others atthe spectacle. 

A number of men and women, singing epithalamiums, and dressed in someabsurd imitation of Roman costume, a troop of soldiers and gendarmerie, and an immense crowd of the badauds of Strasburg, were surroundinga carriage which then entered the court of the mayoralty. In thiscarriage, great God! I saw my dear Mary, and Schneider by her side. Thetruth instantly came upon me: the reason for Schneider's keen inquiriesand my abrupt dismissal; but I could not believe that Mary was false tome. I had only to look in her face, white and rigid as marble, to seethat this proposed marriage was not with her consent. 

I fell back in the crowd as the procession entered the great room inwhich I was, and hid my face in my hands: I could not look upon her asthe wife of another, --upon her so long loved and truly--the saint of mychildhood--the pride and hope of my youth--torn from me for ever, anddelivered over to the unholy arms of the murderer who stood before me. 

The door of St. Just's private apartment opened, and he took his seat atthe table of mayoralty just as Schneider and his cortège arrived beforeit. 

Schneider then said that he came in before the authorities of theRepublic to espouse the citoyenne Marie Ancel. 

"Is she a minor?" asked St. Just. 

"She is a minor, but her father is here to give her away. "

"I am here, " said uncle Edward, coming eagerly forward and bowing. "Edward Ancel, so please you, citizen representative. The worthy citizenSchneider has done me the honor of marrying into my family. "

"But my father has not told you the terms of the marriage, " said Mary, interrupting him, in a loud, clear voice. 

Here Schneider seized her hand, and endeavored to prevent her fromspeaking. Her father turned pale, and cried, "Stop, Mary, stop! Forheaven's sake, remember your poor old father's danger!"

"Sir, may I speak?"

"Let the young woman speak, " said St. Just, "if she have a desire totalk. " He did not suspect what would be the purport of her story. 

"Sir, " she said, "two days since the citizen Schneider entered for thefirst time our house; and you will fancy that it must be a love of verysudden growth which has brought either him or me before you to-day. Hehad heard from a person who is now unhappily not present, of my name andof the wealth which my family was said to possess; and hence arose thismad design concerning me. He came into our village with supreme power, an executioner at his heels, and the soldiery and authorities of thedistrict entirely under his orders. He threatened my father with deathif he refused to give up his daughter; and I, who knew that there was nochance of escape, except here before you, consented to become his wife. My father I know to be innocent, for all his transactions with the Statehave passed through my hands. Citizen representative, I demand to befreed from this marriage; and I charge Schneider as a traitor to theRepublic, as a man who would have murdered an innocent citizen for thesake of private gain. "

During the delivery of this little speech, uncle Jacob had been sobbingand panting like a broken-winded horse; and when Mary had done, herushed up to her and kissed her, and held her tight in his arms. "Blessthee, my child!" he cried, "for having had the courage to speak thetruth, and shame thy old father and me, who dared not say a word. "

"The girl amazes me, " said Schneider, with a look of astonishment. "Inever saw her, it is true, till yesterday; but I used no force: herfather gave her to me with his free consent, and she yielded as gladly. Speak, Edward Ancel, was it not so?"

"It was, indeed, by my free consent, " said Edward, trembling. 

"For shame, brother!" cried old Jacob. "Sir, it was by Edward's freeconsent and my niece's; but the guillotine was in the court-yard!Question Schneider's famulus, the man Gregoire, him who reads 'TheSorrows of Werter. '"

Gregoire stepped forward, and looked hesitatingly at Schneider, as hesaid, "I know not what took place within doors; but I was ordered to putup the scaffold without; and I was told to get soldiers, and let no oneleave the house. "

"Citizen St. Just, " cried Schneider, "you will not allow the testimonyof a ruffian like this, of a foolish girl, and a mad ex-priest, to weighagainst the word of one who has done such service to the Republic: it isa base conspiracy to betray me; the whole family is known to favor theinterest of the émigrés. "

"And therefore you would marry a member of the family, and allow theothers to escape; you must make a better defence, citizen Schneider, "said St. Just, sternly. 

Here I came forward, and said that, three days since, I had received anorder to quit Strasburg for Paris immediately after a conversation withSchneider, in which I had asked him his aid in promoting my marriagewith my cousin, Mary Ancel; that he had heard from me full accountsregarding her father's wealth; and that he had abruptly caused mydismissal, in order to carry on his scheme against her. 

"You are in the uniform of a regiment of this town; who sent you fromit?" said St. Just. 

I produced the order, signed by himself, and the despatches whichSchneider had sent me. 

"The signature is mine, but the despatches did not come from my office. Can you prove in any way your conversation with Schneider?"

"Why, " said my sentimental friend Gregoire, "for the matter of that, Ican answer that the lad was always talking about this young woman:he told me the whole story himself, and many a good laugh I had withcitizen Schneider as we talked about it. "

"The charge against Edward Ancel must be examined into, " said St. Just. "The marriage cannot take place. But if I had ratified it, Mary Ancel, what then would have been your course?"

Mary felt for a moment in her bosom, and said--"He would have diedto-night--I would have stabbed him with this dagger. "*

 * This reply, and, indeed, the whole of the story, is historical. An account, by Charles Nodier, in the Revue de Paris, suggested it to the writer. 

The rain was beating down the streets, and yet they were thronged; allthe world was hastening to the market-place, where the worthy Gregoirewas about to perform some of the pleasant duties of his office. On thisoccasion, it was not death that he was to inflict; he was only to exposea criminal who was to be sent on afterwards to Paris. St. Just hadordered that Schneider should stand for six hours in the public placeof Strasburg, and then be sent on to the capital to be dealt with as theauthorities might think fit. 

The people followed with execrations the villain to his place ofpunishment; and Gregoire grinned as he fixed up to the post the manwhose orders he had obeyed so often--who had delivered over to disgraceand punishment so many who merited it not. 

Schneider was left for several hours exposed to the mockery and insultsof the mob; he was then, according to his sentence, marched on to Paris, where it is probable that he would have escaped death, but for his ownfault. He was left for some time in prison, quite unnoticed, perhapsforgotten: day by day fresh victims were carried to the scaffold, andyet the Alsacian tribune remained alive; at last, by the mediationof one of his friends, a long petition was presented to Robespierre, stating his services and his innocence, and demanding his freedom. Thereply to this was an order for his instant execution: the wretch diedin the last days of Robespierre's reign. His comrade, St. Just, followedhim, as you know; but Edward Ancel had been released before this, forthe action of my brave Mary had created a strong feeling in his favor. 

"And Mary?" said I. 

Here a stout and smiling old lady entered the Captain's little room: shewas leaning on the arm of a military-looking man of some forty years, and followed by a number of noisy, rosy children. 

"This is Mary Ancel, " said the Captain, "and I am Captain Pierre, andyonder is the Colonel, my son; and you see us here assembled in force, for it is the fête of little Jacob yonder, whose brothers and sistershave all come from their schools to dance at his birthday. "

BEATRICE MERGER. 

Beatrice Merger, whose name might figure at the head of one of Mr. Colburn's politest romances--so smooth and aristocratic does itsound--is no heroine, except of her own simple history; she is not afashionable French Countess, nor even a victim of the Revolution. 

She is a stout, sturdy girl of two-and-twenty, with a face beaming withgood nature, and marked dreadfully by smallpox; and a pair of blackeyes, which might have done some execution had they been placed in asmoother face. Beatrice's station in society is not very exalted; sheis a servant of all-work: she will dress your wife, your dinner, yourchildren; she does beefsteaks and plain work; she makes beds, blacksboots, and waits at table;--such, at least, were the offices which sheperformed in the fashionable establishment of the writer of this book:perhaps her history may not inaptly occupy a few pages of it. 

"My father died, " said Beatrice, "about six years since, and left mypoor mother with little else but a small cottage and a strip of land, and four children too young to work. It was hard enough in my father'stime to supply so many little mouths with food; and how was a poorwidowed woman to provide for them now, who had neither the strength northe opportunity for labor?

"Besides us, to be sure, there was my old aunt; and she would havehelped us, but she could not, for the old woman is bed-ridden; so shedid nothing but occupy our best room, and grumble from morning tillnight: heaven knows, poor old soul, that she had no great reason to bevery happy; for you know, sir, that it frets the temper to be sick; andthat it is worse still to be sick and hungry too. 

"At that time, in the country where we lived (in Picardy, not very farfrom Boulogne), times were so bad that the best workman could hardlyfind employ; and when he did, he was happy if he could earn a matter oftwelve sous a day. Mother, work as she would, could not gain more thansix; and it was a hard job, out of this, to put meat into six bellies, and clothing on six backs. Old Aunt Bridget would scold, as she got herportion of black bread; and my little brothers used to cry if theirs didnot come in time. I, too, used to cry when I got my share; for motherkept only a little, little piece for herself, and said that she haddined in the fields, --God pardon her for the lie! and bless her, as Iam sure He did; for, but for Him, no working man or woman could subsistupon such a wretched morsel as my dear mother took. 

"I was a thin, ragged, barefooted girl, then, and sickly and weak forwant of food; but I think I felt mother's hunger more than my own: andmany and many a bitter night I lay awake, crying, and praying to God togive me means of working for myself and aiding her. And he has, indeed, been good to me, " said pious Beatrice, "for He has given me all this!

"Well, time rolled on, and matters grew worse than ever: winter came, and was colder to us than any other winter, for our clothes were thinnerand more torn; mother sometimes could find no work, for the fields inwhich she labored were hidden under the snow; so that when we wantedthem most we had them least--warmth, work, or food. 

"I knew that, do what I would, mother would never let me leave her, because I looked to my little brothers and my old cripple of an aunt;but still, bread was better for us than all my service; and when I leftthem the six would have a slice more; so I determined to bid good-by tonobody, but to go away, and look for work elsewhere. One Sunday, whenmother and the little ones were at church, I went in to Aunt Bridget, and said, 'Tell mother, when she comes back, that Beatrice is gone. ' Ispoke quite stoutly, as if I did not care about it. 

"'Gone! gone where?' said she. 'You ain't going to leave me alone, you nasty thing; you ain't going to the village to dance, you ragged, barefooted slut: you're all of a piece in this house--your mother, yourbrothers, and you. I know you've got meat in the kitchen, and you onlygive me black bread;' and here the old lady began to scream as if herheart would break; but we did not mind it, we were so used to it. 

"'Aunt, ' said I, 'I'm going, and took this very opportunity because youWERE alone: tell mother I am too old now to eat her bread, and do nowork for it: I am going, please God, where work and bread can be found:'and so I kissed her: she was so astonished that she could not move orspeak; and I walked away through the old room, and the little garden, God knows whither!

"I heard the old woman screaming after me, but I did not stop nor turnround. I don't think I could, for my heart was very full; and if I hadgone back again, I should never have had the courage to go away. So Iwalked a long, long way, until night fell; and I thought of poor mothercoming home from mass, and not finding me; and little Pierre shoutingout, in his clear voice, for Beatrice to bring him his supper. I thinkI should like to have died that night, and I thought I should too; forwhen I was obliged to throw myself on the cold, hard ground, my feetwere too torn and weary to bear me any further. 

"Just then the moon got up; and do you know I felt a comfort in lookingat it, for I knew it was shining on our little cottage, and it seemedlike an old friend's face? A little way on, as I saw by the moon, was avillage: and I saw, too, that a man was coming towards me; he must haveheard me crying, I suppose. 

"Was not God good to me? This man was a farmer, who had need of a girlin his house; he made me tell him why I was alone, and I told him thesame story I have told you, and he believed me and took me home. I hadwalked six long leagues from our village that day, asking everywhere forwork in vain; and here, at bedtime, I found a bed and a supper!

"Here I lived very well for some months; my master was very good andkind to me; but, unluckily, too poor to give me any wages; so that Icould save nothing to send to my poor mother. My mistress used to scold;but I was used to that at home, from Aunt Bridget: and she beat mesometimes, but I did not mind it; for your hardy country girl is notlike your tender town lasses, who cry if a pin pricks them, and givewarning to their mistresses at the first hard word. The only drawbackto my comfort was, that I had no news of my mother; I could not writeto her, nor could she have read my letter, if I had; so there I was, at only six leagues' distance from home, as far off as if I had been toParis or to 'Merica. 

"However, in a few months I grew so listless and homesick, that mymistress said she would keep me no longer; and though I went away aspoor as I came, I was still too glad to go back to the old villageagain, and see dear mother, if it were but for a day. I knew she wouldshare her crust with me, as she had done for so long a time before; andhoped that, now, as I was taller and stronger, I might find work moreeasily in the neighborhood. 

"You may fancy what a fête it was when I came back; though I'm sure wecried as much as if it had been a funeral. Mother got into a fit, whichfrightened us all; and as for Aunt Bridget, she SKREELED away for hourstogether, and did not scold for two days at least. Little Pierre offeredme the whole of his supper; poor little man! his slice of bread was nobigger than before I went away. 

"Well, I got a little work here and a little there; but still I was aburden at home rather than a bread-winner; and, at the closing-in of thewinter, was very glad to hear of a place at two leagues' distance, wherework, they said, was to be had. Off I set, one morning, to find it, but missed my way, somehow, until it was night-time before I arrived. Night-time and snow again; it seemed as if all my journeys were to bemade in this bitter weather. 

"When I came to the farmer's door, his house was shut up, and his peopleall a-bed; I knocked for a long while in vain; at last he made hisappearance at a window up stairs, and seemed so frightened, and lookedso angry that I suppose he took me for a thief. I told him how I hadcome for work. 'Who comes for work at such an hour?' said he. 'Go home, you impudent baggage, and do not disturb honest people out of theirsleep. ' He banged the window to; and so I was left alone to shift formyself as I might. There was no shed, no cow-house, where I could find abed; so I got under a cart, on some straw; it was no very warm berth. I could not sleep for the cold: and the hours passed so slowly, that itseemed as if I had been there a week instead of a night; but still itwas not so bad as the first night when I left home, and when the goodfarmer found me. 

"In the morning, before it was light, the farmer's people came out, andsaw me crouching under the cart: they told me to get up; but I was socold that I could not: at last the man himself came, and recognized meas the girl who had disturbed him the night before. When he heard myname, and the purpose for which I came, this good man took me into thehouse, and put me into one of the beds out of which his sons hadjust got; and, if I was cold before, you may be sure I was warm andcomfortable now! such a bed as this I had never slept in, nor ever didI have such good milk-soup as he gave me out of his own breakfast. Well, he agreed to hire me; and what do you think he gave me?--six sous a day!and let me sleep in the cow-house besides: you may fancy how happy I wasnow, at the prospect of earning so much money. 

"There was an old woman among the laborers who used to sell us soup: Igot a cupful every day for a half-penny, with a bit of bread in it; andmight eat as much beet-root besides as I liked; not a very wholesomemeal, to be sure, but God took care that it should not disagree with me. 

"So, every Saturday, when work was over, I had thirty sous to carry hometo mother; and tired though I was, I walked merrily the two leagues toour village, to see her again. On the road there was a great wood topass through, and this frightened me; for if a thief should come and robme of my whole week's earnings, what could a poor lone girl do to helpherself? But I found a remedy for this too, and no thieves ever camenear me; I used to begin saying my prayers as I entered the forest, andnever stopped until I was safe at home; and safe I always arrived, withmy thirty sons in my pocket. Ah! you may be sure, Sunday was a merry dayfor us all. "

This is the whole of Beatrice's history which is worthy of publication;the rest of it only relates to her arrival in Paris, and the variousmasters and mistresses whom she there had the honor to serve. As soonas she enters the capital the romance disappears, and the poor girl'ssufferings and privations luckily vanish with it. Beatrice has got nowwarm gowns, and stout shoes, and plenty of good food. She has had herlittle brother from Picardy; clothed, fed, and educated him: that younggentleman is now a carpenter, and an honor to his profession. MadameMerger is in easy circumstances, and receives, yearly, fifty francs fromher daughter. To crown all, Mademoiselle Beatrice herself is a fundedproprietor, and consulted the writer of this biography as to the bestmethod of laying out a capital of two hundred francs, which is thepresent amount of her fortune. 

God bless her! she is richer than his Grace the Duke of Devonshire; and, I dare say, has, in her humble walk, been more virtuous and more happythan all the dukes in the realm. 

It is, indeed, for the benefit of dukes and such great people (who, Imake no doubt, have long since ordered copies of these Sketches), thatpoor little Beatrice's story has been indited. Certain it is, that theyoung woman would never have been immortalized in this way, but for thegood which her betters may derive from her example. If your ladyshipwill but reflect a little, after boasting of the sums which you spendin charity; the beef and blankets which you dole out at Christmas;the poonah-painting which you execute for fancy fairs; the long, long sermons which you listen to at St. George's, the whole yearthrough;--your ladyship, I say, will allow that, although perfectlymeritorious in your line, as a patroness of the Church of England, ofAlmack's, and of the Lying-in Asylum, yours is but a paltry sphereof virtue, a pitiful attempt at benevolence, and that this honestservant-girl puts you to shame! And you, my Lord Bishop: do you, out ofyour six sous a day, give away five to support your flock and family?Would you drop a single coach-horse (I do not say, A DINNER, for such anotion is monstrous, in one of your lordship's degree), to feed any oneof the starving children of your lordship's mother--the Church?

I pause for a reply. His lordship took too much turtle and cold punchfor dinner yesterday, and cannot speak just now: but we have, by thisingenious question, silenced him altogether: let the world wag as itwill, and poor Christians and curates starve as they may, my lord'sfootmen must have their new liveries, and his horses their four feeds aday. 

When we recollect his speech about the Catholics--when we rememberhis last charity sermon, --but I say nothing. Here is a poor benightedsuperstitious creature, worshipping images, without a rag to her tail, who has as much faith, and humility, and charity as all the reverendbench. 

This angel is without a place; and for this reason (besides the pleasureof composing the above slap at episcopacy)--I have indited herhistory. If the Bishop is going to Paris, and wants a good honestmaid-of-all-work, he can have her, I have no doubt; or if he chooses togive a few pounds to her mother, they can be sent to Mr. Titmarsh, atthe publisher's. 

Here is Miss Merger's last letter and autograph. The note was evidentlycomposed by an Ecrivain public:--

"Madame, --Ayant apris par ce Monsieur, que vous vous portiez bien, ainsique Monsieur, ayant su aussi que vous parliez de moi dans votre lettrecette nouvelle m'a fait bien plaisir Je profite de l'occasion pour vousfaire passer ce petit billet où Je voudrais pouvoir m'enveloper pouraller vous voir et pour vous dire que Je suis encore sans place Jem'ennuye tojours de ne pas vous voir ainsi que Minette (Minette is acat) qui semble m'interroger tour a tour et demander où vous êtes. Je vous envoye aussi la note du linge a blanchir--ah, Madame! Je vaiscesser de vous ecrire mais non de vous regretter. "

Beatrice Merger. 

CARICATURES AND LITHOGRAPHY IN PARIS. 

Fifty years ago there lived at Munich a poor fellow, by name AloysSenefelder, who was in so little repute as an author and artist, that printers and engravers refused to publish his works at their owncharges, and so set him upon some plan for doing without their aid. In the first place, Aloys invented a certain kind of ink, which wouldresist the action of the acid that is usually employed by engravers, and with this he made his experiments upon copper-plates, as long as hecould afford to purchase them. He found that to write upon the platesbackwards, after the manner of engravers, required much skill and manytrials; and he thought that, were he to practise upon any otherpolished surface--a smooth stone, for instance, the least costly articleimaginable--he might spare the expense of the copper until he hadsufficient skill to use it. 

One day, it is said, that Aloys was called upon to write--rather ahumble composition for an author and artist--a washing-bill. He hadno paper at hand, and so he wrote out the bill with some of hisnewly-invented ink upon one of his Kelheim stones. Some time afterwardshe thought he would try and take an IMPRESSION of his washing-bill:he did, and succeeded. Such is the story, which the reader most likelyknows very well; and having alluded to the origin of the art, we shallnot follow the stream through its windings and enlargement after itissued from the little parent rock, or fill our pages with the rest ofthe pedigree. Senefelder invented Lithography. His invention has notmade so much noise and larum in the world as some others, which have anorigin quite as humble and unromantic; but it is one to which we owe nosmall profit, and a great deal of pleasure; and, as such, we are boundto speak of it with all gratitude and respect. The schoolmaster, whois now abroad, has taught us, in our youth, how the cultivation ofart "emollit mores nec sinit esse"--(it is needless to finish thequotation); and Lithography has been, to our thinking, the very bestally that art ever had; the best friend of the artist, allowing himto produce rapidly multiplied and authentic copies of his own works(without trusting to the tedious and expensive assistance of theengraver); and the best friend to the people likewise, who have means ofpurchasing these cheap and beautiful productions, and thus having theirideas "mollified" and their manners "feros" no more. 

With ourselves, among whom money is plenty, enterprise so great, andeverything matter of commercial speculation, Lithography has not beenso much practised as wood or steel engraving; which, by the aid of greatoriginal capital and spread of sale, are able more than to compete withthe art of drawing on stone. The two former may be called art done byMACHINERY. We confess to a prejudice in favor of the honest work ofHAND, in matters of art, and prefer the rough workmanship of the painterto the smooth copies of his performances which are produced, for themost part, on the wood-block or the steel-plate. 

The theory will possibly be objected to by many of our readers: thebest proof in its favor, we think, is, that the state of art amongstthe people in France and Germany, where publishers are not so wealthyor enterprising as with us, * and where Lithography is more practised, isinfinitely higher than in England, and the appreciation more correct. Asdraughtsmen, the French and German painters are incomparably superior toour own; and with art, as with any other commodity, the demand will befound pretty equal to the supply: with us, the general demand is forneatness, prettiness, and what is called EFFECT in pictures, andthese can be rendered completely, nay, improved, by the engraver'sconventional manner of copying the artist's performances. But to copyfine expression and fine drawing, the engraver himself must be a fineartist; and let anybody examine the host of picture-books which appearevery Christmas, and say whether, for the most part, painters orengravers possess any artistic merit? We boast, nevertheless, of someof the best engravers and painters in Europe. Here, again, the supply isaccounted for by the demand; our highest class is richer than any otheraristocracy, quite as well instructed, and can judge and pay for finepictures and engravings. But these costly productions are for the few, and not for the many, who have not yet certainly arrived at properlyappreciating fine art. 

 * These countries are, to be sure, inundated with the productions of our market, in the shape of Byron Beauties, reprints from the "Keepsakes, " "Books of Beauty, " and such trash; but these are only of late years, and their original schools of art are still flourishing. 

Take the standard "Album" for instance--that unfortunate collection ofdeformed Zuleikas and Medoras (from the "Byron Beauties"), the Flowers, Gems, Souvenirs, Caskets of Loveliness, Beauty, as they way be called;glaring caricatures of flowers, singly, in groups, in flower-pots, orwith hideous deformed little Cupids sporting among them; of what arecalled "mezzotinto, " pencil-drawings, "poonah-paintings, " and whatnot. "The Album" is to be found invariably upon the round rosewoodbrass-inlaid drawing-room table of the middle classes, and with a coupleof "Annuals" besides, which flank it on the same table, represents theart of the house; perhaps there is a portrait of the master of the housein the dining-room, grim-glancing from above the mantel-piece; andof the mistress over the piano up stairs; add to these some odiousminiatures of the sons and daughters, on each side of the chimney-glass;and here, commonly (we appeal to the reader if this is an overchargedpicture), the collection ends. The family goes to the Exhibition oncea year, to the National Gallery once in ten years: to the former placethey have an inducement to go; there are their own portraits, or theportraits of their friends, or the portraits of public characters; andyou will see them infallibly wondering over No. 2645 in the catalogue, representing "The Portrait of a Lady, " or of the "First Mayor of LittlePedlington since the passing of the Reform Bill;" or else bustling andsqueezing among the miniatures, where lies the chief attraction of theGallery. England has produced, owing to the effects of this class ofadmirers of art, two admirable, and five hundred very clever, portraitpainters. How many ARTISTS? Let the reader count upon his five fingers, and see if, living at the present moment, he can name one for each. 

If, from this examination of our own worthy middle classes, we look tothe same class in France, what a difference do we find! Humble café'sin country towns have their walls covered with pleasing picture papers, representing "Les Gloires de l'Armée Française, " the "Seasons, "the "Four Quarters of the World, " "Cupid and Psyche, " or some otherallegory, landscape or history, rudely painted, as papers for wallsusually are; but the figures are all tolerably well drawn; and thecommon taste, which has caused a demand for such things, is undeniable. In Paris, the manner in which the cafés and houses of the restaurateursare ornamented, is, of course, a thousand times richer, and nothing canbe more beautiful, or more exquisitely finished and correct, than thedesigns which adorn many of them. We are not prepared to say what sumswere expended upon the painting of "Véry's" or "Véfour's, " of the "SalleMusard, " or of numberless other places of public resort in the capital. There is many a shop-keeper whose sign is a very tolerable picture;and often have we stopped to admire (the reader will give us credit forhaving remained OUTSIDE) the excellent workmanship of the grapes andvine-leaves over the door of some very humble, dirty, inodorous shop ofa marchand de vin. 

These, however, serve only to educate the public taste, and areornaments for the most part much too costly for the people. But thesame love of ornament which is shown in their public places of resort, appears in their houses likewise; and every one of our readers who haslived in Paris, in any lodging, magnificent or humble, with any family, however poor, may bear witness how profusely the walls of his smartsalon in the English quarter, or of his little room au sixième in thePays Latin, has been decorated with prints of all kinds. In the first, probably, with bad engravings on copper from the bad and tawdry picturesof the artists of the time of the Empire; in the latter, with gaycaricatures of Granville or Monnier: military pieces, such as are dashedoff by Raffet, Charlet, Vernet (one can hardly say which of the threedesigners has the greatest merit, or the most vigorous hand); or cleverpictures from the crayon of the Deverias, the admirable Roqueplan, or Decamp. We have named here, we believe, the principal lithographicartists in Paris; and those--as doubtless there are many--of our readerswho have looked over Monsieur Aubert's portfolios, or gazed at thatfamous caricature-shop window in the Rue de Coq, or are even acquaintedwith the exterior of Monsieur Delaporte's little emporium in theBurlington Arcade, need not be told how excellent the productions of allthese artists are in their genre. We get in these engravings the loisirsof men of genius, not the finikin performances of labored mediocrity, aswith us: all these artists are good painters, as well as good designers;a design from them is worth a whole gross of Books of Beauty; and if wemight raise a humble supplication to the artists in our own country ofsimilar merit--to such men as Leslie, Maclise, Herbert, Cattermole, andothers--it would be, that they should, after the example of their Frenchbrethren and of the English landscape painters, take chalk in hand, produce their own copies of their own sketches, and never more draw asingle "Forsaken One, " "Rejected One, " "Dejected One" at the entreatyof any publisher or for the pages of any Book of Beauty, Royalty, orLoveliness whatever. 

Can there be a more pleasing walk in the whole world than a strollthrough the Gallery of the Louvre on a fête-day; not to look so much atthe pictures as at the lookers-on? Thousands of the poorer classesare there: mechanics in their Sunday clothes, smiling grisettes, smartdapper soldiers of the line, with bronzed wondering faces, marchingtogether in little companies of six or seven, and stopping every now andthen at Napoleon or Leonidas as they appear in proper vulgar heroics inthe pictures of David or Gros. The taste of these people will hardly beapproved by the connoisseur, but they have A taste for art. Can the samebe said of our lower classes, who, if they are inclined to be sociableand amused in their holidays, have no place of resort but the tap-roomor tea-garden, and no food for conversation except such as can be builtupon the politics or the police reports of the last Sunday paper?So much has Church and State puritanism done for us--so well has itsucceeded in materializing and binding down to the earth the imaginationof men, for which God has made another world (which certain statesmentake but too little into account)--that fair and beautiful world ofheart, in which there CAN be nothing selfish or sordid, of which Dulnesshas forgotten the existence, and which Bigotry has endeavored to shutout from sight--

 "On a banni les démons et les fées, Le raisonner tristement s'accrédite: On court, helas! après la vérité: Ah! croyez moi, l'erreur a son mérite!"

We are not putting in a plea here for demons and fairies, as Voltairedoes in the above exquisite lines; nor about to expatiate on thebeauties of error, for it has none; but the clank of steam-engines, andthe shouts of politicians, and the struggle for gain or bread, and theloud denunciations of stupid bigots, have wellnigh smothered poor Fancyamong us. We boast of our science, and vaunt our superior morality. Does the latter exist? In spite of all the forms which our policyhas invented to secure it--in spite of all the preachers, all themeeting-houses, and all the legislative enactments--if any person willtake upon himself the painful labor of purchasing and perusing someof the cheap periodical prints which form the people's library ofamusement, and contain what may be presumed to be their standard inmatters of imagination and fancy, he will see how false the claim isthat we bring forward of superior morality. The aristocracy who are soeager to maintain, were, of course, not the last to feel annoyance ofthe legislative restrictions on the Sabbath, and eagerly seized uponthat happy invention for dissipating the gloom and ennui ordered by Actof Parliament to prevail on that day--the Sunday paper. It might be readin a club-room, where the poor could not see how their bettersordained one thing for the vulgar, and another for themselves; or in aneasy-chair, in the study, whither my lord retires every Sunday forhis devotions. It dealt in private scandal and ribaldry, only the morepiquant for its pretty flimsy veil of double-entendre. It was a fortuneto the publisher, and it became a necessary to the reader, whichhe could not do without, any more than without his snuff-box, hisopera-box, or his chasse after coffee. The delightful novelty could notfor any time be kept exclusively for the haut ton; and from my lord itdescended to his valet or tradesmen, and from Grosvenor Square it spreadall the town through; so that now the lower classes have their scandaland ribaldry organs, as well as their betters (the rogues, they WILLimitate them!) and as their tastes are somewhat coarser than my lord's, and their numbers a thousand to one, why of course the prints haveincreased, and the profligacy has been diffused in a ratio exactlyproportionable to the demand, until the town is infested with such anumber of monstrous publications of the kind as would have put AbbéDubois to the blush, or made Louis XV. Cry shame. Talk of Englishmorality!--the worst licentiousness, in the worst period of the Frenchmonarchy, scarcely equalled the wickedness of this Sabbath-keepingcountry of ours. 

The reader will be glad, at last, to come to the conclusion that wewould fain draw from all these descriptions--why does this immoralityexist? Because the people MUST be amused, and have not been taught HOW;because the upper classes, frightened by stupid cant, or absorbed inmaterial wants, have not as yet learned the refinement which only thecultivation of art can give; and when their intellects are uneducated, and their tastes are coarse, the tastes and amusements of classes stillmore ignorant must be coarse and vicious likewise, in an increasedproportion. 

Such discussions and violent attacks upon high and low, Sabbath Bills, politicians, and what not, may appear, perhaps, out of place in a fewpages which purport only to give an account of some French drawings: allwe would urge is, that, in France, these prints are made because theyare liked and appreciated; with us they are not made, because they arenot liked and appreciated: and the more is the pity. Nothing merelyintellectual will be popular among us: we do not love beauty forbeauty's sake, as Germans; or wit, for wit's sake, as the French: forabstract art we have no appreciation. We admire H. B. 's caricatures, because they are the caricatures of well-known political characters, not because they are witty; and Boz, because he writes us good palpablestories (if we may use such a word to a story); and Madame Vestris, because she has the most beautifully shaped legs;--the ART of thedesigner, the writer, the actress (each admirable in its way, ) is a veryminor consideration; each might have ten times the wit, and would bequite unsuccessful without their substantial points of popularity. 

In France such matters are far better managed, and the love of art isa thousand times more keen; and (from this feeling, surely) how muchsuperiority is there in French SOCIETY over our own; how much betteris social happiness understood; how much more manly equality is therebetween Frenchman and Frenchman, than between rich and poor in ourown country, with all our superior wealth, instruction, and politicalfreedom! There is, amongst the humblest, a gayety, cheerfulness, politeness, and sobriety, to which, in England, no class can showa parallel: and these, be it remembered, are not only qualities forholidays, but for working-days too, and add to the enjoyment of humanlife as much as good clothes, good beef, or good wages. If, to ourfreedom, we could but add a little of their happiness!--it is one, afterall, of the cheapest commodities in the world, and in the power of everyman (with means of gaining decent bread) who has the will or the skillto use it. 

We are not going to trace the history of the rise and progress of art inFrance; our business, at present, is only to speak of one branch of artin that country--lithographic designs, and those chiefly of a humorouscharacter. A history of French caricature was published in Paris, twoor three years back, illustrated by numerous copies of designs, from thetime of Henry III. To our own day. We can only speak of this work frommemory, having been unable, in London, to procure the sight of acopy; but our impression, at the time we saw the collection, was asunfavorable as could possibly be: nothing could be more meagre than thewit, or poorer than the execution, of the whole set of drawings. Underthe Empire, art, as may be imagined, was at a very low ebb; and, apingthe Government of the day, and catering to the national taste andvanity, it was a kind of tawdry caricature of the sublime; of which thepictures of David and Girodet, and almost the entire collection nowat the Luxembourg Palace, will give pretty fair examples. Swollen, distorted, unnatural, the painting was something like the politics ofthose days; with force in it, nevertheless, and something of grandeur, that will exist in spite of taste, and is born of energetic will. A man, disposed to write comparisons of characters, might, for instance, findsome striking analogies between mountebank Murat, with his irresistiblebravery and horsemanship, who was a kind of mixture of Dugueselin andDucrow, and Mountebank David, a fierce, powerful painter and genius, whose idea of beauty and sublimity seemed to have been gained from thebloody melodramas on the Boulevard. Both, however, were great in theirway, and were worshipped as gods, in those heathen times of false beliefand hero-worship. 

As for poor caricature and freedom of the press, they, like the rightfulprincess in a fairy tale, with the merry fantastic dwarf, her attendant, were entirely in the power of the giant who ruled the land. The PrincessPress was so closely watched and guarded (with some little show, nevertheless, of respect for her rank), that she dared not utter a wordof her own thoughts; and, for poor Caricature, he was gagged, and putout of the way altogether: imprisoned as completely as ever Asmodeus wasin his phial. 

How the Press and her attendant fared in succeeding reigns, is wellknown; their condition was little bettered by the downfall of Napoleon:with the accession of Charles X. They were more oppressed even thanbefore--more than they could bear; for so hard were they pressed, that, as one has seen when sailors are working a capstan, back of a sudden thebars flew, knocking to the earth the men who were endeavoring to workthem. The Revolution came, and up sprung Caricature in France; all sortsof fierce epigrams were discharged at the flying monarch, and speedilywere prepared, too, for the new one. 

About this time there lived at Paris (if our information be correct)a certain M. Philipon, an indifferent artist (painting was hisprofession), a tolerable designer, and an admirable wit. M. Philipondesigned many caricatures himself, married the sister of an eminentpublisher of prints (M. Aubert), and the two, gathering about thema body of wits and artists like themselves, set up journals of theirown:--La Caricature, first published once a week; and the Charivariafterwards, a daily paper, in which a design also appears daily. 

At first the caricatures inserted in the Charivari were chieflypolitical; and a most curious contest speedily commenced between theState and M. Philipon's little army in the Galérie Véro-Dodat. Half adozen poor artists on the one side, and his Majesty Louis Philippe, his august family, and the numberless placemen and supporters of themonarchy, on the other; it was something like Thersites girding atAjax, and piercing through the folds of the clypei septemplicis with thepoisonous shafts of his scorn. Our French Thersites was not always anhonest opponent, it must be confessed; and many an attack was made uponthe gigantic enemy, which was cowardly, false, and malignant. But to seethe monster writhing under the effects of the arrow--to see his uncouthfury in return, and the blind blows that he dealt at his diminutiveopponent!--not one of these told in a hundred; when they DID tell, itmay be imagined that they were fierce enough in all conscience, andserved almost to annihilate the adversary. 

To speak more plainly, and to drop the metaphor of giant and dwarf, theKing of the French suffered so much, his Ministers were so mercilesslyridiculed, his family and his own remarkable figure drawn with suchodious and grotesque resemblance, in fanciful attitudes, circumstances, and disguises, so ludicrously mean, and often so appropriate, that theKing was obliged to descend into the lists and battle his ridiculousenemy in form. Prosecutions, seizures, fines, regiments of furious legalofficials, were first brought into play against poor M. Philipon and hislittle dauntless troop of malicious artists; some few were bribed outof his ranks; and if they did not, like Gilray in England, turn theirweapons upon their old friends, at least laid down their arms, and wouldfight no more. The bribes, fines, indictments, and loud-tongued avocatsdu roi made no impression; Philipon repaired the defeat of a fine bysome fresh and furious attack upon his great enemy; if his epigrams weremore covert, they were no less bitter; if he was beaten a dozen timesbefore a jury, he had eighty or ninety victories to show in the samefield of battle, and every victory and every defeat brought him newsympathy. Every one who was at Paris a few years since must recollectthe famous "poire" which was chalked upon all the walls of the city, and which bore so ludicrous a resemblance to Louis Philippe. The poirebecame an object of prosecution, and M. Philipon appeared before ajury to answer for the crime of inciting to contempt against the King'sperson, by giving such a ludicrous version of his face. Philipon, fordefence, produced a sheet of paper, and drew a poire, a real largeBurgundy pear: in the lower parts round and capacious, narrower nearthe stalk, and crowned with two or three careless leaves. "There was notreason in THAT, " he said to the jury; "could any one object to such aharmless botanical representation?" Then he drew a second pear, exactlylike the former, except that one or two lines were scrawled in the midstof it, which bore somehow a ludicrous resemblance to the eyes, nose, andmouth of a celebrated personage; and, lastly, he drew the exact portraitof Louis Philippe; the well-known toupet, the ample whiskers and jowlwere there, neither extenuated nor set down in malice. "Can I help it, gentlemen of the jury, then, " said he, "if his Majesty's face is like apear? Say yourselves, respectable citizens, is it, or is it not, likea pear?" Such eloquence could not fail of its effect; the artist wasacquitted, and La poire is immortal. 

At last came the famous September laws: the freedom of the Press, which, from August, 1830, was to be "désormais une vérité, " was calmlystrangled by the Monarch who had gained his crown for his supposedchampionship of it; by his Ministers, some of whom had been stoutRepublicans on paper but a few years before; and by the Chamber, which, such is the blessed constitution of French elections, will generallyvote, unvote, revote in any way the Government wishes. With a wondrousunion, and happy forgetfulness of principle, monarch, ministers, anddeputies issued the restriction laws; the Press was sent to prison; asfor the poor dear Caricature, it was fairly murdered. No more politicalsatires appear now, and "through the eye, correct the heart;" no morepoires ripen on the walls of the metropolis; Philipon's politicaloccupation is gone. 

But there is always food for satire; and the French caricaturists, beingno longer allowed to hold up to ridicule and reprobation the King andthe deputies, have found no lack of subjects for the pencil in theridicules and rascalities of common life. We have said that publicdecency is greater amongst the French than amongst us, which, to some ofour readers, may appear paradoxical; but we shall not attempt to arguethat, in private roguery, our neighbors are not our equals. The procèsof Gisquet, which has appeared lately in the papers, shows how deep thedemoralization must be, and how a Government, based itself on dishonesty(a tyranny, that is, under the title and fiction of a democracy, ) mustpractise and admit corruption in its own and in its agents' dealingswith the nation. Accordingly, of cheating contracts, of ministersdabbling with the funds, or extracting underhand profits for thegranting of unjust privileges and monopolies, --of grasping, enviouspolice restrictions, which destroy the freedom, and, with it, theintegrity of commerce, --those who like to examine such details may findplenty in French history: the whole French finance system has been aswindle from the days of Luvois, or Law, down to the present time. TheGovernment swindles the public, and the small traders swindle theircustomers, on the authority and example of the superior powers. Hencethe art of roguery, under such high patronage, maintains in France anoble front of impudence, and a fine audacious openness, which it doesnot wear in our country. 

Among the various characters of roguery which the French satirists haveamused themselves by depicting, there is one of which the GREATNESS(using the word in the sense which Mr. Jonathan Wild gave to it) so farexceeds that of all others, embracing, as it does, all in turn, that ithas come to be considered the type of roguery in general; and now, justas all the political squibs were made to come of old from the lips ofPasquin, all the reflections on the prevailing cant, knavery, quackery, humbug, are put into the mouth of Monsieur Robert Macaire. 

A play was written, some twenty years since, called the "Auberge desAdrets, " in which the characters of two robbers escaped from the galleyswere introduced--Robert Macaire, the clever rogue above mentioned, andBertrand, the stupid rogue, his friend, accomplice, butt, and scapegoat, on all occasions of danger. It is needless to describe the play--awitless performance enough, of which the joke was Macaire's exaggeratedstyle of conversation, a farrago of all sorts of high-flown sentimentssuch as the French love to indulge in--contrasted with his actions, which were philosophically unscrupulous, and his appearance, which wasmost picturesquely sordid. The play had been acted, we believe, andforgotten, when a very clever actor, M. Frederick Lemaitre, took uponhimself the performance of the character of Robert Macaire, and looked, spoke, and acted it to such admirable perfection, that the whole townrung with applauses of the performance, and the caricaturists delightedto copy his singular figure and costume. M. Robert Macaire appears in amost picturesque green coat, with a variety of rents and patches, a pairof crimson pantaloons ornamented in the same way, enormous whiskersand ringlets, an enormous stock and shirt-frill, as dirty and ragged asstock and shirt-frill can be, the relic of a hat very gayly cocked overone eye, and a patch to take away somewhat from the brightness of theother--these are the principal pièces of his costume--a snuff-box like acreaking warming-pan, a handkerchief hanging together by a miracle, anda switch of about the thickness of a man's thigh, formed the ornamentsof this exquisite personage. He is a compound of Fielding's "Blueskin"and Goldsmith's "Beau Tibbs. " He has the dirt and dandyism of the one, with the ferocity of the other: sometimes he is made to swindle, but where he can get a shilling more, M. Macaire will murder withoutscruple: he performs one and the other act (or any in the scale betweenthem) with a similar bland imperturbability, and accompanies his actionswith such philosophical remarks as may be expected from a person of histalents, his energies, his amiable life and character. 

Bertrand is the simple recipient of Macaire's jokes, and makes vicariousatonement for his crimes, acting, in fact, the part which pantaloonperforms in the pantomime, who is entirely under the fatal influence ofclown. He is quite as much a rogue as that gentleman, but he has nothis genius and courage. So, in pantomimes, (it may, doubtless, have beenremarked by the reader, ) clown always leaps first, pantaloon followingafter, more clumsily and timidly than his bold and accomplished friendand guide. Whatever blows are destined for clown, fall, by some meansof ill-luck, upon the pate of pantaloon: whenever the clown robs, thestolen articles are sure to be found in his companion's pocket; and thusexactly Robert Macaire and his companion Bertrand are made to go throughthe world; both swindlers, but the one more accomplished than the other. Both robbing all the world, and Robert robbing his friend, and, in theevent of danger, leaving him faithfully in the lurch. There is, inthe two characters, some grotesque good for the spectator--a kind of"Beggars' Opera" moral. 

Ever since Robert, with his dandified rags and airs, his cane andsnuff-box, and Bertrand with torn surtout and all-absorbing pocket, haveappeared on the stage, they have been popular with the Parisians; andwith these two types of clever and stupid knavery, M. Philipon and hiscompanion Daumier have created a world of pleasant satire upon all theprevailing abuses of the day. 

Almost the first figure that these audacious caricaturists dared todepict was a political one: in Macaire's red breeches and tattered coatappeared no less a personage than the King himself--the old Poire--in acountry of humbugs and swindlers the facile princeps; fit to govern, ashe is deeper than all the rogues in his dominions. Bertrand was oppositeto him, and having listened with delight and reverence to some tale ofknavery truly royal, was exclaiming with a look and voice expressive ofthe most intense admiration, "AH VIEUX BLAGEUR! va!"--the word blague isuntranslatable--it means FRENCH humbug as distinct from all other; andonly those who know the value of an epigram in France, an epigram sowonderfully just, a little word so curiously comprehensive, can fancythe kind of rage and rapture with which it was received. It was a blowthat shook the whole dynasty. Thersites had there given such a wound toAjax, as Hector in arms could scarcely have inflicted: a blow sufficientalmost to create the madness to which the fabulous hero of Homer andOvid fell a prey. 

Not long, however, was French caricature allowed to attack personagesso illustrious: the September laws came, and henceforth no more epigramswere launched against politics; but the caricaturists were compelled toconfine their satire to subjects and characters that had nothing todo with the State. The Duke of Orleans was no longer to figure inlithography as the fantastic Prince Rosolin; no longer were multitudes(in chalk) to shelter under the enormous shadow of M. D'Argout's nose:Marshal Loban's squirt was hung up in peace, and M. Thiers's pigmyfigure and round spectacled face were no more to appear in print. *Robert Macaire was driven out of the Chambers and the Palace--hisremarks were a great deal too appropriate and too severe for the ears ofthe great men who congregated in those places. 

 * Almost all the principal public men had been most ludicrously caricatured in the Charivari: those mentioned above were usually depicted with the distinctive attributes mentioned by us. 

The Chambers and the Palace were shut to him; but the rogue, driven outof his rogue's paradise, saw "that the world was all before him whereto choose, " and found no lack of opportunities for exercising his wit. There was the Bar, with its roguish practitioners, rascally attorneys, stupid juries, and forsworn judges; there was the Bourse, with all itsgambling, swindling, and hoaxing, its cheats and its dupes; the MedicalProfession, and the quacks who ruled it, alternately; the Stage, and thecant that was prevalent there; the Fashion, and its thousand folliesand extravagances. Robert Macaire had all these to exploiter. Of allthe empire, through all the ranks, professions, the lies, crimes, and absurdities of men, he may make sport at will; of all except ofa certain class. Like Bluebeard's wife, he may see everything, butis bidden TO BEWARE OF THE BLUE CHAMBER. Robert is more wise thanBluebeard's wife, and knows that it would cost him his head to enter it. Robert, therefore, keeps aloof for the moment. Would there be any use inhis martyrdom? Bluebeard cannot live for ever; perhaps, even now, thoseare on their way (one sees a suspicious cloud of dust or two) that areto destroy him. 

In the meantime Robert and his friend have been furnishing the designsthat we have before us, and of which perhaps the reader will be edifiedby a brief description. We are not, to be sure, to judge of the Frenchnation by M. Macaire, any more than we are to judge of our own nationalmorals in the last century by such a book as the "Beggars' Opera;" butupon the morals and the national manners, works of satire afford a worldof light that one would in vain look for in regular books of history. Doctor Smollett would have blushed to devote any considerable portionof his pages to a discussion of the acts and character of Mr. JonathanWild, such a figure being hardly admissible among the dignifiedpersonages who usually push all others out from the possession of thehistorical page; but a chapter of that gentleman's memoirs, as they arerecorded in that exemplary recueil--the "Newgate Calendar;" nay, a cantoof the great comic epic (involving many fables, and containing muchexaggeration, but still having the seeds of truth) which the satiricalpoet of those days wrote in celebration of him--we mean Fielding's"History of Jonathan Wild the Great"--does seem to us to give a morecurious picture of the manners of those times than any recognizedhistory of them. At the close of his history of George II. , Smollettcondescends to give a short chapter on Literature and Manners. He speaksof Glover's "Leonidas, " Cibber's "Careless Husband, " the poems of Mason, Gray, the two Whiteheads, "the nervous style, extensive erudition, andsuperior sense of a Corke; the delicate taste, the polished muse, andtender feeling of a Lyttelton. " "King, " he says, "shone unrivalled inRoman eloquence, the female sex distinguished themselves by their tasteand ingenuity. Miss Carter rivalled the celebrated Dacier in learningand critical knowledge; Mrs. Lennox signalized herself by manysuccessful efforts of genius both in poetry and prose; and Miss Reidexcelled the celebrated Rosalba in portrait-painting, both in miniatureand at large, in oil as well as in crayons. The genius of Cervantes wastransferred into the novels of Fielding, who painted the characters andridiculed the follies of life with equal strength, humor, and propriety. The field of history and biography was cultivated by many writersof ability, among whom we distinguish the copious Guthrie, thecircumstantial Ralph, the laborious Carte, the learned and elegantRobertson, and above all, the ingenious, penetrating, and comprehensiveHume, " &c. &c. We will quote no more of the passage. Could a man in thebest humor sit down to write a graver satire? Who cares for the tendermuse of Lyttelton? Who knows the signal efforts of Mrs. Lennox's genius?Who has seen the admirable performances, in miniature and at large, in oil as well as in crayons, of Miss Reid? Laborious Carte, andcircumstantial Ralph, and copious Guthrie, where are they, their works, and their reputation? Mrs. Lennox's name is just as clean wiped outof the list of worthies as if she had never been born; and Miss Reid, though she was once actual flesh and blood, "rival in miniature and atlarge" of the celebrated Rosalba, she is as if she had never been atall; her little farthing rushlight of a soul and reputation having burntout, and left neither wick nor tallow. Death, too, has overtaken copiousGuthrie and circumstantial Ralph. Only a few know whereabouts is thegrave where lies laborious Carte; and yet, O wondrous power of genius!Fielding's men and women are alive, though History's are not. Theprogenitors of circumstantial Ralph sent forth, after much labor andpains of making, educating, feeding, clothing, a real man child, agreat palpable mass of flesh, bones, and blood (we say nothing aboutthe spirit), which was to move through the world, ponderous, writinghistories, and to die, having achieved the title of circumstantialRalph; and lo! without any of the trouble that the parents of Ralphhad undergone, alone perhaps in a watch or spunging-house, fuddledmost likely, in the blandest, easiest, and most good-humored way in theworld, Henry Fielding makes a number of men and women on so many sheetsof paper, not only more amusing than Ralph or Miss Reid, but more likeflesh and blood, and more alive now than they. Is not Amelia preparingher husband's little supper? Is not Miss Snapp chastely preventing thecrime of Mr. Firebrand? Is not Parson Adams in the midst of his family, and Mr. Wild taking his last bowl of punch with the Newgate Ordinary? Isnot every one of them a real substantial HAVE-been personage now--morereal than Reid or Ralph? For our parts, we will not take upon ourselvesto say that they do not exist somewhere else: that the actionsattributed to them have not really taken place; certain we are that theyare more worthy of credence than Ralph, who may or may not have beencircumstantial; who may or may not even have existed, a point unworthyof disputation. As for Miss Reid, we will take an affidavit that neitherin miniature nor at large did she excel the celebrated Rosalba; andwith regard to Mrs. Lennox, we consider her to be a mere figment, likeNarcissa, Miss Tabitha Bramble, or any hero or heroine depicted by thehistorian of "Peregrine Pickle. "

In like manner, after viewing nearly ninety portraits of Robert Macaireand his friend Bertrand, all strongly resembling each other, we areinclined to believe in them as historical personages, and to canvassgravely the circumstances of their lives. Why should we not? Have wenot their portraits? Are not they sufficient proofs? If not, we mustdiscredit Napoleon (as Archbishop Whately teaches), for about his figureand himself we have no more authentic testimony. 

Let the reality of M. Robert Macaire and his friend M. Bertrandbe granted, if but to gratify our own fondness for those exquisitecharacters: we find the worthy pair in the French capital, minglingwith all grades of its society, pars magna in the intrigues, pleasures, perplexities, rogueries, speculations, which are carried on in Paris, as in our own chief city; for it need not be said that roguery is of nocountry nor clime, but finds [Greek text omitted], is a citizen of allcountries where the quarters are good; among our merry neighbors itfinds itself very much at its ease. 

Not being endowed, then, with patrimonial wealth, but compelled toexercise their genius to obtain distinction, or even subsistence, wesee Messrs. Bertrand and Macaire, by turns, adopting all trades andprofessions, and exercising each with their own peculiar ingenuity. Aspublic men, we have spoken already of their appearance in one or twoimportant characters, and stated that the Government grew fairly jealousof them, excluding them from office, as the Whigs did Lord Brougham. As private individuals, they are made to distinguish themselves as thefounders of journals, sociétés en commandite (companies of which themembers are irresponsible beyond the amount of their shares), and allsorts of commercial speculations, requiring intelligence and honesty onthe part of the directors, confidence and liberal disbursements from theshareholders. 

These are, among the French, so numerous, and have been of late years(in the shape of Newspaper Companies, Bitumen Companies, Galvanized-IronCompanies, Railroad Companies, &c. ) pursued with such a blind FUROR andlust of gain, by that easily excited and imaginative people, that, asmay be imagined, the satirist has found plenty of occasion for remark, and M. Macaire and his friend innumerable opportunities for exercisingtheir talents. 

We know nothing of M. Emile de Girardin, except that, in a duel, he shotthe best man in France, Armaud Carrel; and in Girardin's favor it mustbe said, that he had no other alternative; but was right in provokingthe duel, seeing that the whole Republican party had vowed hisdestruction, and that he fought and killed their champion, as it were. We know nothing of M. Girardin's private character: but, as far aswe can judge from the French public prints, he seems to be the mostspeculative of speculators, and, of course, a fair butt for the maliceof the caricaturists. His one great crime, in the eyes of the FrenchRepublicans and Republican newspaper proprietors, was, that Girardin setup a journal, as he called it, "franchement monarchique, "--a journal inthe pay of the monarchy, that is, --and a journal that cost only fortyfrancs by the year. The National costs twice as much; the Charivariitself costs half as much again; and though all newspapers, of allparties, concurred in "snubbing" poor M. Girardin and his journal, theRepublican prints, were by far the most bitter against him, thunderingdaily accusations and personalities; whether the abuse was well orill founded, we know not. Hence arose the duel with Carrel; afterthe termination of which, Girardin put by his pistol, and vowed, veryproperly, to assist in the shedding of no more blood. Girardin had beenthe originator of numerous other speculations besides the journal: thecapital of these, like that of the journal, was raised by shares, andthe shareholders, by some fatality, have found themselves wofully in thelurch; while Girardin carries on the war gayly, is, or was, a memberof the Chamber of Deputies, has money, goes to Court, and possesses acertain kind of reputation. He invented, we believe, the "InstitutionAgronome de Coetbo, "* the "Physionotype, " the "Journal desConnoissances Utiles, " the "Pantheon Littéraire, " and the systemof "Primes"--premiums, that is--to be given, by lottery, to certainsubscribers in these institutions. Could Robert Macaire see such thingsgoing on, and have no hand in them?

 * It is not necessary to enter into descriptions of these various inventions. 

Accordingly Messrs. Macaire and Bertrand are made the heroes of manyspeculations of the kind. In almost the first print of our collection, Robert discourses to Bertrand of his projects. "Bertrand, " says thedisinterested admirer of talent and enterprise, "j'adore l'industrie. Situ veux nous créons une banque, mais là, une vraie banque: capitalcent millions de millions, cent milliards de milliards d'actions. Nousenfonçons la banque de France, les banquiers, les banquistes; nousenfonçons tout le monde. " "Oui, " says Bertrand, very calm and stupid, "mais les gendarmes?" "Que tu es bête, Bertrand: est-ce qu'on arrêteun millionaire?" Such is the key to M. Macaire's philosophy; and a wisecreed too, as times go. 

Acting on these principles, Robert appears soon after; he has notcreated a bank, but a journal. He sits in a chair of state, anddiscourses to a shareholder. Bertrand, calm and stupid as before, standshumbly behind. "Sir, " says the editor of La Blague, journal quotidienne, "our profits arise from a new combination. The journal costs twentyfrancs; we sell it for twenty-three and a half. A million subscribersmake three millions and a half of profits; there are my figures;contradict me by figures, or I will bring an action for libel. " Thereader may fancy the scene takes place in England, where many such aswindling prospectus has obtained credit ere now. At Plate 33, Robert isstill a journalist; he brings to the editor of a paper an article of hiscomposition, a violent attack on a law. "My dear M. Macaire, " says theeditor, "this must be changed; we must PRAISE this law. " "Bon, bon!"says our versatile Macaire. "Je vais retoucher ça, et je vous fais enfaveur de la loi UN ARTICLE MOUSSEUX. "

Can such things be? Is it possible that French journalists can soforget themselves? The rogues! they should come to England and learnconsistency. The honesty of the Press in England is like the air webreathe, without it we die. No, no! in France, the satire may do verywell; but for England it is too monstrous. Call the press stupid, callit vulgar, call it violent, --but honest it is. Who ever heard of ajournal changing its politics? O tempora! O mores! as Robert Macairesays, this would be carrying the joke too far. 

When he has done with newspapers, Robert Macaire begins to distinguishhimself on 'Change, * as a creator of companies, a vender of shares, ora dabbler in foreign stock. "Buy my coal-mine shares, " shouts Robert;"gold mines, silver mines, diamond mines, 'sont de la pot-bouille de laratatouille en comparaison de ma houille. '" "Look, " says he, on anotheroccasion, to a very timid, open-countenanced client, "you have aproperty to sell! I have found the very man, a rich capitalist, a fellowwhose bills are better than bank-notes. " His client sells; the bills aretaken in payment, and signed by that respectable capitalist, Monsieur deSaint Bertrand. At Plate 81, we find him inditing a circular letterto all the world, running thus: "Sir, --I regret to say that yourapplication for shares in the Consolidated European IncombustibleBlacking Association cannot be complied with, as all the shares of theC. E. I. B. A. Were disposed of on the day they were issued. I have, nevertheless, registered your name, and in case a second series shouldbe put forth, I shall have the honor of immediately giving you notice. I am, sir, yours, &c. , the Director, Robert Macaire. "--"Print 300, 000of these, " he says to Bertrand, "and poison all France with them. " Asusual, the stupid Bertrand remonstrates--"But we have not sold a singleshare; you have not a penny in your pocket, and"--"Bertrand, you are anass; do as I bid you. "

 * We have given a description of a genteel Macaire in the account of M. De Bernard's novels. 

Will this satire apply anywhere in England? Have we any ConsolidatedEuropean Blacking Associations amongst us? Have we penniless directorsissuing El Dorado prospectuses, and jockeying their shares through themarket? For information on this head, we must refer the reader to thenewspapers; or if he be connected with the city, and acquainted withcommercial men, he will be able to say whether ALL the persons whosenames figure at the head of announcements of projected companies are asrich as Rothschild, or quite as honest as heart could desire. 

When Macaire has sufficiently exploité the Bourse, whether as a gamblerin the public funds or other companies, he sagely perceives that it istime to turn to some other profession, and, providing himself with ablack gown, proposes blandly to Bertrand to set up--a new religion. "Monami, " says the repentant sinner, "le temps de la commandite va passer, MAIS LES BADAUDS NE PASSERONT PAS. " (O rare sentence! it should bewritten in letters of gold!) "OCCUPONS NOUS DE CE QUI EST ÉTERNEL. Sinous fassions une réligion?" On which M. Bertrand remarks, "A religion!what the devil--a religion is not an easy thing to make. " But Macaire'sreceipt is easy. "Get a gown, take a shop, " he says, "borrow somechairs, preach about Napoleon, or the discovery of America, orMolière--and there's a religion for you. "

We have quoted this sentence more for the contrast it offers withour own manners, than for its merits. After the noble paragraph, "Lesbadauds ne passeront pas. Occupons nous de ce qui est éternel, " onewould have expected better satire upon cant than the words that follow. We are not in a condition to say whether the subjects chosen are thosethat had been selected by Père Enfantin, or Chatel, or Lacordaire; butthe words are curious, we think, for the very reason that the satireis so poor. The fact is, there is no religion in Paris; even cleverM. Philipon, who satirizes everything, and must know, therefore, somelittle about the subject which he ridicules, has nothing to say but, "Preach a sermon, and that makes a religion; anything will do. " IfANYTHING will do, it is clear that the religious commodity is not inmuch demand. Tartuffe had better things to say about hypocrisy in histime; but then Faith was alive; now, there is no satirizing religiouscant in France, for its contrary, true religion, has disappearedaltogether; and having no substance, can cast no shadow. If a satiristwould lash the religious hypocrites in ENGLAND now--the High Churchhypocrites, the Low Church hypocrites, the promiscuous Dissentinghypocrites, the No Popery hypocrites--he would have ample subjectenough. In France, the religious hypocrites went out with the Bourbons. Those who remain pious in that country (or, rather, we should say, inthe capital, for of that we speak, ) are unaffectedly so, for they haveno worldly benefit to hope for from their piety; the great majority haveno religion at all, and do not scoff at the few, for scoffing is theminority's weapon, and is passed always to the weaker side, whateverthat may be. Thus H. B. Caricatures the Ministers: if by any accidentthat body of men should be dismissed from their situations, and besucceeded by H. B. 's friends, the Tories, --what must the poor artist do?He must pine away and die, if he be not converted; he cannot always bepaying compliments; for caricature has a spice of Goethe's Devil init, and is "der Geist der stets verneint, " the Spirit that is alwaysdenying. 

With one or two of the French writers and painters of caricatures, theKing tried the experiment of bribery; which succeeded occasionally inbuying off the enemy, and bringing him from the republican to the royalcamp; but when there, the deserter was never of any use. Figaro, when sotreated, grew fat and desponding, and lost all his sprightly VERVE;and Nemesis became as gentle as a Quakeress. But these instances of"ratting" were not many. Some few poets were bought over; but, amongmen following the profession of the press, a change of politics is aninfringement of the point of honor, and a man must FIGHT as wellas apostatize. A very curious table might be made, signalizing thedifference of the moral standard between us and the French. Why is thegrossness and indelicacy, publicly permitted in England, unknown inFrance, where private morality is certainly at a lower ebb? Why is thepoint of private honor now more rigidly maintained among the French?Why is it, as it should be, a moral disgrace for a Frenchman to go intodebt, and no disgrace for him to cheat his customer? Why is there morehonesty and less--more propriety and less?--and how are we to accountfor the particular vices or virtues which belong to each nation in itsturn?

The above is the Reverend M. Macaire's solitary exploit as a spiritualswindler: as MAÎTRE Macaire in the courts of law, as avocat, avoué--ina humbler capacity even, as a prisoner at the bar, he distinguisheshimself greatly, as may be imagined. On one occasion we find the learnedgentleman humanely visiting an unfortunate détenu--no other person, infact, than his friend M. Bertrand, who has fallen into some trouble, andis awaiting the sentence of the law. He begins--

"Mon cher Bertrand, donne moi cent écus, je te fais acquitter d'emblée. "

"J'ai pas d'argent. "

"Hé bien, donne moi cent francs. "

"Pas le sou. "

"Tu n'as pas dix francs?"

"Pas un liard. "

"Alors donne moi tes bottes, je plaiderai la circonstance atténuante. "

The manner in which Maitre Macaire soars from the cent écus (a highpoint already) to the sublime of the boots, is in the best comic style. In another instance he pleads before a judge, and, mistaking hisclient, pleads for defendant, instead of plaintiff. "The infamy of theplaintiff's character, my LUDS, renders his testimony on such acharge as this wholly unavailing. " "M. Macaire, M. Macaire, " cries theattorney, in a fright, "you are for the plaintiff!" "This, my lords, is what the defendant WILL SAY. This is the line of defence which theopposite party intend to pursue; as if slanders like these could weighwith an enlightened jury, or injure the spotless reputation of myclient!" In this story and expedient M. Macaire has been indebted to theEnglish bar. If there be an occupation for the English satirist in theexposing of the cant and knavery of the pretenders to religion, whatroom is there for him to lash the infamies of the law! On this pointthe French are babes in iniquity compared to us--a counsel prostitutinghimself for money is a matter with us so stale, that it is hardly foodfor satire: which, to be popular, must find some much more complicatedand interesting knavery whereon to exercise its skill. 

M. Macaire is more skilful in love than in law, and appears once ortwice in a very amiable light while under the influence of the tenderpassion. We find him at the head of one of those useful establishmentsunknown in our country--a Bureau de Mariage: half a dozen of such placesare daily advertised in the journals: and "une veuve de trente ans ayantune fortune de deux cent mille francs, " or "une demoiselle de quinzeaus, jolie, d'une famille très distinguée, qui possède trente millelivres de rentes, "--continually, in this kind-hearted way, are offeringthemselves to the public: sometimes it is a gentleman, with a "physiqueagréable, --des talens de société"--and a place under Government, who makes a sacrifice of himself in a similar manner. In our littlehistorical gallery we find this philanthropic anti-Malthusian atthe head of an establishment of this kind, introducing a verymeek, simple-looking bachelor to some distinguished ladies of hisconnoissance. "Let me present you, sir, to Madame de St. Bertrand"(it is our old friend), "veuve de la grande armée, et Mdlle Eloa deWormspire. Ces dames brûlent de l'envie de faire votre connoissance. Jeles ai invitées à dîner chez vous ce soir: vous nous menerez à l'opéra, et nous ferons une petite partie d'écarté. Tenez vous bien, M. Gobard!ces dames ont des projets sur vous!"

Happy Gobard! happy system, which can thus bring the pure and lovingtogether, and acts as the best ally of Hymen! The announcement ofthe rank and titles of Madame de St. Bertrand--"veuve de la grandearmée"--is very happy. "La grande armée" has been a father to moreorphans, and a husband to more widows, than it ever made. Mistresses ofcafés, old governesses, keepers of boarding-houses, genteel beggars, andladies of lower rank still, have this favorite pedigree. They have allhad malheurs (what kind it is needless to particularize), they are allconnected with the grand homme, and their fathers were all colonels. This title exactly answers to the "clergyman's daughter" in England--as, "A young lady, the daughter of a clergyman, is desirous to teach, "&c. "A clergyman's widow receives into her house a few select, " and soforth. "Appeal to the benevolent. --By a series of unheard-of calamities, a young lady, daughter of a clergyman in the west of England, has beenplunged, " &c. &c. The difference is curious, as indicating the standardof respectability. 

The male beggar of fashion is not so well known among us as in Paris, where street-doors are open; six or eight families live in a house; andthe gentleman who earns his livelihood by this profession can make halfa dozen visits without the trouble of knocking from house to house, andthe pain of being observed by the whole street, while the footman isexamining him from the area. Some few may be seen in England about theinns of court, where the locality is favorable (where, however, theowners of the chambers are not proverbially soft of heart, so that theharvest must be poor); but Paris is full of such adventurers, --fat, smooth-tongued, and well dressed, with gloves and gilt-headed canes, whowould be insulted almost by the offer of silver, and expect your gold astheir right. Among these, of course, our friend Robert plays his part;and an excellent engraving represents him, snuff-box in hand, advancingto an old gentleman, whom, by his poodle, his powdered head, and hisdrivelling, stupid look, one knows to be a Carlist of the old régime. "I beg pardon, " says Robert; "is it really yourself to whom I havethe honor of speaking?"--"It is. " "Do you take snuff?"--"I thankyou. "--"Sir, I have had misfortunes--I want assistance. I am a Vendéanof illustrious birth. You know the family of Macairbec--we are of Brest. My grandfather served the King in his galleys; my father and I belong, also, to the marine. Unfortunate suits at law have plunged us intodifficulties, and I do not hesitate to ask you for the succor of tenfrancs. "--"Sir, I never give to those I don't know. "--"Right, sir, perfectly right. Perhaps you will have the kindness to LEND me tenfrancs?"

The adventures of Doctor Macaire need not be described, because thedifferent degrees in quackery which are taken by that learned physicianare all well known in England, where we have the advantage of manyhigher degrees in the science, which our neighbors know nothing about. We have not Hahnemann, but we have his disciples; we have not Broussais, but we have the College of Health; and surely a dose of Morrison's pillsis a sublimer discovery than a draught of hot water. We had St. JohnLong, too--where is his science?--and we are credibly informed that someimportant cures have been effected by the inspired dignitaries of "thechurch" in Newman Street which, if it continue to practise, will sadlyinterfere with the profits of the regular physicians, and where themiracles of the Abbé of Paris are about to be acted over again. 

In speaking of M. Macaire and his adventures, we have managed soentirely to convince ourselves of the reality of the personage, that wehave quite forgotten to speak of Messrs. Philipon and Daumier, who are, the one the inventor, the other the designer, of the Macaire PictureGallery. As works of esprit, these drawings are not more remarkable thanthey are as works of art, and we never recollect to have seen a seriesof sketches possessing more extraordinary cleverness and variety. Thecountenance and figure of Macaire and the dear stupid Bertrand arepreserved, of course, with great fidelity throughout; but theadmirable way in which each fresh character is conceived, the grotesqueappropriateness of Robert's every successive attitude and gesticulation, and the variety of Bertrand's postures of invariable repose, theexquisite fitness of all the other characters, who act their littlepart and disappear from the scene, cannot be described on paper, or toohighly lauded. The figures are very carelessly drawn; but, if the readercan understand us, all the attitudes and limbs are perfectly CONCEIVED, and wonderfully natural and various. After pondering over these drawingsfor some hours, as we have been while compiling this notice of them, we have grown to believe that the personages are real, and the scenesremain imprinted on the brain as if we had absolutely been present attheir acting. Perhaps the clever way in which the plates are colored, and the excellent effect which is put into each, may add to thisillusion. Now, in looking, for instance, at H. B. 's slim vapory figures, they have struck us as excellent LIKENESSES of men and women, butno more: the bodies want spirit, action, and individuality. GeorgeCruikshank, as a humorist, has quite as much genius, but he does notknow the art of "effect" so well as Monsieur Daumier; and, if we mightventure to give a word of advice to another humorous designer, whoseworks are extensively circulated--the illustrator of "Pickwick" and"Nicholas Nickleby, "--it would be to study well these caricatures ofMonsieur Daumier; who, though he executes very carelessly, knowsvery well what he would express, indicates perfectly the attitude andidentity of his figure, and is quite aware, beforehand, of the effectwhich he intends to produce. The one we should fancy to be a practisedartist, taking his ease; the other, a young one, somewhat bewildered:a very clever one, however, who, if he would think more, and exaggerateless, would add not a little to his reputation. 

Having pursued, all through these remarks, the comparison betweenEnglish art and French art, English and French humor, manners, andmorals, perhaps we should endeavor, also, to write an analytical essayon English cant or humbug, as distinguished from French. It might beshown that the latter was more picturesque and startling, the formermore substantial and positive. It has none of the poetic flights of theFrench genius, but advances steadily, and gains more ground in theend than its sprightlier compeer. But such a discussion would carry usthrough the whole range of French and English history, and the readerhas probably read quite enough of the subject in this and the foregoingpages. 

We shall, therefore, say no more of French and English caricaturesgenerally, or of Mr. Macaire's particular accomplishments andadventures. They are far better understood by examining the originalpictures, by which Philipon and Daumier have illustrated them, than bytranslations first into print and afterwards into English. They forma very curious and instructive commentary upon the present state ofsociety in Paris, and a hundred years hence, when the whole of thisstruggling, noisy, busy, merry race shall have exchanged their pleasuresor occupations for a quiet coffin (and a tawdry lying epitaph) atMontmartre, or Père la Chaise; when the follies here recorded shallhave been superseded by new ones, and the fools now so active shallhave given up the inheritance of the world to their children: the latterwill, at least, have the advantage of knowing, intimately and exactly, the manners of life and being of their grandsires, and calling up, whenthey so choose it, our ghosts from the grave, to live, love, quarrel, swindle, suffer, and struggle on blindly as of yore. And when the amusedspeculator shall have laughed sufficiently at the immensity of ourfollies, and the paltriness of our aims, smiled at our explodedsuperstitions, wondered how this man should be considered great, whois now clean forgotten (as copious Guthrie before mentioned); howthis should have been thought a patriot who is but a knave spoutingcommonplace; or how that should have been dubbed a philosopher who isbut a dull fool, blinking solemn, and pretending to see in the dark;when he shall have examined all these at his leisure, smiling in apleasant contempt and good-humored superiority, and thanking heavenfor his increased lights, he will shut the book, and be a fool as hisfathers were before him. 

It runs in the blood. Well hast thou said, O ragged Macaire, --"Le jourva passer, MAIS LES BADAUDS NE PASSERONT PAS. "

LITTLE POINSINET. 

About the year 1760, there lived, at Paris, a little fellow, who wasthe darling of all the wags of his acquaintance. Nature seemed, in theformation of this little man, to have amused herself, by giving looseto half a hundred of her most comical caprices. He had some wit anddrollery of his own, which sometimes rendered his sallies very amusing;but, where his friends laughed with him once, they laughed at him athousand times, for he had a fund of absurdity in himself that was morepleasant than all the wit in the world. He was as proud as a peacock, aswicked as an ape, and as silly as a goose. He did not possess one singlegrain of common sense; but, in revenge, his pretensions were enormous, his ignorance vast, and his credulity more extensive still. From hisyouth upwards, he had read nothing but the new novels, and the verses inthe almanacs, which helped him not a little in making, what he called, poetry of his own; for, of course, our little hero was a poet. All thecommon usages of life, all the ways of the world, and all the customs ofsociety, seemed to be quite unknown to him; add to these good qualities, a magnificent conceit, a cowardice inconceivable, and a face soirresistibly comic, that every one who first beheld it was compelledto burst out a-laughing, and you will have some notion of this strangelittle gentleman. He was very proud of his voice, and uttered all hissentences in the richest tragic tone. He was little better than a dwarf;but he elevated his eyebrows, held up his neck, walked on the tips ofhis toes, and gave himself the airs of a giant. He had a little pair ofbandy legs, which seemed much too short to support anything like a humanbody; but, by the help of these crooked supporters, he thought he coulddance like a Grace; and, indeed, fancied all the graces possible wereto be found in his person. His goggle eyes were always rolling aboutwildly, as if in correspondence with the disorder of his little brainand his countenance thus wore an expression of perpetual wonder. Withsuch happy natural gifts, he not only fell into all traps that were laidfor him, but seemed almost to go out of his way to seek them; although, to be sure, his friends did not give him much trouble in that search, for they prepared hoaxes for him incessantly. 

One day the wags introduced him to a company of ladies, who, though notcountesses and princesses exactly, took, nevertheless, those titles uponthemselves for the nonce; and were all, for the same reason, violentlysmitten with Master Poinsinet's person. One of them, the lady of thehouse, was especially tender; and, seating him by her side at supper, soplied him with smiles, ogles, and champagne, that our little hero grewcrazed with ecstasy, and wild with love. In the midst of his happiness, a cruel knock was heard below, accompanied by quick loud talking, swearing, and shuffling of feet: you would have thought a regimentwas at the door. "Oh heavens!" cried the marchioness, starting up, and giving to the hand of Poinsinet one parting squeeze; "fly--fly, myPoinsinet: 'tis the colonel--my husband!" At this, each gentleman of theparty rose, and, drawing his rapier, vowed to cut his way through thecolonel and all his mousquetaires, or die, if need be, by the side ofPoinsinet. 

The little fellow was obliged to lug out his sword too, and wentshuddering down stairs, heartily repenting of his passion formarchionesses. When the party arrived in the street, they found, sureenough, a dreadful company of mousquetaires, as they seemed, ready tooppose their passage. Swords crossed, --torches blazed; and, with themost dreadful shouts and imprecations, the contending parties rushedupon one another; the friends of Poinsinet surrounding and supportingthat little warrior, as the French knights did King Francis at Pavia, otherwise the poor fellow certainly would have fallen down in the gutterfrom fright. 

But the combat was suddenly interrupted; for the neighbors, who knewnothing of the trick going on, and thought the brawl was real, had beenscreaming with all their might for the police, who began about this timeto arrive. Directly they appeared, friends and enemies of Poinsinetat once took to their heels; and, in THIS part of the transaction, atleast, our hero himself showed that he was equal to the longest-leggedgrenadier that ever ran away. 

When, at last, those little bandy legs of his had borne him safely tohis lodgings, all Poinsinet's friends crowded round him, to congratulatehim on his escape and his valor. 

"Egad, how he pinked that great red-haired fellow!" said one. 

"No; did I?" said Poinsinet. 

"Did you? Psha! don't try to play the modest, and humbug US; you knowyou did. I suppose you will say, next, that you were not for threeminutes point to point with Cartentierce himself, the most dreadfulswordsman of the army. "

"Why, you see, " says Poinsinet, quite delighted, "it was so dark that Idid not know with whom I was engaged; although, corbleu, I DID FOR oneor two of the fellows. " And after a little more of such conversation, during which he was fully persuaded that he had done for a dozen of theenemy at least, Poinsinet went to bed, his little person trembling withfright and pleasure; and he fell asleep, and dreamed of rescuing ladies, and destroying monsters, like a second Amadis de Gaul. 

When he awoke in the morning, he found a party of his friends in hisroom: one was examining his coat and waistcoat; another was casting manycurious glances at his inexpressibles. "Look here!" said this gentleman, holding up the garment to the light; "one--two--three gashes! I amhanged if the cowards did not aim at Poinsinet's legs! There are fourholes in the sword arm of his coat, and seven have gone right throughcoat and waistcoat. Good heaven! Poinsinet, have you had a surgeon toyour wounds?"

"Wounds!" said the little man, springing up, "I don't know--that is, I hope--that is--O Lord! O Lord! I hope I'm not wounded!" and, after aproper examination, he discovered he was not. 

"Thank heaven! thank heaven!" said one of the wags (who, indeed, duringthe slumbers of Poinsinet had been occupied in making these very holesthrough the garments of that individual), "if you have escaped, it is bya miracle. Alas! alas! all your enemies have not been so lucky. "

"How! is anybody wounded?" said Poinsinet. 

"My dearest friend, prepare yourself; that unhappy man who came torevenge his menaced honor--that gallant officer--that injured husband, Colonel Count de Cartentierce--"

"Well?"

"IS NO MORE! he died this morning, pierced through with nineteen woundsfrom your hand, and calling upon his country to revenge his murder. "

When this awful sentence was pronounced, all the auditory gave apathetic and simultaneous sob; and as for Poinsinet, he sank back on hisbed with a howl of terror, which would have melted a Visigoth to tears, or to laughter. As soon as his terror and remorse had, in some degree, subsided, his comrades spoke to him of the necessity of making hisescape; and, huddling on his clothes, and bidding them all a tenderadieu, he set off, incontinently, without his breakfast, for England, America, or Russia, not knowing exactly which. 

One of his companions agreed to accompany him on a part of thisjourney, --that is, as far as the barrier of St. Denis, which is, aseverybody knows, on the high road to Dover; and there, being tolerablysecure, they entered a tavern for breakfast; which meal, the last thathe ever was to take, perhaps, in his native city, Poinsinet was justabout to discuss, when, behold! a gentleman entered the apartment wherePoinsinet and his friend were seated, and, drawing from his pocket apaper, with "AU NOM DU ROY" flourished on the top, read from it, orrather from Poinsinet's own figure, his exact signalement, laid his handon his shoulder, and arrested him in the name of the King, and of theprovost-marshal of Paris. "I arrest you, sir, " said he, gravely, "withregret; you have slain, with seventeen wounds, in single combat, ColonelCount de Cartentierce, one of his Majesty's household; and, as hismurderer, you fall under the immediate authority of the provost-marshal, and die without trial or benefit of clergy. "

You may fancy how the poor little man's appetite fell when he heard thisspeech. "In the provost-marshal's hands?" said his friend: "then it isall over, indeed! When does my poor friend suffer, sir?"

"At half-past six o'clock, the day after to-morrow, " said the officer, sitting down, and helping himself to wine. "But stop, " said he, suddenly; "sure I can't mistake? Yes--no--yes, it is. My dear friend, my dear Durand! don't you recollect your old schoolfellow, Antoine?" Andherewith the officer flung himself into the arms of Durand, Poinsinet'scomrade, and they performed a most affecting scene of friendship. 

"This may be of some service to you, " whispered Durand to Poinsinet;and, after some further parley, he asked the officer when he was boundto deliver up his prisoner; and, hearing that he was not called upon toappear at the Marshalsea before six o'clock at night, Monsieur Durandprevailed upon Monsieur Antoine to wait until that hour, and in themeantime to allow his prisoner to walk about the town in his company. This request was, with a little difficulty, granted; and poor Poinsinetbegged to be carried to the houses of his various friends, and bid themfarewell. Some were aware of the trick that had been played upon him:others were not; but the poor little man's credulity was so great, thatit was impossible to undeceive him; and he went from house to housebewailing his fate, and followed by the complaisant marshal's officer. 

The news of his death he received with much more meekness than couldhave been expected; but what he could not reconcile to himself was, theidea of dissection afterwards. "What can they want with me?" cried thepoor wretch, in an unusual fit of candor. "I am very small and ugly;it would be different if I were a tall fine-looking fellow. " But hewas given to understand that beauty made very little difference to thesurgeons, who, on the contrary, would, on certain occasions, prefer adeformed man to a handsome one; for science was much advanced by thestudy of such monstrosities. With this reason Poinsinet was obliged tobe content; and so paid his rounds of visits, and repeated his dismaladieux. 

The officer of the provost-marshal, however amusing Poinsinet's woesmight have been, began, by this time, to grow very weary of them, and gave him more than one opportunity to escape. He would stop atshop-windows, loiter round corners, and look up in the sky, but all invain: Poinsinet would not escape, do what the other would. At length, luckily, about dinner-time, the officer met one of Poinsinet's friendsand his own: and the three agreed to dine at a tavern, as they hadbreakfasted; and here the officer, who vowed that he had been upfor five weeks incessantly, fell suddenly asleep, in the profoundestfatigue; and Poinsinet was persuaded, after much hesitation on his part, to take leave of him. 

And now, this danger overcome, another was to be avoided. Beyond a doubtthe police were after him, and how was he to avoid them? He must bedisguised, of course; and one of his friends, a tall, gaunt lawyer'sclerk, agreed to provide him with habits. 

So little Poinsinet dressed himself out in the clerk's dingy black suit, of which the knee-breeches hung down to his heels, and the waist of thecoat reached to the calves of his legs; and, furthermore, he blacked hiseyebrows, and wore a huge black periwig, in which his friend vowed thatno one could recognize him. But the most painful incident, with regardto the periwig, was, that Poinsinet, whose solitary beauty--if beautyit might be called--was a head of copious, curling, yellow hair, wascompelled to snip off every one of his golden locks, and to rub thebristles with a black dye; "for if your wig were to come off, " said thelawyer, "and your fair hair to tumble over your shoulders, every manwould know, or at least suspect you. " So off the locks were cut, and inhis black suit and periwig little Poinsinet went abroad. 

His friends had their cue; and when he appeared amongst them, not oneseemed to know him. He was taken into companies where his character wasdiscussed before him, and his wonderful escape spoken of. At last he wasintroduced to the very officer of the provost-marshal who had taken himinto custody, and who told him that he had been dismissed the provost'sservice, in consequence of the escape of the prisoner. Now, for thefirst time, poor Poinsinet thought himself tolerably safe, and blessedhis kind friends who had procured for him such a complete disguise. How this affair ended I know not, --whether some new lie was coined toaccount for his release, or whether he was simply told that he had beenhoaxed: it mattered little; for the little man was quite as ready to behoaxed the next day. 

Poinsinet was one day invited to dine with one of the servants ofthe Tuileries; and, before his arrival, a person in company had beendecorated with a knot of lace and a gold key, such as chamberlains wear;he was introduced to Poinsinet as the Count de Truchses, chamberlain tothe King of Prussia. After dinner the conversation fell upon the Count'svisit to Paris; when his Excellency, with a mysterious air, vowed thathe had only come for pleasure. "It is mighty well, " said a third person, "and, of course, we can't cross-question your lordship too closely;"but at the same time it was hinted to Poinsinet that a person of suchconsequence did not travel for NOTHING, with which opinion Poinsinetsolemnly agreed; and, indeed, it was borne out by a subsequentdeclaration of the Count, who condescended, at last, to tell thecompany, in confidence, that he HAD a mission, and a most importantone--to find, namely, among the literary men of France, a governor forthe Prince Royal of Prussia. The company seemed astonished that the Kinghad not made choice of Voltaire or D'Alembert, and mentioned a dozenother distinguished men who might be competent to this important duty;but the Count, as may be imagined, found objections to every one ofthem; and, at last, one of the guests said, that, if his PrussianMajesty was not particular as to age, he knew a person more fitted forthe place than any other who could be found, --his honorable friend, M. Poinsinet, was the individual to whom he alluded. 

"Good heavens!" cried the Count, "is it possible that the celebratedPoinsinet would take such a place? I would give the world to seehim?" And you may fancy how Poinsinet simpered and blushed when theintroduction immediately took place. 

The Count protested to him that the King would be charmed to know him;and added, that one of his operas (for it must be told that our littlefriend was a vaudeville-maker by trade) had been acted seven-and-twentytimes at the theatre at Potsdam. His Excellency then detailed to him allthe honors and privileges which the governor of the Prince Royal mightexpect; and all the guests encouraged the little man's vanity, by askinghim for his protection and favor. In a short time our hero grewso inflated with pride and vanity, that he was for patronizing thechamberlain himself, who proceeded to inform him that he was furnishedwith all the necessary powers by his sovereign, who had speciallyenjoined him to confer upon the future governor of his son the royalorder of the Black Eagle. 

Poinsinet, delighted, was ordered to kneel down; and the Count produceda large yellow ribbon, which he hung over his shoulder, and which was, he declared, the grand cordon of the order. You must fancy Poinsinet'sface, and excessive delight at this; for as for describing them, nobodycan. For four-and-twenty hours the happy chevalier paraded through Pariswith this flaring yellow ribbon; and he was not undeceived until hisfriends had another trick in store for him. 

He dined one day in the company of a man who understood a little of thenoble art of conjuring, and performed some clever tricks on the cards. Poinsinet's organ of wonder was enormous; he looked on with the gravityand awe of a child, and thought the man's tricks sheer miracles. Itwanted no more to set his companions to work. 

"Who is this wonderful man?" said he to his neighbor. 

"Why, " said the other, mysteriously, "one hardly knows who he is; or, at least, one does not like to say to such an indiscreet fellow asyou are. " Poinsinet at once swore to be secret. "Well, then, " said hisfriend, "you will hear that man--that wonderful man--called by a namewhich is not his: his real name is Acosta: he is a Portuguese Jew, aRosicrucian, and Cabalist of the first order, and compelled to leaveLisbon for fear of the Inquisition. He performs here, as you see, someextraordinary things, occasionally; but the master of the house, wholoves him excessively, would not, for the world, that his name should bemade public. "

"Ah, bah!" said Poinsinet, who affected the bel esprit; "you don't meanto say that you believe in magic, and cabalas, and such trash?"

"Do I not? You shall judge for yourself. " And, accordingly, Poinsinetwas presented to the magician, who pretended to take a vast likingfor him, and declared that he saw in him certain marks which wouldinfallibly lead him to great eminence in the magic art, if he chose tostudy it. 

Dinner was served, and Poinsinet placed by the side of themiracle-worker, who became very confidential with him, and promisedhim--ay, before dinner was over--a remarkable instance of his power. Nobody, on this occasion, ventured to cut a single joke against poorPoinsinet; nor could he fancy that any trick was intended against him, for the demeanor of the society towards him was perfectly grave andrespectful, and the conversation serious. On a sudden, however, somebodyexclaimed, "Where is Poinsinet? Did any one see him leave the room?"

All the company exclaimed how singular the disappearance was; andPoinsinet himself, growing alarmed, turned round to his neighbor, andwas about to explain. 

"Hush!" said the magician, in a whisper; "I told you that you should seewhat I could do. I HAVE MADE YOU INVISIBLE; be quiet, and you shall seesome more tricks that I shall play with these fellows. "

Poinsinet remained then silent, and listened to his neighbors, whoagreed, at last, that he was a quiet, orderly personage, and had leftthe table early, being unwilling to drink too much. Presently theyceased to talk about him, and resumed their conversation upon othermatters. 

At first it was very quiet and grave, but the master of the housebrought back the talk to the subject of Poinsinet, and uttered all sortsof abuse concerning him. He begged the gentleman, who had introducedsuch a little scamp into his house, to bring him thither no more:whereupon the other took up, warmly, Poinsinet's defence; declared thathe was a man of the greatest merit, frequenting the best society, andremarkable for his talents as well as his virtues. 

"Ah!" said Poinsinet to the magician, quite charmed at what he heard, "how ever shall I thank you, my dear sir, for thus showing me who mytrue friends are?"

The magician promised him still further favors in prospect; and toldhim to look out now, for he was about to throw all the company into atemporary fit of madness, which, no doubt, would be very amusing. 

In consequence, all the company, who had heard every syllable of theconversation, began to perform the most extraordinary antics, much tothe delight of Poinsinet. One asked a nonsensical question, and theother delivered an answer not at all to the purpose. If a man asked fora drink, they poured him out a pepper-box or a napkin: they took a pinchof snuff, and swore it was excellent wine; and vowed that the bread wasthe most delicious mutton ever tasted. The little man was delighted. 

"Ah!" said he, "these fellows are prettily punished for their rascallybackbiting of me!"

"Gentlemen, " said the host, "I shall now give you some celebratedchampagne, " and he poured out to each a glass of water. 

"Good heavens!" said one, spitting it out, with the most horriblegrimace, "where did you get this detestable claret?"

"Ah, faugh!" said a second, "I never tasted such vile corked burgundy inall my days!" and he threw the glass of water into Poinsinet's face, asdid half a dozen of the other guests, drenching the poor wretch to theskin. To complete this pleasant illusion, two of the guests fellto boxing across Poinsinet, who received a number of the blows, andreceived them with the patience of a fakir, feeling himself moreflattered by the precious privilege of beholding this scene invisible, than hurt by the blows and buffets which the mad company bestowed uponhim. 

The fame of this adventure spread quickly over Paris, and all the worldlonged to have at their houses the representation of Poinsinet theInvisible. The servants and the whole company used to be put up to thetrick; and Poinsinet, who believed in his invisibility as much as he didin his existence, went about with his friend and protector the magician. People, of course, never pretended to see him, and would very oftennot talk of him at all for some time, but hold sober conversation aboutanything else in the world. When dinner was served, of course there wasno cover laid for Poinsinet, who carried about a little stool, onwhich he sat by the side of the magician, and always ate off his plate. Everybody was astonished at the magician's appetite and at the quantityof wine he drank; as for little Poinsinet, he never once suspected anytrick, and had such a confidence in his magician, that, I do believe, if the latter had told him to fling himself out of window, he would havedone so, without the slightest trepidation. 

Among other mystifications in which the Portuguese enchanter plungedhim, was one which used to afford always a good deal of amusement. Heinformed Poinsinet, with great mystery, that HE WAS NOT HIMSELF; hewas not, that is to say, that ugly, deformed little monster, calledPoinsinet; but that his birth was most illustrious, and his real namePolycarte. He was, in fact, the son of a celebrated magician; butother magicians, enemies of his father, had changed him in his cradle, altering his features into their present hideous shape, in order thata silly old fellow, called Poinsinet, might take him to be his own son, which little monster the magician had likewise spirited away. 

The poor wretch was sadly cast down at this; for he tried to fancythat his person was agreeable to the ladies, of whom he was one ofthe warmest little admirers possible; and to console him somewhat, themagician told him that his real shape was exquisitely beautiful, and assoon as he should appear in it, all the beauties in Paris would be athis feet. But how to regain it? "Oh, for one minute of that beauty!"cried the little man; "what would he not give to appear under thatenchanting form!" The magician hereupon waved his stick over his head, pronounced some awful magical words, and twisted him round three times;at the third twist, the men in company seemed struck with astonishmentand envy, the ladies clasped their hands, and some of them kissed his. Everybody declared his beauty to be supernatural. 

Poinsinet, enchanted, rushed to a glass. "Fool!" said the magician;"do you suppose that YOU can see the change? My power to render youinvisible, beautiful, or ten times more hideous even than you are, extends only to others, not to you. You may look a thousand times inthe glass, and you will only see those deformed limbs and disgustingfeatures with which devilish malice has disguised you. " Poorlittle Poinsinet looked, and came back in tears. "But, " resumed themagician, --"ha, ha, ha!--I know a way in which to disappoint themachinations of these fiendish magi. "

"Oh, my benefactor!--my great master!--for heaven's sake tell it!"gasped Poinsinet. 

"Look you--it is this. A prey to enchantment and demoniac art all yourlife long, you have lived until your present age perfectly satisfied;nay, absolutely vain of a person the most singularly hideous that everwalked the earth!"

"IS it?" whispered Poinsinet. "Indeed and indeed I didn't think it sobad!"

"He acknowledges it! he acknowledges it!" roared the magician. "Wretch, dotard, owl, mole, miserable buzzard! I have no reason to tell thee nowthat thy form is monstrous, that children cry, that cowards turn pale, that teeming matrons shudder to behold it. It is not thy fault that thouart thus ungainly: but wherefore so blind? wherefore so conceited ofthyself! I tell thee, Poinsinet, that over every fresh instance of thyvanity the hostile enchanters rejoice and triumph. As long as thouart blindly satisfied with thyself; as long as thou pretendest, in thypresent odious shape, to win the love of aught above a negress; nay, further still, until thou hast learned to regard that face, as othersdo, with the most intolerable horror and disgust, to abuse it when thouseest it, to despise it, in short, and treat that miserable disguise inwhich the enchanters have wrapped thee with the strongest, hatred andscorn, so long art thou destined to wear it. "

Such speeches as these, continually repeated, caused Poinsinet to befully convinced of his ugliness; he used to go about in companies, andtake every opportunity of inveighing against himself; he made verses andepigrams against himself; he talked about "that dwarf, Poinsinet;" "thatbuffoon, Poinsinet;" "that conceited, hump-backed Poinsinet;" and hewould spend hours before the glass, abusing his own face as he sawit reflected there, and vowing that he grew handsomer at every freshepithet that he uttered. 

Of course the wags, from time to time, used to give him every possibleencouragement, and declared that since this exercise, his person wasamazingly improved. The ladies, too, began to be so excessively fond ofhim, that the little fellow was obliged to caution them at last--for thegood, as he said, of society; he recommended them to draw lots, forhe could not gratify them all; but promised when his metamorphosis wascomplete, that the one chosen should become the happy Mrs. Poinsinet;or, to speak more correctly, Mrs. Polycarte. 

I am sorry to say, however, that, on the score of gallantry, Poinsinetwas never quite convinced of the hideousness of his appearance. He had anumber of adventures, accordingly, with the ladies, but strange to say, the husbands or fathers were always interrupting him. On one occasionhe was made to pass the night in a slipper-bath full of water; where, although he had all his clothes on, he declared that he nearly caughthis death of cold. Another night, in revenge, the poor fellow

 --"dans le simple appareil D'une beauté, qu'on vient d'arracher au sommeil, "

spent a number of hours contemplating the beauty of the moon on thetiles. These adventures are pretty numerous in the memoirs of M. Poinsinet; but the fact is, that people in France were a great dealmore philosophical in those days than the English are now, so thatPoinsinet's loves must be passed over, as not being to our taste. Hismagician was a great diver, and told Poinsinet the most wonderful talesof his two minutes' absence under water. These two minutes, he said, lasted through a year, at least, which he spent in the company of anaiad, more beautiful than Venus, in a palace more splendid than evenVersailles. Fired by the description, Poinsinet used to dip, and dip, but he never was known to make any mermaid acquaintances, although hefully believed that one day he should find such. 

The invisible joke was brought to an end by Poinsinet's too greatreliance on it; for being, as we have said, of a very tender andsanguine disposition, he one day fell in love with a lady in whosecompany he dined, and whom he actually proposed to embrace; but thefair lady, in the hurry of the moment, forgot to act up to the joke; andinstead of receiving Poinsinet's salute with calmness, grew indignant, called him an impudent little scoundrel, and lent him a sound box onthe ear. With this slap the invisibility of Poinsinet disappeared, thegnomes and genii left him, and he settled down into common life again, and was hoaxed only by vulgar means. 

A vast number of pages might be filled with narratives of the tricksthat were played upon him; but they resemble each other a good deal, as may be imagined, and the chief point remarkable about them is thewondrous faith of Poinsinet. After being introduced to the Prussianambassador at the Tuileries, he was presented to the Turkish envoy atthe Place Vendôme, who received him in state, surrounded by the officersof his establishment, all dressed in the smartest dresses that thewardrobe of the Opéra Comique could furnish. 

As the greatest honor that could be done to him, Poinsinet was invitedto eat, and a tray was produced, on which was a delicate dish preparedin the Turkish manner. This consisted of a reasonable quantity ofmustard, salt, cinnamon and ginger, nutmegs and cloves, with a coupleof tablespoonfuls of cayenne pepper, to give the whole a flavor; andPoinsinet's countenance may be imagined when he introduced into hismouth a quantity of this exquisite compound. 

"The best of the joke was, " says the author who records so many of thepitiless tricks practised upon poor Poinsinet, "that the little man usedto laugh at them afterwards himself with perfect good humor; and livedin the daily hope that, from being the sufferer, he should becomethe agent in these hoaxes, and do to others as he had been done by. "Passing, therefore, one day, on the Pont Neuf, with a friend, who hadbeen one of the greatest performers, the latter said to him, "Poinsinet, my good fellow, thou hast suffered enough, and thy sufferings have madethee so wise and cunning, that thou art worthy of entering among theinitiated, and hoaxing in thy turn. " Poinsinet was charmed; he askedwhen he should be initiated, and how? It was told him that a momentwould suffice, and that the ceremony might be performed on the spot. Atthis news, and according to order, Poinsinet flung himself straightwayon his knees in the kennel; and the other, drawing his sword, solemnlyinitiated him into the sacred order of jokers. From that day the littleman believed himself received into the society; and to this havingbrought him, let us bid him a respectful adieu. 

THE DEVIL'S WAGER. 

It was the hour of the night when there be none stirring save churchyardghosts--when all doors are closed except the gates of graves, and alleyes shut but the eyes of wicked men. 

When there is no sound on the earth except the ticking of thegrasshopper, or the croaking of obscene frogs in the poole. 

And no light except that of the blinking starres, and the wicked anddevilish wills-o'-the-wisp, as they gambol among the marshes, and leadgood men astraye. 

When there is nothing moving in heaven except the owle, as he flappethalong lazily; or the magician, as he rides on his infernal broomsticke, whistling through the aire like the arrowes of a Yorkshire archere. 

It was at this hour (namely, at twelve o'clock of the night, ) that twobeings went winging through the black clouds, and holding converse witheach other. 

Now the first was Mercurius, the messenger, not of gods (as the heathensfeigned), but of daemons; and the second, with whom he held company, wasthe soul of Sir Roger de Rollo, the brave knight. Sir Roger was Countof Chauchigny, in Champagne; Seigneur of Santerre, Villacerf and aultrelieux. But the great die as well as the humble; and nothing remained ofbrave Rodger now, but his coffin and his deathless soul. 

And Mercurius, in order to keep fast the soul, his companion, had boundhim round the neck with his tail; which, when the soul was stubborn, hewould draw so tight as to strangle him wellnigh, sticking into him thebarbed point thereof; whereat the poor soul, Sir Rollo, would groan androar lustily. 

Now they two had come together from the gates of purgatorie, being boundto those regions of fire and flame where poor sinners fry and roast insaecula saeculorum. 

"It is hard, " said the poor Sir Rollo, as they went gliding through theclouds, "that I should thus be condemned for ever, and all for want of asingle ave. "

"How, Sir Soul?" said the daemon. "You were on earth so wicked, thatnot one, or a million of aves, could suffice to keep from hell-flamea creature like thee; but cheer up and be merry; thou wilt be but asubject of our lord the Devil, as am I; and, perhaps, thou wilt beadvanced to posts of honor, as am I also:" and to show his authoritie, he lashed with his tail the ribbes of the wretched Rollo. 

"Nevertheless, sinner as I am, one more ave would have saved me; for mysister, who was Abbess of St. Mary of Chauchigny, did so prevail, by herprayer and good works, for my lost and wretched soul, that every day Ifelt the pains of purgatory decrease; the pitchforks which, on my firstentry, had never ceased to vex and torment my poor carcass, were nownot applied above once a week; the roasting had ceased, the boilinghad discontinued; only a certain warmth was kept up, to remind me of mysituation. "

"A gentle stewe, " said the daemon. 

"Yea, truly, I was but in a stew, and all from the effects of theprayers of my blessed sister. But yesterday, he who watched me inpurgatory told me, that yet another prayer from my sister, and mybonds should be unloosed, and I, who am now a devil, should have been ablessed angel. "

"And the other ave?" said the daemon. 

"She died, sir--my sister died--death choked her in the middle ofthe prayer. " And hereat the wretched spirit began to weepe and whinepiteously; his salt tears falling over his beard, and scalding the tailof Mercurius the devil. 

"It is, in truth, a hard case, " said the daemon; "but I know ofno remedy save patience, and for that you will have an excellentopportunity in your lodgings below. "

"But I have relations, " said the Earl; "my kinsman Randal, who hasinherited my lands, will he not say a prayer for his uncle?"

"Thou didst hate and oppress him when living. "

"It is true; but an ave is not much; his sister, my niece, Matilda--"

"You shut her in a convent, and hanged her lover. "

"Had I not reason? besides, has she not others?"

"A dozen, without doubt. "

"And my brother, the prior?"

"A liege subject of my lord the Devil: he never opens his mouth, exceptto utter an oath, or to swallow a cup of wine. "

"And yet, if but one of these would but say an ave for me, I should besaved. "

"Aves with them are rarae aves, " replied Mercurius, wagging his tailright waggishly; "and, what is more, I will lay thee any wager that notone of these will say a prayer to save thee. "

"I would wager willingly, " responded he of Chauchigny; "but what has apoor soul like me to stake?"

"Every evening, after the day's roasting, my lord Satan giveth a cup ofcold water to his servants; I will bet thee thy water for a year, thatnone of the three will pray for thee. "

"Done!" said Rollo. 

"Done!" said the daemon; "and here, if I mistake not, is thy castle ofChauchigny. "

Indeed, it was true. The soul, on looking down, perceived the talltowers, the courts, the stables, and the fair gardens of the castle. Although it was past midnight, there was a blaze of light in thebanqueting-hall, and a lamp burning in the open window of the LadyMatilda. 

"With whom shall we begin?" said the daemon: "with the baron or thelady?"

"With the lady, if you will. "

"Be it so; her window is open, let us enter. "

So they descended, and entered silently into Matilda's chamber. 

The young lady's eyes were fixed so intently on a little clock, thatit was no wonder that she did not perceive the entrance of her twovisitors. Her fair cheek rested on her white arm, and her white arm onthe cushion of a great chair in which she sat, pleasantly supported bysweet thoughts and swan's down; a lute was at her side, and a bookof prayers lay under the table (for piety is always modest). Like theamorous Alexander, she sighed and looked (at the clock)--and sighed forten minutes or more, when she softly breathed the word "Edward!"

At this the soul of the Baron was wroth. "The jade is at her oldpranks, " said he to the devil; and then addressing Matilda: "I praythee, sweet niece, turn thy thoughts for a moment from that villanouspage, Edward, and give them to thine affectionate uncle. "

When she heard the voice, and saw the awful apparition of her uncle (fora year's sojourn in purgatory had not increased the comeliness of hisappearance), she started, screamed, and of course fainted. 

But the devil Mercurius soon restored her to herself. "What's o'clock?"said she, as soon as she had recovered from her fit: "is he come?"

"Not thy lover, Maude, but thine uncle--that is, his soul. For the loveof heaven, listen to me: I have been frying in purgatory for a yearpast, and should have been in heaven but for the want of a single ave. "

"I will say it for thee to-morrow, uncle. "

"To-night, or never. "

"Well, to-night be it:" and she requested the devil Mercurius to giveher the prayer-book from under the table; but he had no sooner touchedthe holy book than he dropped it with a shriek and a yell. "It washotter, " he said, "than his master Sir Lucifer's own particularpitchfork. " And the lady was forced to begin her ave without the aid ofher missal. 

At the commencement of her devotions the daemon retired, and carriedwith him the anxious soul of poor Sir Roger de Rollo. 

The lady knelt down--she sighed deeply; she looked again at the clock, and began--

"Ave Maria. "

When a lute was heard under the window, and a sweet voice singing--

"Hark!" said Matilda. 

 "Now the toils of day are over, And the sun hath sunk to rest, Seeking, like a fiery lover, The bosom of the blushing west--

 "The faithful night keeps watch and ward, Raising the moon, her silver shield, And summoning the stars to guard The slumbers of my fair Mathilde!"

"For mercy's sake!" said Sir Rollo, "the ave first, and next the song. "

So Matilda again dutifully betook her to her devotions, and began--

"Ave Maria gratiâ plena!" but the music began again, and the prayerceased of course. 

 "The faithful night! Now all things lie Hid by her mantle dark and dim, In pious hope I hither hie, And humbly chant mine ev'ning hymn. 

 "Thou art my prayer, my saint, my shrine! (For never holy pilgrim kneel'd, Or wept at feet more pure than thine), My virgin love, my sweet Mathilde!"

"Virgin love!" said the Baron. "Upon my soul, this is too bad!" and hethought of the lady's lover whom he had caused to be hanged. 

But SHE only thought of him who stood singing at her window. 

"Niece Matilda!" cried Sir Roger, agonizedly, "wilt thou listen to thelies of an impudent page, whilst thine uncle is waiting but a dozenwords to make him happy?"

At this Matilda grew angry: "Edward is neither impudent nor a liar, SirUncle, and I will listen to the end of the song. "

"Come away, " said Mercurius; "he hath yet got wield, field, sealed, congealed, and a dozen other rhymes beside; and after the song will comethe supper. "

So the poor soul was obliged to go; while the lady listened, and thepage sung away till morning. 

"My virtues have been my ruin, " said poor Sir Rollo, as he and Mercuriusslunk silently out of the window. "Had I hanged that knave Edward, as Idid the page his predecessor, my niece would have sung mine ave, and Ishould have been by this time an angel in heaven. "

"He is reserved for wiser purposes, " responded the devil: "he willassassinate your successor, the lady Mathilde's brother; and, inconsequence, will be hanged. In the love of the lady he will besucceeded by a gardener, who will be replaced by a monk, who willgive way to an ostler, who will be deposed by a Jew pedler, who shall, finally, yield to a noble earl, the future husband of the fair Mathilde. So that, you see, instead of having one poor soul a-frying, we may nowlook forward to a goodly harvest for our lord the Devil. "

The soul of the Baron began to think that his companion knew too muchfor one who would make fair bets; but there was no help for it; he wouldnot, and he could not, cry off: and he prayed inwardly that the brothermight be found more pious than the sister. 

But there seemed little chance of this. As they crossed the court, lackeys, with smoking dishes and, full jugs, passed and repassedcontinually, although it was long past midnight. On entering the hall, they found Sir Randal at the head of a vast table, surrounded by afiercer and more motley collection of individuals than had congregatedthere even in the time of Sir Rollo. The lord of the castle hadsignified that "it was his royal pleasure to be drunk, " and thegentlemen of his train had obsequiously followed their master. Mercuriuswas delighted with the scene, and relaxed his usually rigid countenanceinto a bland and benevolent smile, which became him wonderfully. 

The entrance of Sir Roger, who had been dead about a year, and a personwith hoofs, horns, and a tail, rather disturbed the hilarity of thecompany. Sir Randal dropped his cup of wine; and Father Peter, theconfessor, incontinently paused in the midst of a profane song, withwhich he was amusing the society. 

"Holy Mother!" cried he, "it is Sir Roger. "

"Alive!" screamed Sir Randal. 

"No, my lord, " Mercurius said; "Sir Roger is dead, but cometh on amatter of business; and I have the honor to act as his counsellor andattendant. "

"Nephew, " said Sir Roger, "the daemon saith justly; I am come on atrifling affair, in which thy service is essential. "

"I will do anything, uncle, in my power. "

"Thou canst give me life, if thou wilt?" But Sir Randal looked veryblank at this proposition. "I mean life spiritual, Randal, " said SirRoger; and thereupon he explained to him the nature of the wager. 

Whilst he was telling his story, his companion Mercurius was playing allsorts of antics in the hall; and, by his wit and fun, became so popularwith this godless crew, that they lost all the fear which his firstappearance had given them. The friar was wonderfully taken with him, and used his utmost eloquence and endeavors to convert the devil; theknights stopped drinking to listen to the argument; the men-at-armsforbore brawling; and the wicked little pages crowded round the twostrange disputants, to hear their edifying discourse. The ghostly man, however, had little chance in the controversy, and certainly littlelearning to carry it on. Sir Randal interrupted him. "Father Peter, "said he, "our kinsman is condemned for ever, for want of a single ave:wilt thou say it for him?" "Willingly, my lord, " said the monk, "with mybook;" and accordingly he produced his missal to read, without which aidit appeared that the holy father could not manage the desired prayer. But the crafty Mercurius had, by his devilish art, inserted a song inthe place of the ave, so that Father Peter, instead of chanting an hymn, sang the following irreverent ditty--

 "Some love the matin-chimes, which toll The hour of prayer to sinner: But better far's the mid-day bell, Which speaks the hour of dinner; For when I see a smoking fish, Or capon drown'd in gravy, Or noble haunch on silver dish, Full glad I sing mine ave. 

 "My pulpit is an ale-house bench, Whereon I sit so jolly; A smiling rosy country wench My saint and patron holy. I kiss her cheek so red and sleek, I press her ringlets wavy; And in her willing ear I speak A most religious ave. 

 "And if I'm blind, yet heaven is kind, And holy saints forgiving; For sure he leads a right good life Who thus admires good living. Above, they say, our flesh is air, Our blood celestial ichor: Oh, grant! mid all the changes there, They may not change our liquor!"

And with this pious wish the holy confessor tumbled under the table inan agony of devout drunkenness; whilst the knights, the men-at-arms, andthe wicked little pages, rang out the last verse with a most melodiousand emphatic glee. "I am sorry, fair uncle, " hiccupped Sir Randal, "that, in the matter of the ave, we could not oblige thee in a moreorthodox manner; but the holy father has failed, and there is notanother man in the hall who hath an idea of a prayer. "

"It is my own fault, " said Sir Rollo; "for I hanged the last confessor. "And he wished his nephew a surly good-night, as he prepared to quit theroom. 

"Au revoir, gentlemen, " said the devil Mercurius; and once more fixedhis tail round the neck of his disappointed companion. 

The spirit of poor Rollo was sadly cast down; the devil, on thecontrary, was in high good humor. He wagged his tail with the mostsatisfied air in the world, and cut a hundred jokes at the expense ofhis poor associate. On they sped, cleaving swiftly through the coldnight winds, frightening the birds that were roosting in the woods, andthe owls that were watching in the towers. 

In the twinkling of an eye, as it is known, devils can fly hundreds ofmiles: so that almost the same beat of the clock which left these two inChampagne, found them hovering over Paris. They dropped into the courtof the Lazarist Convent, and winded their way, through passage andcloister, until they reached the door of the prior's cell. 

Now the prior, Rollo's brother, was a wicked and malignant sorcerer; histime was spent in conjuring devils and doing wicked deeds, instead offasting, scourging, and singing holy psalms: this Mercurius knew; andhe, therefore, was fully at ease as to the final result of his wagerwith poor Sir Roger. 

"You seem to be well acquainted with the road, " said the knight. 

"I have reason, " answered Mercurius, "having, for a long period, had theacquaintance of his reverence, your brother; but you have little chancewith him. "

"And why?" said Sir Rollo. 

"He is under a bond to my master, never to say a prayer, or else hissoul and his body are forfeited at once. "

"Why, thou false and traitorous devil!" said the enraged knight; "andthou knewest this when we made our wager?"

"Undoubtedly: do you suppose I would have done so had there been anychance of losing?"

And with this they arrived at Father Ignatius's door. 

"Thy cursed presence threw a spell on my niece, and stopped the tongueof my nephew's chaplain; I do believe that had I seen either of themalone, my wager had been won. "

"Certainly; therefore, I took good care to go with thee: however, thoumayest see the prior alone, if thou wilt; and lo! his door is open. Iwill stand without for five minutes, when it will be time to commenceour journey. "

It was the poor Baron's last chance: and he entered his brother's roommore for the five minutes' respite than from any hope of success. 

Father Ignatius, the prior, was absorbed in magic calculations: he stoodin the middle of a circle of skulls, with no garment except his longwhite beard, which reached to his knees; he was waving a silver rod, andmuttering imprecations in some horrible tongue. 

But Sir Rollo came forward and interrupted his incantation. "I am, " saidhe, "the shade of thy brother Roger de Rollo; and have come, from purebrotherly love, to warn thee of thy fate. "

"Whence camest thou?"

"From the abode of the blessed in Paradise, " replied Sir Roger, who wasinspired with a sudden thought; "it was but five minutes ago that thePatron Saint of thy church told me of thy danger, and of thy wickedcompact with the fiend. 'Go, ' said he, 'to thy miserable brother, andtell him there is but one way by which he may escape from paying theawful forfeit of his bond. '"

"And how may that be?" said the prior; "the false fiend hath deceivedme; I have given him my soul, but have received no worldly benefit inreturn. Brother! dear brother! how may I escape?"

"I will tell thee. As soon as I heard the voice of blessed St. MaryLazarus" (the worthy Earl had, at a pinch, coined the name of a saint), "I left the clouds, where, with other angels, I was seated, and spedhither to save thee. 'Thy brother, ' said the Saint, 'hath but one daymore to live, when he will become for all eternity the subject of Satan;if he would escape, he must boldly break his bond, by saying an ave. '"

"It is the express condition of the agreement, " said the unhappy monk, "I must say no prayer, or that instant I become Satan's, body and soul. "

"It is the express condition of the Saint, " answered Roger, fiercely;"pray, brother, pray, or thou art lost for ever. "

So the foolish monk knelt down, and devoutly sung out an ave. "Amen!"said Sir Roger, devoutly. 

"Amen!" said Mercurius, as, suddenly, coming behind, he seizedIgnatius by his long beard, and flew up with him to the top of thechurch-steeple. 

The monk roared, and screamed, and swore against his brother; but itwas of no avail: Sir Roger smiled kindly on him, and said, "Do not fret, brother; it must have come to this in a year or two. "

And he flew alongside of Mercurius to the steeple-top: BUT THIS TIME THEDEVIL HAD NOT HIS TAIL ROUND HIS NECK. "I will let thee off thy bet, "said he to the daemon; for he could afford, now, to be generous. 

"I believe, my lord, " said the daemon, politely, "that our ways separatehere. " Sir Roger sailed gayly upwards: while Mercurius having bound themiserable monk faster than ever, he sunk downwards to earth, and perhapslower. Ignatius was heard roaring and screaming as the devil dashed himagainst the iron spikes and buttresses of the church. 

The moral of this story will be given in the second edition. 

MADAME SAND AND THE NEW APOCALYPSE. 

I don't know an impression more curious than that which is formed in aforeigner's mind, who has been absent from this place for two or threeyears, returns to it, and beholds the change which has taken place, inthe meantime, in French fashions and ways of thinking. Two years ago, for instance, when I left the capital, I left the young gentlemen ofFrance with their hair brushed en toupet in front, and the toes of theirboots round; now the boot-toes are pointed, and the hair combedflat, and, parted in the middle, falls in ringlets on the fashionableshoulders; and, in like manner, with books as with boots, the fashionhas changed considerably, and it is not a little curious to contrastthe old modes with the new. Absurd as was the literary dandyism of thosedays, it is not a whit less absurd now: only the manner is changed, andour versatile Frenchmen have passed from one caricature to another. 

The revolution may be called a caricature of freedom, as the empirewas of glory; and what they borrow from foreigners undergoes the sameprocess. They take top-boots and mackintoshes from across the water, andcaricature our fashions; they read a little, very little, Shakespeare, and caricature our poetry: and while in David's time art and religionwere only a caricature of Heathenism, now, on the contrary, thesetwo commodities are imported from Germany; and distorted caricaturesoriginally, are still farther distorted on passing the frontier. 

I trust in heaven that German art and religion will take no hold in ourcountry (where there is a fund of roast-beef that will expel any suchhumbug in the end); but these sprightly Frenchmen have relished themystical doctrines mightily; and having watched the Germans, with theirsanctified looks, and quaint imitations of the old times, and mysterioustranscendental talk, are aping many of their fashions; as well andsolemnly as they can: not very solemnly, God wot; for I think one shouldalways prepare to grin when a Frenchman looks particularly grave, beingsure that there is something false and ridiculous lurking under theowl-like solemnity. 

When last in Paris, we were in the midst of what was called a Catholicreaction. Artists talked of faith in poems and pictures; churcheswere built here and there; old missals were copied and purchased; andnumberless portraits of saints, with as much gilding about them asever was used in the fifteenth century, appeared in churches, ladies'boudoirs, and picture-shops. One or two fashionable preachers rose, andwere eagerly followed; the very youth of the schools gave up their pipesand billiards for some time, and flocked in crowds to Notre Dame, to situnder the feet of Lacordaire. I went to visit the Church of Notre Damede Lorette yesterday, which was finished in the heat of this Catholicrage, and was not a little struck by the similarity of the place tothe worship celebrated in it, and the admirable manner in which thearchitect has caused his work to express the public feeling of themoment. It is a pretty little bijou of a church: it is supported by shammarble pillars; it has a gaudy ceiling of blue and gold, which will lookvery well for some time; and is filled with gaudy pictures and carvings, in the very pink of the mode. The congregation did not offer a badillustration of the present state of Catholic reaction. Two or threestray people were at prayers; there was no service; a few countrymenand idlers were staring about at the pictures; and the Swiss, the paidguardian of the place, was comfortably and appropriately asleep on hisbench at the door. I am inclined to think the famous reaction is over:the students have taken to their Sunday pipes and billiards again; andone or two cafés have been established, within the last year, that areten times handsomer than Notre Dame de Lorette. 

However, if the immortal Görres and the German mystics have had theirday, there is the immortal Göthe, and the Pantheists; and I incline tothink that the fashion has set very strongly in their favor. Voltaireand the Encyclopaedians are voted, now, barbares, and there is no termof reprobation strong enough for heartless Humes and Helvetiuses, who lived but to destroy, and who only thought to doubt. Wretched asVoltaire's sneers and puns are, I think there is something moremanly and earnest even in them, than in the present muddy Frenchtranscendentalism. Pantheism is the word now; one and all have begun toéprouver the besoin of a religious sentiment; and we are deluged witha host of gods accordingly. Monsieur de Balzac feels himself to beinspired; Victor Hugo is a god; Madame Sand is a god; that tawdry man ofgenius, Jules Janin, who writes theatrical reviews for the Débats, hasdivine intimations; and there is scarce a beggarly, beardless scribblerof poems and prose, but tells you, in his preface, of the sainteté ofthe sacerdoce littéraire; or a dirty student, sucking tobacco andbeer, and reeling home with a grisette from the chaumière, who is notconvinced of the necessity of a new "Messianism, " and will hiccup, tosuch as will listen, chapters of his own drunken Apocalypse. Surely, thenegatives of the old days were far less dangerous than the assertions ofthe present; and you may fancy what a religion that must be, which hassuch high priests. 

There is no reason to trouble the reader with details of the lives ofmany of these prophets and expounders of new revelations. Madame Sand, for instance, I do not know personally, and can only speak of her fromreport. True or false, the history, at any rate, is not very edifying;and so may be passed over: but, as a certain great philosopher told us, in very humble and simple words, that we are not to expect to gathergrapes from thorns, or figs from thistles, we may, at least, demand, inall persons assuming the character of moralist or philosopher--order, soberness, and regularity of life; for we are apt to distrust theintellect that we fancy can be swayed by circumstance or passion; and weknow how circumstance and passion WILL sway the intellect: how mortifiedvanity will form excuses for itself; and how temper turns angrily uponconscience, that reproves it. How often have we called our judge ourenemy, because he has given sentence against us!--How often have wecalled the right wrong, because the right condemns us! And in the livesof many of the bitter foes of the Christian doctrine, can we find nopersonal reason for their hostility? The men in Athens said it was outof regard for religion that they murdered Socrates; but we have hadtime, since then, to reconsider the verdict; and Socrates' character ispretty pure now, in spite of the sentence and the jury of those days. 

The Parisian philosophers will attempt to explain to you the changesthrough which Madame Sand's mind has passed, --the initiatory trials, labors, and sufferings which she has had to go through, --before shereached her present happy state of mental illumination. She teachesher wisdom in parables, that are, mostly, a couple of volumes long; andbegan, first, by an eloquent attack on marriage, in the charming novelof "Indiana. " "Pity, " cried she, "for the poor woman who, united to abeing whose brute force makes him her superior, should venture to breakthe bondage which is imposed on her, and allow her heart to be free. "

In support of this claim of pity, she writes two volumes of the mostexquisite prose. What a tender, suffering creature is Indiana; howlittle her husband appreciates that gentleness which he is crushing byhis tyranny and brutal scorn; how natural it is that, in the absenceof his sympathy, she, poor clinging confiding creature, should seekelsewhere for shelter; how cautious should we be, to call criminal--tovisit with too heavy a censure--an act which is one of the naturalimpulses of a tender heart, that seeks but for a worthy object of love. But why attempt to tell the tale of beautiful Indiana? Madame Sand haswritten it so well, that not the hardest-hearted husband in Christendomcan fail to be touched by her sorrows, though he may refuse to listento her argument. Let us grant, for argument's sake, that the laws ofmarriage, especially the French laws of marriage, press very cruellyupon unfortunate women. 

But if one wants to have a question of this, or any nature, honestlyargued, it is, better, surely, to apply to an indifferent person foran umpire. For instance, the stealing of pocket-handkerchiefs orsnuff-boxes may or may not be vicious; but if we, who have not the wit, or will not take the trouble to decide the question ourselves, want tohear the real rights of the matter, we should not, surely, apply to apickpocket to know what he thought on the point. It might naturally bepresumed that he would be rather a prejudiced person--particularlyas his reasoning, if successful, might get him OUT OF GAOL. This is ahomely illustration, no doubt; all we would urge by it is, that MadameSand having, according to the French newspapers, had a stern husband, and also having, according to the newspapers, sought "sympathy"elsewhere, her arguments may be considered to be somewhat partial, andreceived with some little caution. 

And tell us who have been the social reformers?--the haters, that is, of the present system, according to which we live, love, marry, havechildren, educate them, and endow them--ARE THEY PURE THEMSELVES? I dobelieve not one; and directly a man begins to quarrel with the world andits ways, and to lift up, as he calls it, the voice of his despair, andpreach passionately to mankind about this tyranny of faith, customs, laws; if we examine what the personal character of the preacher is, webegin pretty clearly to understand the value of the doctrine. Any onecan see why Rousseau should be such a whimpering reformer, and Byronsuch a free and easy misanthropist, and why our accomplished MadameSand, who has a genius and eloquence inferior to neither, should takethe present condition of mankind (French-kind) so much to heart, andlabor so hotly to set it right. 

After "Indiana" (which, we presume, contains the lady's notions uponwives and husbands) came "Valentine, " which may be said to exhibit herdoctrine, in regard of young men and maidens, to whom the author wouldaccord, as we fancy, the same tender license. "Valentine" was followedby "Lelia, " a wonderful book indeed, gorgeous in eloquence, and rich inmagnificent poetry: a regular topsyturvyfication of morality, athieves' and prostitutes' apotheosis. This book has received some lateenlargements and emendations by the writer; it contains her notions onmorals, which, as we have said, are so peculiar, that, alas! they onlycan be mentioned here, not particularized: but of "Spiridion" we maywrite a few pages, as it is her religious manifesto. 

In this work, the lady asserts her pantheistical doctrine, and openlyattacks the received Christian creed. She declares it to be useless now, and unfitted to the exigencies and the degree of culture of the actualworld; and, though it would be hardly worth while to combat her opinionsin due form, it is, at least, worth while to notice them, not merelyfrom the extraordinary eloquence and genius of the woman herself, butbecause they express the opinions of a great number of people besides:for she not only produces her own thoughts, but imitates those of othersvery eagerly; and one finds in her writings so much similarity withothers, or, in others, so much resemblance to her, that the book beforeus may pass for the expression of the sentiments of a certain Frenchparty. 

"Dieu est mort, " says another writer of the same class, and of greatgenius too. --"Dieu est mort, " writes Mr. Henry Heine, speakingof the Christian God; and he adds, in a daring figure ofspeech;--"N'entendez-vous pas sonner la Clochette?--on porte lessacremens à un Dieu qui se meurt!" Another of the pantheist poeticalphilosophers, Mr. Edgar Quinet, has a poem, in which Christ and theVirgin Mary are made to die similarly, and the former is classed withPrometheus. This book of "Spiridion" is a continuation of the theme, andperhaps you will listen to some of the author's expositions of it. 

It must be confessed that the controversialists of the present day havean eminent advantage over their predecessors in the days of folios;it required some learning then to write a book, and some time, atleast--for the very labor of writing out a thousand such vast pageswould demand a considerable period. But now, in the age of duodecimos, the system is reformed altogether: a male or female controversialistdraws upon his imagination, and not his learning; makes a story insteadof an argument, and, in the course of 150 pages (where the preacher hasit all his own way) will prove or disprove you anything. And, to ourshame be it said, we Protestants have set the example of this kind ofproselytism--those detestable mixtures of truth, lies, false sentiment, false reasoning, bad grammar, correct and genuine philanthropy andpiety--I mean our religious tracts, which any woman or man, be he everso silly, can take upon himself to write, and sell for a penny, as ifreligious instruction were the easiest thing in the world. We, I say, have set the example in this kind of composition, and all the sectsof the earth will, doubtless, speedily follow it. I can point you outblasphemies in famous pious tracts that are as dreadful as those abovementioned; but this is no place for such discussions, and we had betterreturn to Madame Sand. As Mrs. Sherwood expounds, by means of manytouching histories and anecdotes of little boys and girls, her notionsof church history, church catechism, church doctrine;--as the authorof "Father Clement, a Roman Catholic Story, " demolishes the statelystructure of eighteen centuries, the mighty and beautiful Roman Catholicfaith, in whose bosom repose so many saints and sages, --by the meansof a three-and-sixpenny duodecimo volume, which tumbles over the vastfabric, as David's pebble-stone did Goliath;--as, again, the RomanCatholic author of "Geraldine" falls foul of Luther and Calvin, anddrowns the awful echoes of their tremendous protest by the sounds ofher little half-crown trumpet: in like manner, by means of prettysentimental tales, and cheap apologues, Mrs. Sand proclaims HERtruth--that we need a new Messiah, and that the Christian religion isno more! O awful, awful name of God! Light unbearable! Mysteryunfathomable! Vastness immeasurable!--Who are these who come forward toexplain the mystery, and gaze unblinking into the depths of the light, and measure the immeasurable vastness to a hair? O name, that God'speople of old did fear to utter! O light, that God's prophet wouldhave perished had he seen! Who are these that are now so familiar withit?--Women, truly; for the most part weak women--weak in intellect, weak mayhap in spelling and grammar, but marvellously strong infaith:--women, who step down to the people with stately step and voiceof authority, and deliver their twopenny tablets, as if there were someDivine authority for the wretched nonsense recorded there!

With regard to the spelling and grammar, our Parisian Pythoness stands, in the goodly fellowship, remarkable. Her style is a noble, and, as faras a foreigner can judge, a strange tongue, beautifully rich and pure. She has a very exuberant imagination, and, with it, a very chaste styleof expression. She never scarcely indulges in declamation, as othermodern prophets do, and yet her sentences are exquisitely melodiousand full. She seldom runs a thought to death (after the manner of someprophets, who, when they catch a little one, toy with it until they killit), but she leaves you at the end of one of her brief, rich, melancholysentences, with plenty of food for future cogitation. I can't expressto you the charm of them; they seem to me like the sound of countrybells--provoking I don't know what vein of musing and meditation, andfalling sweetly and sadly on the ear. 

This wonderful power of language must have been felt by most peoplewho read Madame Sand's first books, "Valentine" and "Indiana": in"Spiridion" it is greater, I think, than ever; and for those who arenot afraid of the matter of the novel, the manner will be found mostdelightful. The author's intention, I presume, is to describe, ina parable, her notions of the downfall of the Catholic church; and, indeed, of the whole Christian scheme: she places her hero in amonastery in Italy, where, among the characters about him, and theevents which occur, the particular tenets of Madame Dudevant's doctrineare not inaptly laid down. Innocent, faithful, tender-hearted, a youngmonk, by name Angel, finds himself, when he has pronounced his vows, anobject of aversion and hatred to the godly men whose lives he so muchrespects, and whose love he would make any sacrifice to win. Afterenduring much, he flings himself at the feet of his confessor, and begsfor his sympathy and counsel; but the confessor spurns him away, andaccuses him, fiercely, of some unknown and terrible crime--bids himnever return to the confessional until contrition has touched his heart, and the stains which sully his spirit are, by sincere repentance, washedaway. 

"Thus speaking, " says Angel, "Father Hegesippus tore away his robe, which I was holding in my supplicating hands. In a sort of wildness Istill grasped it tighter; he pushed me fiercely from him, and I fellwith my face towards the ground. He quitted me, closing violently afterhim the door of the sacristy, in which this scene had passed. I wasleft alone in the darkness. Either from the violence of my fall, or theexcess of my grief, a vein had burst in my throat, and a haemorrhageensued. I had not the force to rise; I felt my senses rapidly sinking, and, presently, I lay stretched on the pavement, unconscious, and bathedin my blood. "

[Now the wonderful part of the story begins. ]

"I know not how much time I passed in this way. As I came to myselfI felt an agreeable coolness. It seemed as if some harmonious air wasplaying round about me, stirring gently in my hair, and drying the dropsof perspiration on my brow. It seemed to approach, and then again towithdraw, breathing now softly and sweetly in the distance, and nowreturning, as if to give me strength and courage to rise. 

"I would not, however, do so as yet; for I felt myself, as I lay, underthe influence of a pleasure quite new to me; and listened, in a kindof peaceful aberration, to the gentle murmurs of the summer wind, as itbreathed on me through the closed window-blinds above me. Then I fanciedI heard a voice that spoke to me from the end of the sacristy:it whispered so low that I could not catch the words. I remainedmotionless, and gave it my whole attention. At last I heard, distinctly, the following sentence:--'Spirit of Truth, raise up these victims ofignorance and imposture. ' 'Father Hegesippus, ' said I, in a weak voice, 'is that you who are returning to me?' But no one answered. I liftedmyself on my hands and knees, I listened again, but I heard nothing. Igot up completely, and looked about me: I had fallen so near to theonly door in this little room, that none, after the departure of theconfessor, could have entered it without passing over me; besides, thedoor was shut, and only opened from the inside by a strong lock of theancient shape. I touched it, and assured myself that it was closed. Iwas seized with terror, and, for some moments, did not dare to move. Leaning against the door, I looked round, and endeavored to see intothe gloom in which the angles of the room were enveloped. A pale light, which came from an upper window, half closed, was seen to be tremblingin the midst of the apartment. The wind beat the shutter to and fro, and enlarged or diminished the space through which the light issued. Theobjects which were in this half light--the praying-desk, surmounted byits skull--a few books lying on the benches--a surplice hanging againstthe wall--seemed to move with the shadow of the foliage that the airagitated behind the window. When I thought I was alone, I felt ashamedof my former timidity; I made the sign of the cross, and was about tomove forward in order to open the shutter altogether, but a deep sighcame from the praying-desk, and kept me nailed to my place. And yet Isaw the desk distinctly enough to be sure that no person was near it. Then I had an idea which gave me courage. Some person, I thought, isbehind the shutter, and has been saying his prayers outside withoutthinking of me. But who would be so bold as to express such wishes andutter such a prayer as I had just heard?

"Curiosity, the only passion and amusement permitted in a cloister, nowentirely possessed me, and I advanced towards the window. But I had notmade a step when a black shadow, as it seemed to me, detaching itselffrom the praying-desk, traversed the room, directing itself towards thewindow, and passed swiftly by me. The movement was so rapid that I hadnot time to avoid what seemed a body advancing towards me, and my frightwas so great that I thought I should faint a second time. But I feltnothing, and, as if the shadow had passed through me, I saw it suddenlydisappear to my left. 

"I rushed to the window, I pushed back the blind with precipitation, andlooked round the sacristy: I was there, entirely alone. I looked intothe garden--it was deserted, and the mid-day wind was wandering amongthe flowers. I took courage, I examined all the corners of the room; Ilooked behind the praying-desk, which was very large, and I shook allthe sacerdotal vestments which were hanging on the walls, everything wasin its natural condition, and could give me no explanation of what hadjust occurred. The sight of all the blood I had lost led me to fancythat my brain had, probably, been weakened by the haemorrhage, and thatI had been a prey to some delusion. I retired to my cell, and remainedshut up there until the next day. "

I don't know whether the reader has been as much struck with the abovemysterious scene as the writer has; but the fancy of it strikes meas very fine; and the natural SUPERNATURALNESS is kept up in the beststyle. The shutter swaying to and fro, the fitful LIGHT APPEARING overthe furniture of the room, and giving it an air of strange motion--theawful shadow which passed through the body of the timid youngnovice--are surely very finely painted. "I rushed to the shutter, andflung it back: there was no one in the sacristy. I looked into thegarden; it was deserted, and the mid-day wind was roaming among theflowers. " The dreariness is wonderfully described: only the poor paleboy looking eagerly out from the window of the sacristy, and the hotmid-day wind walking in the solitary garden. How skilfully is each ofthese little strokes dashed in, and how well do all together combineto make a picture! But we must have a little more about Spiridion'swonderful visitant. 

"As I entered into the garden, I stepped a little on one side, to makeway for a person whom I saw before me. He was a young man of surprisingbeauty, and attired in a foreign costume. Although dressed in the largeblack robe which the superiors of our order wear, he had, underneath, ashort jacket of fine cloth, fastened round the waist by a leathern belt, and a buckle of silver, after the manner of the old German students. Like them, he wore, instead of the sandals of our monks, short tightboots; and over the collar of his shirt, which fell on his shoulders, and was as white as snow, hung, in rich golden curls, the most beautifulhair I ever saw. He was tall, and his elegant posture seemed to revealto me that he was in the habit of commanding. With much respect, andyet uncertain, I half saluted him. He did not return my salute; but hesmiled on me with so benevolent an air, and at the same time, hiseyes severe and blue, looked towards me with an expression of suchcompassionate tenderness, that his features have never since then passedaway from my recollection. I stopped, hoping he would speak to me, andpersuading myself, from the majesty of his aspect, that he had the powerto protect me; but the monk, who was walking behind me, and who did notseem to remark him in the least, forced him brutally to step aside fromthe walk, and pushed me so rudely as almost to cause me to fall. Notwishing to engage in a quarrel with this coarse monk, I moved away; but, after having taken a few steps in the garden, I looked back, and saw theunknown still gazing on me with looks of the tenderest solicitude. Thesun shone full upon him, and made his hair look radiant. He sighed, andlifted his fine eyes to heaven, as if to invoke its justice in my favor, and to call it to bear witness to my misery; he turned slowly towardsthe sanctuary, entered into the quire, and was lost, presently, inthe shade. I longed to return, spite of the monk, to follow thisnoble stranger, and to tell him my afflictions; but who was he, that Iimagined he would listen to them, and cause them to cease? I felt, evenwhile his softness drew me towards him, that he still inspired me witha kind of fear; for I saw in his physiognomy as much austerity assweetness. "

Who was he?--we shall see that. He was somebody very mysterious indeed;but our author has taken care, after the manner of her sex, to makea very pretty fellow of him, and to dress him in the most becomingcostumes possible. 

The individual in tight boots and a rolling collar, with the copiousgolden locks, and the solemn blue eyes, who had just gazed on Spiridion, and inspired him with such a feeling of tender awe, is a much moreimportant personage than the reader might suppose at first sight. Thisbeautiful, mysterious, dandy ghost, whose costume, with a true woman'scoquetry, Madame Dudevant has so rejoiced to describe--is her religioustype, a mystical representation of Faith struggling up towards Truth, through superstition, doubt, fear, reason, --in tight inexpressibles, with "a belt such as is worn by the old German students. " You willpardon me for treating such an awful person as this somewhat lightly;but there is always, I think, such a dash of the ridiculous in theFrench sublime, that the critic should try and do justice to both, orhe may fail in giving a fair account of either. This character ofHebronius, the type of Mrs. Sand's convictions--if convictions theymay be called--or, at least, the allegory under which her doubts arerepresented, is, in parts, very finely drawn; contains many passages oftruth, very deep and touching, by the side of others so entirely absurdand unreasonable, that the reader's feelings are continually swayingbetween admiration and something very like contempt--always in a kind ofwonder at the strange mixture before him. But let us hear Madame Sand:--

"Peter Hebronius, " says our author, "was not originally so named. Hisreal name was Samuel. He was a Jew, and born in a little village in theneighborhood of Innsprück. His family, which possessed a considerablefortune, left him, in his early youth, completely free to his ownpursuits. From infancy he had shown that these were serious. He loved tobe alone and passed his days, and sometimes his nights, wandering amongthe mountains and valleys in the neighborhood of his birthplace. Hewould often sit by the brink of torrents, listening to the voice oftheir waters, and endeavoring to penetrate the meaning which Nature hadhidden in those sounds. As he advanced in years, his inquiries becamemore curious and more grave. It was necessary that he should receivea solid education, and his parents sent him to study in the Germanuniversities. Luther had been dead only a century, and his words and hismemory still lived in the enthusiasm of his disciples. The new faith wasstrengthening the conquests it had made; the Reformers were as ardentas in the first days, but their ardor was more enlightened and moremeasured. Proselytism was still carried on with zeal, and new convertswere made every day. In listening to the morality and to the dogmaswhich Lutheranism had taken from Catholicism, Samuel was filled withadmiration. His bold and sincere spirit instantly compared the doctrineswhich were now submitted to him, with those in the belief of whichhe had been bred; and, enlightened by the comparison, was not slowto acknowledge the inferiority of Judaism. He said to himself, thata religion made for a single people, to the exclusion of allothers, --which only offered a barbarous justice for rule ofconduct, --which neither rendered the present intelligible norsatisfactory, and left the future uncertain, --could not be that of noblesouls and lofty intellects; and that he could not be the God of truthwho had dictated, in the midst of thunder, his vacillating will, and hadcalled to the performance of his narrow wishes the slaves of a vulgarterror. Always conversant with himself, Samuel, who had spoken what hethought, now performed what he had spoken; and, a year after his arrivalin Germany, solemnly abjured Judaism, and entered into the bosom of theReformed Church. As he did not wish to do things by halves, and desiredas much as was in him to put off the old man and lead a new life, hechanged his name of Samuel to that of Peter. Some time passed, duringwhich he strengthened and instructed himself in his new religion. Verysoon he arrived at the point of searching for objections to refute, andadversaries to overthrow. Bold and enterprising, he went at once to thestrongest, and Bossuet was the first Catholic author that he set himselfto read. He commenced with a kind of disdain; believing that the faithwhich he had just embraced contained the pure truth. He despised allthe attacks which could be made against it, and laughed already at theirresistible arguments which he was to find in the works of the Eagle ofMeaux. But his mistrust and irony soon gave place to wonder first, and then to admiration: he thought that the cause pleaded by such anadvocate must, at least, be respectable; and, by a natural transition, came to think that great geniuses would only devote themselves to thatwhich was great. He then studied Catholicism with the same ardor andimpartiality which he had bestowed on Lutheranism. He went into Franceto gain instruction from the professors of the Mother Church, as hehad from the Doctors of the reformed creed in Germany. He saw ArnauldFénélon, that second Gregory of Nazianzen, and Bossuet himself. Guidedby these masters, whose virtues made him appreciate their talentsthe more, he rapidly penetrated to the depth of the mysteries of theCatholic doctrine and morality. He found, in this religion, all thathad for him constituted the grandeur and beauty of Protestantism, --thedogmas of the Unity and Eternity of God, which the two religions hadborrowed from Judaism; and, what seemed the natural consequence ofthe last doctrine--a doctrine, however, to which the Jews had notarrived--the doctrine of the immortality of the soul; free will in thislife; in the next, recompense for the good, and punishment for the evil. He found, more pure, perhaps, and more elevated in Catholicism than inProtestantism, that sublime morality which preaches equality to man, fraternity, love, charity, renouncement of self, devotion to yourneighbor; Catholicism, in a word, seemed to possess that vast formula, and that vigorous unity, which Lutheranism wanted. The latter had, indeed, in its favor, the liberty of inquiry, which is also a want ofthe human mind; and had proclaimed the authority of individual reason:but it had so lost that which is the necessary basis and vital conditionof all revealed religion--the principle of infallibility; becausenothing can live except in virtue of the laws that presided at itsbirth; and, in consequence, one revelation cannot be continued andconfirmed without another. Now, infallibility is nothing but revelationcontinued by God, or the Word, in the person of his vicars. 

"At last, after much reflection, Hebronius acknowledged himself entirelyand sincerely convinced, and received baptism from the hands of Bossuet. He added the name of Spiridion to that of Peter, to signify that hehad been twice enlightened by the Spirit. Resolved thenceforward toconsecrate his life to the worship of the new God who had called him toHim, and to the study of His doctrines, he passed into Italy, and, withthe aid of a large fortune, which one of his uncles, a Catholic likehimself, had left to him, he built this convent where we now are. "

A friend of mine, who has just come from Italy, says that he has thereleft Messrs. Sp--r, P--l, and W. Dr--d, who were the lights of the greatchurch in Newman Street, who were themselves apostles, and declared andbelieved that every word of nonsense which fell from their lips was adirect spiritual intervention. These gentlemen have become Puseyitesalready, and are, my friend states, in the high way to Catholicism. Madame Sand herself was a Catholic some time since: having beenconverted to that faith along with M. N--, of the Academy of Music; Mr. L--, the pianoforte player; and one or two other chosen individuals, bythe famous Abbé de la M--. Abbé de la M-- (so told me in the Diligence, a priest, who read his breviary and gossiped alternately very curiouslyand pleasantly) is himself an âme perdue: the man spoke of his brotherclergyman with actual horror; and it certainly appears that the Abbé'sworks of conversion have not prospered; for Madame Sand, having broughther hero (and herself, as we may presume) to the point of Catholicism, proceeds directly to dispose of that as she has done of Judaism andProtestantism, and will not leave, of the whole fabric of Christianity, a single stone standing. 

I think the fate of our English Newman Street apostles, and of M. De laM--, the mad priest, and his congregation of mad converts, should bea warning to such of us as are inclined to dabble in religiousspeculations; for, in them, as in all others, our flighty brains soonlose themselves, and we find our reason speedily lying prostrated at themercy of our passions; and I think that Madame Sand's novel of Spiridionmay do a vast deal of good, and bears a good moral with it; though notsuch an one, perhaps, as our fair philosopher intended. For anything helearned, Samuel-Peter-Spiridion-Hebronius might have remained a Jew fromthe beginning to the end. Wherefore be in such a hurry to set up newfaiths? Wherefore, Madame Sand, try and be so preternaturally wise?Wherefore be so eager to jump out of one religion, for the purpose ofjumping into another? See what good this philosophical friskiness hasdone you, and on what sort of ground you are come at last. You areso wonderfully sagacious, that you flounder in mud at every step; soamazingly clear-sighted, that your eyes cannot see an inch before you, having put out, with that extinguishing genius of yours, every one ofthe lights that are sufficient for the conduct of common men. And forwhat? Let our friend Spiridion speak for himself. After setting up hisconvent, and filling it with monks, who entertain an immense respectfor his wealth and genius, Father Hebronius, unanimously elected prior, gives himself up to further studies, and leaves his monks to themselves. Industrious and sober as they were, originally, they grow quicklyintemperate and idle; and Hebronius, who does not appear among his flockuntil he has freed himself of the Catholic religion, as he has of theJewish and the Protestant, sees, with dismay, the evil condition ofhis disciples, and regrets, too late, the precipitancy by which herenounced, then and for ever, Christianity. "But, as he had no newreligion to adopt in its place, and as, grown more prudent and calm, hedid not wish to accuse himself unnecessarily, once more, of inconstancyand apostasy, he still maintained all the exterior forms of the worshipwhich inwardly he had abjured. But it was not enough for him to havequitted error, it was necessary to discover truth. But Hebronius hadwell looked round to discover it; he could not find anything thatresembled it. Then commenced for him a series of sufferings, unknownand terrible. Placed face to face with doubt, this sincere and religiousspirit was frightened at its own solitude; and as it had no other desirenor aim on earth than truth, and nothing else here below interested it, he lived absorbed in his own sad contemplations, looked ceaselessly intothe vague that surrounded him like an ocean without bounds, and seeingthe horizon retreat and retreat as ever he wished to near it. Lost inthis immense uncertainty, he felt as if attacked by vertigo, and histhoughts whirled within his brain. Then, fatigued with his vaintoils and hopeless endeavors, he would sink down depressed, unmanned, life-wearied, only living in the sensation of that silent grief which hefelt and could not comprehend. "

It is a pity that this hapless Spiridion, so eager in his passagefrom one creed to another, and so loud in his profession of the truth, wherever he fancied that he had found it, had not waited a little, before he avowed himself either Catholic or Protestant, and implicatedothers in errors and follies which might, at least, have been confinedto his own bosom, and there have lain comparatively harmless. In what apretty state, for instance, will Messrs. Dr--d and P--l have lefttheir Newman Street congregation, who are still plunged in their oldsuperstitions, from which their spiritual pastors and masters have beenset free! In what a state, too, do Mrs. Sand and her brother and sisterphilosophers, Templars, Saint Simonians, Fourierites, Lerouxites, orwhatever the sect may be, leave the unfortunate people who have listenedto their doctrines, and who have not the opportunity, or the fieryversatility of belief, which carries their teachers from one creed toanother, leaving only exploded lies and useless recantations behindthem! I wish the state would make a law that one individual should notbe allowed to preach more than one doctrine in his life, or, at anyrate, should be soundly corrected for every change of creed. How manycharlatans would have been silenced, --how much conceit would have beenkept within bounds, --how many fools, who are dazzled by fine sentences, and made drunk by declamation, would have remained, quiet and sober, inthat quiet and sober way of faith which their fathers held before them. However, the reader will be glad to learn that, after all his doubtsand sorrows, Spiridion does discover the truth (THE truth, what a wiseSpiridion!) and some discretion with it; for, having found among hismonks, who are dissolute, superstitious--and all hate him--one onlybeing, Fulgentius, who is loving, candid, and pious, he says to him, "Ifyou were like myself, if the first want of your nature were, likemine, to know, I would, without hesitation, lay bare to you my entirethoughts. I would make you drink the cup of truth, which I myself havefilled with so many tears, at the risk of intoxicating you with thedraught. But it is not so, alas! you are made to love rather than toknow, and your heart is stronger than your intellect. You are attachedto Catholicism, --I believe so, at least, --by bonds of sentiment whichyou could not break without pain, and which, if you were to break, thetruth which I could lay bare to you in return would not repay you forwhat you had sacrificed. Instead of exalting, it would crush you, verylikely. It is a food too strong for ordinary men, and which, whenit does not revivify, smothers. I will not, then, reveal to you thisdoctrine, which is the triumph of my life, and the consolation ofmy last days; because it might, perhaps, be for you only a cause ofmourning and despair. .. .. Of all the works which my long studies haveproduced, there is one alone which I have not given to the flames; forit alone is complete. In that you will find me entire, and there LIESTHE TRUTH. And, as the sage has said you must not bury your treasures ina well, I will not confide mine to the brutal stupidity of these monks. But as this volume should only pass into hands worthy to touch it, andbe laid open for eyes that are capable of comprehending its mysteries, I shall exact from the reader one condition, which, at the same time, shall be a proof: I shall carry it with me to the tomb, in order thathe who one day shall read it, may have courage enough to brave the vainterrors of the grave, in searching for it amid the dust of my sepulchre. As soon as I am dead, therefore, place this writing on my breast. .. .. Ah! when the time comes for reading it, I think my withered heart willspring up again, as the frozen grass at the return of the sun, and that, from the midst of its infinite transformations, my spirit will enterinto immediate communication with thine!"

Does not the reader long to be at this precious manuscript, whichcontains THE TRUTH; and ought he not to be very much obliged to Mrs. Sand, for being so good as to print it for him? We leave all the storyaside: how Fulgentius had not the spirit to read the manuscript, but left the secret to Alexis; how Alexis, a stern old philosophicalunbelieving monk as ever was, tried in vain to lift up the gravestone, but was taken with fever, and obliged to forego the discovery; and how, finally, Angel, his disciple, a youth amiable and innocent as his name, was the destined person who brought the long-buried treasure to light. Trembling and delighted, the pair read this tremendous MANUSCRIPT OFSPIRIDION. 

Will it be believed, that of all the dull, vague, windy documents thatmortal ever set eyes on, this is the dullest? If this be absolute truth, à quoi bon search for it, since we have long, long had the jewel in ourpossession, or since, at least, it has been held up as such by everysham philosopher who has had a mind to pass off his wares on the public?Hear Spiridion:--

"How much have I wept, how much have I suffered, how much have I prayed, how much have I labored, before I understood the cause and the aim ofmy passage on this earth! After many incertitudes, after much remorse, after many scruples, I HAVE COMPREHENDED THAT I WAS A MARTYR!--But whymy martyrdom? said I; what crimne did I commit before I was born, thusto be condemned to labor and groaning, from the hour when I first sawthe day up to that when I am about to enter into the night of the tomb?

"At last, by dint of imploring God--by dint of inquiry into the historyof man, a ray of the truth has descended on my brow, and the shadows ofthe past have melted from before my eyes. I have lifted a corner of thecurtain: I have seen enough to know that my life, like that of the restof the human race, has been a series of necessary errors, yet, to speakmore correctly, of incomplete truths, conducting, more or less slowlyand directly, to absolute truth and ideal perfection. But when will theyrise on the face of the earth--when will they issue from the bosom ofthe Divinity--those generations who shall salute the august countenanceof Truth, and proclaim the reign of the ideal on earth? I see well howhumanity marches, but I neither can see its cradle nor its apotheosis. Man seems to me a transitory race, between the beast and the angel; butI know not how many centuries have been required, that he might passfrom the state of brute to the state of man, and I cannot tell how manyages are necessary that he may pass from the state of man to the stateof angel!

"Yet I hope, and I feel within me, at the approach of death, that whichwarns me that great destinies await humanity. In this life all is overfor me. Much have I striven, to advance but little: I have laboredwithout ceasing, and have done almost nothing. Yet, after painsimmeasurable, I die content, for I know that I have done all I could, and am sure that the little I have done will not be lost. 

"What, then, have I done? this wilt thou demand of me, man of a futureage, who will seek for truth in the testaments of the past. Thou whowilt be no more Catholic--no more Christian, thou wilt ask of the poormonk, lying in the dust, an account of his life and death. Thou wouldstknow wherefore were his vows, why his austerities, his labors, hisretreat, his prayers?

"You who turn back to me, in order that I may guide you on your road, and that you may arrive more quickly at the goal which it has not beenmy lot to attain, pause, yet, for a moment, and look upon the pasthistory of humanity. You will see that its fate has been ever to choosebetween the least of two evils, and ever to commit great faults in orderto avoid others still greater. You will see. .. . On one side, the heathenmythology, that debased the spirit, in its efforts to deify the flesh;on the other, the austere Christian principle, that debased the fleshtoo much, in order to raise the worship of the spirit. You will see, afterwards, how the religion of Christ embodies itself in a church, and raises itself a generous democratic power against the tyranny ofprinces. Later still, you will see how that power has attained its end, and passed beyond it. You will see it, having chained and conqueredprinces, league itself with them, in order to oppress the people, andseize on temporal power. Schism, then, raises up against it the standardof revolt, and preaches the bold and legitimate principle of libertyof conscience: but, also, you will see how this liberty of consciencebrings religious anarchy in its train; or, worse still, religiousindifference and disgust. And if your soul, shattered in the tempestuouschanges which you behold humanity undergoing, would strike out foritself a passage through the rocks, amidst which, like a frail bark, lies tossing trembling truth, you will be embarrassed to choose betweenthe new philosophers--who, in preaching tolerance, destroy religious andsocial unity--and the last Christians, who, to preserve society, thatis, religion and philosophy, are obliged to brave the principle oftoleration. Man of truth! to whom I address, at once, my instruction andmy justification, at the time when you shall live, the science of truthno doubt will have advanced a step. Think, then, of all your fathershave suffered, as, bending beneath the weight of their ignorance anduncertainty, they have traversed the desert across which, with so muchpain, they have conducted thee! And if the pride of thy young learningshall make thee contemplate the petty strifes in which our life has beenconsumed, pause and tremble, as you think of that which is still unknownto yourself, and of the judgment that your descendants will pass on you. Think of this, and learn to respect all those who, seeking their way inall sincerity, have wandered from the path, frightened by the storm, andsorely tried by the severe hand of the All-Powerful. Think of this, andprostrate yourself; for all these, even the most mistaken among them, are saints and martyrs. 

"Without their conquests and their defeats, thou wert in darkness still. Yes, their failures, their errors even, have a right to your respect;for man is weak. .. .. Weep then, for us obscure travellers--unknownvictims, who, by our mortal sufferings and unheard-of labors, haveprepared the way before you. Pity me, who have passionately lovedjustice, and perseveringly sought for truth, only opened my eyes toshut them again for ever, and saw that I had been in vain endeavoring tosupport a ruin, to take refuge in a vault of which the foundations wereworn away. ". .. . 

The rest of the book of Spiridion is made up of a history of therise, progress, and (what our philosopher is pleased to call) decayof Christianity--of an assertion, that the "doctrine of Christ isincomplete;" that "Christ may, nevertheless, take his place in thePantheon of divine men!" and of a long, disgusting, absurd, and impiousvision, in which the Saviour, Moses, David, and Elijah are represented, and in which Christ is made to say--"WE ARE ALL MESSIAHS, when we wishto bring the reign of truth upon earth; we are all Christs, when wesuffer for it!"

And this is the ultimatum, the supreme secret, the absolute truth! andit has been published by Mrs. Sand, for so many napoleons per sheet, inthe Revue des Deux Mondes: and the Deux Mondes are to abide by it forthe future. After having attained it, are we a whit wiser? "Man isbetween an angel and a beast: I don't know how long it is since he was abrute--I can't say how long it will be before he is an angel. " Think ofpeople living by their wits, and living by such a wit as this! Thinkof the state of mental debauch and disease which must have been passedthrough, ere such words could be written, and could be popular!

When a man leaves our dismal, smoky London atmosphere, and breathes, instead of coal-smoke and yellow fog, this bright, clear, French air, heis quite intoxicated by it at first, and feels a glow in his blood, anda joy in his spirits, which scarcely thrice a year, and then only at adistance from London, he can attain in England. Is the intoxication, Iwonder, permanent among the natives? and may we not account for the tenthousand frantic freaks of these people by the peculiar influence ofFrench air and sun? The philosophers are from night to morning drunk, the politicians are drunk, the literary men reel and stagger from oneabsurdity to another, and how shall we understand their vagaries? Let ussuppose, charitably, that Madame Sand had inhaled a more than ordinaryquantity of this laughing gas when she wrote for us this preciousmanuscript of Spiridion. That great destinies are in prospect for thehuman race we may fancy, without her ladyship's word for it: but moreliberal than she, and having a little retrospective charity, as well asthat easy prospective benevolence which Mrs. Sand adopts, let us try andthink there is some hope for our fathers (who were nearer brutality thanourselves, according to the Sandean creed), or else there is a very poorchance for us, who, great philosophers as we are, are yet, alas! farremoved from that angelic consummation which all must wish for sodevoutly. She cannot say--is it not extraordinary?--how many centurieshave been necessary before man could pass from the brutal state to hispresent condition, or how many ages will be required ere we may passfrom the state of man to the state of angels? What the deuce is the useof chronology or philosophy? We were beasts, and we can't tell when ourtails dropped off: we shall be angels; but when our wings are to beginto sprout, who knows? In the meantime, O man of genius, follow ourcounsel: lead an easy life, don't stick at trifles; never mind aboutDUTY, it is only made for slaves; if the world reproach you, reproachthe world in return, you have a good loud tongue in your head: if yourstraight-laced morals injure your mental respiration, fling off theold-fashioned stays, and leave your free limbs to rise and fall asNature pleases; and when you have grown pretty sick of your liberty, andyet unfit to return to restraint, curse the world, and scorn it, and bemiserable, like my Lord Byron and other philosophers of his kidney; orelse mount a step higher, and, with conceit still more monstrous, andmental vision still more wretchedly debauched and weak, begin suddenlyto find yourself afflicted with a maudlin compassion for the human race, and a desire to set them right after your own fashion. There is thequarrelsome stage of drunkenness, when a man can as yet walk andspeak, when he can call names, and fling plates and wine-glasses at hisneighbor's head with a pretty good aim; after this comes the patheticstage, when the patient becomes wondrous philanthropic, and weepswildly, as he lies in the gutter, and fancies he is at home inbed--where he ought to be; but this is an allegory. 

I don't wish to carry this any farther, or to say a word in defenceof the doctrine which Mrs. Dudevant has found "incomplete";--here, atleast, is not the place for discussing its merits, any more than Mrs. Sand's book was the place for exposing, forsooth, its errors: ourbusiness is only with the day and the new novels, and the clever orsilly people who write them. Oh! if they but knew their places, andwould keep to them, and drop their absurd philosophical jargon! Not allthe big words in the world can make Mrs. Sand talk like a philosopher:when will she go back to her old trade, of which she was the very ablestpractitioner in France?

I should have been glad to give some extracts from the dramatic anddescriptive parts of the novel, that cannot, in point of style andbeauty, be praised too highly. One must suffice, --it is the descent ofAlexis to seek that unlucky manuscript, Spiridion. 

"It seemed to me, " he begins, "that the descent was eternal; and that Iwas burying myself in the depths of Erebus: at last, I reached a levelplace, --and I heard a mournful voice deliver these words, as it were, to the secret centre of the earth--'He will mount that ascent nomore!'--Immediately I heard arise towards me, from the depth ofinvisible abysses, a myriad of formidable voices united in a strangechant--'Let us destroy him! Let him be destroyed! What does he hereamong the dead? Let him be delivered back to torture! Let him be givenagain to life!'

"Then a feeble light began to pierce the darkness, and I perceivedthat I stood on the lowest step of a staircase, vast as the foot of amountain. Behind me were thousands of steps of lurid iron; before me, nothing but a void--an abyss, and ether; the blue gloom of midnightbeneath my feet, as above my head. I became delirious, and quittingthat staircase, which methought it was impossible for me to reascend, Isprung forth into the void with an execration. But, immediately, whenI had uttered the curse, the void began to be filled with forms andcolors, and I presently perceived that I was in a vast gallery, alongwhich I advanced, trembling. There was still darkness round me; butthe hollows of the vaults gleamed with a red light, and showed me thestrange and hideous forms of their building. .. .. I did not distinguishthe nearest objects; but those towards which I advanced assumed anappearance more and more ominous, and my terror increased with everystep I took. The enormous pillars which supported the vault, and thetracery thereof itself, were figures of men, of supernatural stature, delivered to tortures without a name. Some hung by their feet, and, locked in the coils of monstrous serpents, clenched their teeth in themarble of the pavement; others, fastened by their waists, were draggedupwards, these by their feet, those by their heads, towards capitals, where other figures stooped towards them, eager to torment them. Otherpillars, again, represented a struggling mass of figures devouring oneanother; each of which only offered a trunk severed to the knees or tothe shoulders, the fierce heads whereof retained life enough to seizeand devour that which was near them. There were some who, half hangingdown, agonized themselves by attempting, with their upper limbs, to flaythe lower moiety of their bodies, which drooped from the columns, orwere attached to the pedestals; and others, who, in their fight witheach other, were dragged along by morsels of flesh, --grasping which, they clung to each other with a countenance of unspeakable hate andagony. Along, or rather in place of, the frieze, there were on eitherside a range of unclean beings, wearing the human form, but of aloathsome ugliness, busied in tearing human corpses to pieces--infeasting upon their limbs and entrails. From the vault, instead ofbosses and pendants, hung the crushed and wounded forms of children; asif to escape these eaters of man's flesh, they would throw themselvesdownwards, and be dashed to pieces on the pavement. .. .. The silence andmotionlessness of the whole added to its awfulness. I became so faintwith terror, that I stopped, and would fain have returned. But at thatmoment I heard, from the depths of the gloom through which I had passed, confused noises, like those of a multitude on its march. And the soundssoon became more distinct, and the clamor fiercer, and the steps camehurrying on tumultuously--at every new burst nearer, more violent, morethreatening. I thought that I was pursued by this disorderly crowd; andI strove to advance, hurrying into the midst of those dismal sculptures. Then it seemed as if those figures began to heave, --and to sweatblood, --and their beady eyes to move in their sockets. At once I beheldthat they were all looking upon me, that they were all leaning towardsme, --some with frightful derision, others with furious aversion. Everyarm was raised against me, and they made as though they would crush mewith the quivering limbs they had torn one from the other. ". .. . 

It is, indeed, a pity that the poor fellow gave himself the trouble togo down into damp, unwholesome graves, for the purpose of fetching upa few trumpery sheets of manuscript; and if the public has been rathertired with their contents, and is disposed to ask why Mrs. Sand'sreligious or irreligious notions are to be brought forward to people whoare quite satisfied with their own, we can only say that this lady isthe representative of a vast class of her countrymen, whom the wits andphilosophers of the eighteenth century have brought to this condition. The leaves of the Diderot and Rousseau tree have produced this goodlyfruit: here it is, ripe, bursting, and ready to fall;--and how to fall?Heaven send that it may drop easily, for all can see that the time iscome. 

THE CASE OF PEYTEL:

IN A LETTER TO EDWARD BRIEFLESS, ESQUIRE, OF PUMP COURT, TEMPLE. 

PARIS, November, 1839. 

MY DEAR BRIEFLESS, --Two months since, when the act of accusation firstappeared, containing the sum of the charges against Sebastian Peytel, all Paris was in a fervor on the subject. The man's trial speedilyfollowed, and kept for three days the public interest wound up to apainful point. He was found guilty of double murder at the beginningof September; and, since that time, what with Maroto's disaffectionand Turkish news, we have had leisure to forget Monsieur Peytel, and tooccupy ourselves with [Greek text omitted]. Perhaps Monsieur de Balzachelped to smother what little sparks of interest might still haveremained for the murderous notary. Balzac put forward a letter in hisfavor, so very long, so very dull, so very pompous, promising so much, and performing so little, that the Parisian public gave up Peytel andhis case altogether; nor was it until to-day that some small feelingwas raised concerning him, when the newspapers brought the account howPeytel's head had been cut off at Bourg. 

He had gone through the usual miserable ceremonies and delays whichattend what is called, in this country, the march of justice. He hadmade his appeal to the Court of Cassation, which had taken time toconsider the verdict of the Provincial Court, and had confirmed it. Hehad made his appeal for mercy; his poor sister coming up all the wayfrom Bourg (a sad journey, poor thing!) to have an interview with theKing, who had refused to see her. Last Monday morning, at nine o'clock, an hour before Peytel's breakfast, the Greffier of Assize Court, incompany with the Curé of Bourg, waited on him, and informed him that hehad only three hours to live. At twelve o'clock, Peytel's head was offhis body: an executioner from Lyons had come over the night before, toassist the professional throat-cutter of Bourg. 

I am not going to entertain you with any sentimental lamentations forthis scoundrel's fate, or to declare my belief in his innocence, asMonsieur de Balzac has done. As far as moral conviction can go, theman's guilt is pretty clearly brought home to him. But any man whohas read the "Causes Célèbres, " knows that men have been convictedand executed upon evidence ten times more powerful than that which wasbrought against Peytel. His own account of his horrible case may betrue; there is nothing adduced in the evidence which is strong enough tooverthrow it. It is a serious privilege, God knows, that societytakes upon itself, at any time, to deprive one of God's creatures ofexistence. But when the slightest doubt remains, what a tremendous riskdoes it incur! In England, thank heaven, the law is more wise and moremerciful: an English jury would never have taken a man's blood upon suchtestimony: an English judge and Crown advocate would never have actedas these Frenchmen have done; the latter inflaming the public mind byexaggerated appeals to their passions: the former seeking, in every way, to draw confessions from the prisoner, to perplex and confound him, todo away, by fierce cross-questioning and bitter remarks from the bench, with any effect that his testimony might have on the jury. I don't meanto say that judges and lawyers have been more violent and inquisitorialagainst the unhappy Peytel than against any one else; it is the fashionof the country: a man is guilty until he proves himself to be innocent;and to batter down his defence, if he have any, there are the lawyers, with all their horrible ingenuity, and their captivating passionateeloquence. It is hard thus to set the skilful and tried champions of thelaw against men unused to this kind of combat; nay, give a man all thelegal aid that he can purchase or procure, still, by this plan, you takehim at a cruel, unmanly disadvantage; he has to fight against the law, clogged with the dreadful weight of his presupposed guilt. Thank Godthat, in England, things are not managed so. 

However, I am not about to entertain you with ignorant disquisitionsabout the law. Peytel's case may, nevertheless, interest you; for thetale is a very stirring and mysterious one; and you may see how easya thing it is for a man's life to be talked away in France, if ever heshould happen to fall under the suspicion of a crime. The French "Acted'accusation" begins in the following manner:--

"Of all the events which, in these latter times, have afflicted thedepartment of the Ain, there is none which has caused a more profoundand lively sensation than the tragical death of the lady, FélicitéAlcazar, wife of Sebastian Benedict Peytel, notary, at Belley. At theend of October, 1838, Madame Peytel quitted that town, with her husband, and their servant Louis Rey, in order to pass a few days at Macon:at midnight, the inhabitants of Belley were suddenly awakened by thearrival of Monsieur Peytel, by his cries, and by the signs which heexhibited of the most lively agitation: he implored the succors of allthe physicians in the town; knocked violently at their doors; rung atthe bells of their houses with a sort of frenzy, and announced that hiswife, stretched out, and dying, in his carriage, had just been shot, onthe Lyons road, by his domestic, whose life Peytel himself had taken. 

"At this recital a number of persons assembled, and what a spectacle waspresented to their eyes. 

"A young woman lay at the bottom of a carriage, deprived of life; herwhole body was wet, and seemed as if it had just been plunged intothe water. She appeared to be severely wounded in the face; and hergarments, which were raised up, in spite of the cold and rainy weather, left the upper part of her knees almost entirely exposed. At the sightof this half-naked and inanimate body, all the spectators were affected. People said that the first duty to pay to a dying woman was, to preserveher from the cold, to cover her. A physician examined the body; hedeclared that all remedies were useless; that Madame Peytel was dead andcold. 

"The entreaties of Peytel were redoubled; he demanded fresh succors, and, giving no heed to the fatal assurance which had just been givenhim, required that all the physicians in the place should be sent for. A scene so strange and so melancholy; the incoherent account given byPeytel of the murder of his wife; his extraordinary movements; and theavowal which he continued to make, that he had despatched the murderer, Rey, with strokes of his hammer, excited the attention of LieutenantWolf, commandant of gendarmes: that officer gave orders for theimmediate arrest of Peytel; but the latter threw himself into thearms of a friend, who interceded for him, and begged the police notimmediately to seize upon his person. 

"The corpse of Madame Peytel was transported to her apartment; thebleeding body of the domestic was likewise brought from the road, whereit lay; and Peytel, asked to explain the circumstance, did so. ". .. . 

Now, as there is little reason to tell the reader, when an Englishcounsel has to prosecute a prisoner on the part of the Crown for acapital offence, he produces the articles of his accusation in the mostmoderate terms, and especially warns the jury to give the accused personthe benefit of every possible doubt that the evidence may give, or mayleave. See how these things are managed in France, and how differentlythe French counsel for the Crown sets about his work. 

He first prepares his act of accusation, the opening of which wehave just read; it is published six days before the trial, so that anunimpassioned, unprejudiced jury has ample time to study it, and toform its opinions accordingly, and to go into court with a happy, justprepossession against the prisoner. 

Read the first part of the Peytel act of accusation; it is as turgid anddeclamatory as a bad romance; and as inflated as a newspaper document, by an unlimited penny-a-liner:--"The department of the Ain is in adreadful state of excitement; the inhabitants of Belley come troopingfrom their beds, --and what a sight do they behold;--a young woman atthe bottom of a carriage, toute ruisselante, just out of a river; hergarments, in spite of the cold and rain, raised, so as to leave theupper part of her knees entirely exposed, at which all the beholderswere affected, and cried, that the FIRST DUTY was to cover her fromthe cold. " This settles the case at once; the first duty of a man isto cover the legs of the sufferer; the second to call for help. Theeloquent "Substitut du Procureur du Roi" has prejudged the case, in thecourse of a few sentences. He is putting his readers, among whom hisfuture jury is to be found, into a proper state of mind; he works onthem with pathetic description, just as a romance-writer would: therain pours in torrents; it is a dreary evening in November; the youngcreature's situation is neatly described; the distrust which enteredinto the breast of the keen old officer of gendarmes strongly painted, the suspicions which might, or might not, have been entertained bythe inhabitants, eloquently argued. How did the advocate know that thepeople had such? did all the bystanders say aloud, "I suspect that thisis a case of murder by Monsieur Peytel, and that his story aboutthe domestic is all deception?" or did they go off to the mayor, andregister their suspicion? or was the advocate there to hear them? Nothe; but he paints you the whole scene, as though it had existed, andgives full accounts of suspicions, as if they had been facts, positive, patent, staring, that everybody could see and swear to. 

Having thus primed his audience, and prepared them for the testimony ofthe accused party, "Now, " says he, with a fine show of justice, "letus hear Monsieur Peytel;" and that worthy's narrative is given asfollows:--

"He said that he had left Macon on the 31st October, at eleven o'clockin the morning, in order to return to Belley, with his wife and servant. The latter drove, or led, an open car; he himself was driving his wifein a four-wheeled carriage, drawn by one horse: they reached Bourg atfive o'clock in the evening; left it at seven, to sleep at Pont d'Ain, where they did not arrive before midnight. During the journey, Peytelthought he remarked that Rey had slackened his horse's pace. Whenthey alighted at the inn, Peytel bade him deposit in his chamber 7, 500francs, which he carried with him; but the domestic refused to do so, saying that the inn gates were secure, and there was no danger. Peytelwas, therefore, obliged to carry his money up stairs himself. The nextday, the 1st November, they set out on their journey again, at nineo'clock in the morning; Louis did not come, according to custom, to takehis master's orders. They arrived at Tenay about three, stopped there acouple of hours to dine, and it was eight o'clock when they reached thebourg of Rossillon, where they waited half an hour to bait the horses. 

"As they left Rossillon, the weather became bad, and the rain began tofall: Peytel told his domestic to get a covering for the articles inthe open chariot; but Rey refused to do so, adding, in an ironical tone, that the weather was fine. For some days past, Peytel had remarked thathis servant was gloomy, and scarcely spoke at all. 

"After they had gone about 500 paces beyond the bridge of Andert, thatcrosses the river Furans, and ascended to the least steep part of thehill of Darde, Peytel cried out to his servant, who was seated in thecar, to come down from it, and finish the ascent on foot. 

"At this moment a violent wind was blowing from the south, and the rainwas falling heavily: Peytel was seated back in the right corner of thecarriage, and his wife, who was close to him, was asleep, with her headon his left shoulder. All of a sudden he heard the report of a fire-arm(he had seen the light of it at some paces' distance), and MadamePeytel cried out, 'My poor husband, take your pistols;' the horse wasfrightened, and began to trot. Peytel immediately drew the pistol, andfired, from the interior of the carriage, upon an individual whom he sawrunning by the side of the road. 

"Not knowing, as yet, that his wife had been hit, he jumped out on oneside of the carriage, while Madame Peytel descended from the other; andhe fired a second pistol at his domestic, Louis Rey, whom he had justrecognized. Redoubling his pace, he came up with Rey, and struck him, from behind, a blow with the hammer. Rey turned at this, and raisedup his arm to strike his master with the pistol which he had justdischarged at him; but Peytel, more quick than he, gave the domestic ablow with the hammer, which felled him to the ground (he fell hisface forwards), and then Peytel, bestriding the body, despatched him, although the brigand asked for mercy. 

"He now began to think of his wife and ran back, calling out her namerepeatedly, and seeking for her, in vain, on both sides of the road. Arrived at the bridge of Andert, he recognized his wife, stretched ina field, covered with water, which bordered the Furans. This horriblediscovery had so much the more astonished him, because he had no idea, until now, that his wife had been wounded: he endeavored to draw herfrom the water; and it was only after considerable exertions that he wasenabled to do so, and to place her, with her face towards the ground, onthe side of the road. Supposing that, here, she would be sheltered fromany farther danger, and believing, as yet, that she was only wounded, hedetermined to ask for help at a lone house, situated on the road towardsRossillon; and at this instant he perceived, without at all being ableto explain how, that his horse had followed him back to the spot, havingturned back of its own accord, from the road to Belley. 

"The house at which he knocked was inhabited by two men, of the nameof Thannet, father and son, who opened the door to him, and whomhe entreated to come to his aid, saying that his wife had just beenassassinated by his servant. The elder Thannet approached to, andexamined the body, and told Peytel that it was quite dead; he and hisson took up the corpse, and placed it in the bottom of the carriage, which they all mounted themselves, and pursued their route to Belley. In order to do so, they had to pass by Rey's body, on the road, whichPeytel wished to crush under the wheels of his carriage. It was to robhim of 7, 500 francs, said Peytel, that the attack had been made. "

Our friend, the Procureur's Substitut, has dropped, here, the eloquentand pathetic style altogether, and only gives the unlucky prisoner'snarrative in the baldest and most unimaginative style. How is a jury tolisten to such a fellow? they ought to condemn him, if but for makingsuch an uninteresting statement. Why not have helped poor Peytel withsome of those rhetorical graces which have been so plentifully bestowedin the opening part of the act of accusation? He might have said:--

"Monsieur Peytel is an eminent notary at Belley; he is a mandistinguished for his literary and scientific acquirements; he has livedlong in the best society of the capital; he had been but a few monthsmarried to that young and unfortunate lady, whose loss has plungedher bereaved husband into despair--almost into madness. Some earlydifferences had marked, it is true, the commencement of their union; butthese, which, as can be proved by evidence, were almost all the unhappylady's fault, --had happily ceased, to give place to sentiments far moredelightful and tender. Gentlemen, Madame Peytel bore in her bosom asweet pledge of future concord between herself and her husband: in threebrief months she was to become a mother. 

"In the exercise of his honorable profession, --in which, to succeed, a man must not only have high talents, but undoubted probity, --and, gentlemen, Monsieur Peytel DID succeed--DID inspire respect andconfidence, as you, his neighbors, well know;--in the exercise, I say, of his high calling, Monsieur Peytel, towards the end of October last, had occasion to make a journey in the neighborhood, and visit some ofhis many clients. 

"He travelled in his own carriage, his young wife beside him. Does thislook like want of affection, gentlemen? or is it not a mark of love--oflove and paternal care on his part towards the being with whom his lotin life was linked, --the mother of his coming child, --the young girl, who had everything to gain from the union with a man of his attainmentsof intellect, his kind temper, his great experience, and his highposition? In this manner they travelled, side by side, lovinglytogether. Monsieur Peytel was not a lawyer merely, but a man of lettersand varied learning; of the noble and sublime science of geology he was, especially, an ardent devotee. "

(Suppose, here, a short panegyric upon geology. Allude to the creationof this mighty world, and then, naturally, to the Creator. Fancy theconversations which Peytel, a religious man, * might have with his youngwife upon the subject. )

 * He always went to mass; it is in the evidence. 

"Monsieur Peytel had lately taken into his service a man named LouisRey. Rey was a foundling, and had passed many years in a regiment--aschool, gentlemen, where much besides bravery, alas! is taught; nay, where the spirit which familiarizes one with notions of battle anddeath, I fear, may familiarize one with ideas, too, of murder. Rey, a dashing reckless fellow, from the army, had lately entered Peytel'sservice, was treated by him with the most singular kindness; accompaniedhim (having charge of another vehicle) upon the journey before alludedto; and KNEW THAT HIS MASTER CARRIED WITH HIM A CONSIDERABLE SUM OFMONEY; for a man like Rey an enormous sum, 7, 500 francs. At midnighton the 1st of November, as Madame Peytel and her husband were returninghome, an attack was made upon their carriage. Remember, gentlemen, thehour at which the attack was made; remember the sum of money that was inthe carriage; and remember that the Savoy frontier IS WITHIN A LEAGUE OFTHE SPOT where the desperate deed was done. "

Now, my dear Briefless, ought not Monsieur Procureur, in common justiceto Peytel, after he had so eloquently proclaimed, not the facts, but thesuspicions, which weighed against that worthy, to have given a similarflorid account of the prisoner's case? Instead of this, you will remark, that it is the advocate's endeavor to make Peytel's statements asuninteresting in style as possible; and then he demolishes them in thefollowing way:--

"Scarcely was Peytel's statement known, when the common sense of thepublic rose against it. Peytel had commenced his story upon the bridgeof Andert, over the cold body of his wife. On the 2nd November hehad developed it in detail, in the presence of the physicians, in thepresence of the assembled neighbors--of the persons who, on the dayprevious only, were his friends. Finally, he had completed it in hisinterrogatories, his conversations, his writings, and letters to themagistrates and everywhere these words, repeated so often, were onlyreceived with a painful incredulity. The fact was that, besides thesingular character which Peytel's appearance, attitude, and talk hadworn ever since the event, there was in his narrative an inexplicableenigma; its contradictions and impossibilities were such, that calmpersons were revolted at it, and that even friendship itself refused tobelieve it. "

Thus Mr. Attorney speaks, not for himself alone, but for the wholeFrench public; whose opinions, of course, he knows. Peytel's statementis discredited EVERYWHERE; the statement which he had made over the coldbody of his wife--the monster! It is not enough simply to prove that theman committed the murder, but to make the jury violently angry againsthim, and cause them to shudder in the jury-box, as he exposes the horriddetails of the crime. 

"Justice, " goes on Mr. Substitute (who answers for the feelings ofeverybody), "DISTURBED BY THE PRE-OCCUPATIONS OF PUBLIC OPINION, commenced, without delay, the most active researches. The bodies of thevictims were submitted to the investigations of men of art; the woundsand projectiles were examined; the place where the event took placeexplored with care. The morality of the author of this frightfulscene became the object of rigorous examination; the exigeances of theprisoner, the forms affected by him, his calculating silence, and hisanswers, coldly insulting, were feeble obstacles; and justice at lengtharrived, by its prudence, and by the discoveries it made, to the mostcruel point of certainty. "

You see that a man's demeanor is here made a crime against him; and thatMr. Substitute wishes to consider him guilty, because he has actuallythe audacity to hold his tongue. Now follows a touching description ofthe domestic, Louis Rey:--

"Louis Rey, a child of the Hospital at Lyons, was confided, at a veryearly age, to some honest country people, with whom he stayed until heentered the army. At their house, and during this long period of time, his conduct, his intelligence, and the sweetness of his manners weresuch, that the family of his guardians became to him as an adoptedfamily; and his departure caused them the most sincere affliction. WhenLouis quitted the army, he returned to his benefactors, and was receivedas a son. They found him just as they had ever known him" (I acknowledgethat this pathos beats my humble defence of Peytel entirely), "exceptthat he had learned to read and write; and the certificates of hiscommanders proved him to be a good and gallant soldier. 

"The necessity of creating some resources for himself, obliged him toquit his friends, and to enter the service of Monsieur de Montrichard, a lieutenant of gendarmerie, from whom he received fresh testimonials ofregard. Louis, it is true, might have a fondness for wine and a passionfor women; but he had been a soldier, and these faults were, according to the witnesses, amply compensated for by his activity, his intelligence, and the agreeable manner in which he performed hisservice. In the month of July, 1839, Rey quitted, voluntarily, theservice of M. De Montrichard; and Peytel, about this period, meeting himat Lyons, did not hesitate to attach him to his service. Whatever maybe the prisoner's present language, it is certain that up to the day ofLouis's death, he served Peytel with diligence and fidelity. 

"More than once his master and mistress spoke well of him. EVERYBODY whohas worked, or been at the house of Madame Peytel, has spoken in praiseof his character; and, indeed, it may be said, that these testimonialswere general. 

"On the very night of the 1st of November, and immediately after thecatastrophe, we remark how Peytel begins to make insinuations againsthis servant; and how artfully, in order to render them more sure, hedisseminates them through the different parts of his narrative. But, in the course of the proceeding, these charges have met with a mostcomplete denial. Thus we find the disobedient servant who, at Pontd'Ain, refused to carry the money-chest to his master's room, under thepretext that the gates of the inn were closed securely, occupied withtending the horses after their long journey: meanwhile Peytel wasstanding by, and neither master nor servant exchanged a word, and thewitnesses who beheld them both have borne testimony to the zeal and careof the domestic. 

"In like manner, we find that the servant, who was so remiss in themorning as to neglect to go to his master for orders, was ready fordeparture before seven o'clock, and had eagerly informed himself whetherMonsieur and Madame Peytel were awake; learning from the maid of theinn, that they had ordered nothing for their breakfast. This man, whorefused to carry with him a covering for the car, was, on the contrary, ready to take off his own cloak, and with it shelter articles of smallvalue; this man, who had been for many days so silent and gloomy, gave, on the contrary, many proofs of his gayety--almost of his indiscretion, speaking, at all the inns, in terms of praise of his master andmistress. The waiter at the inn at Dauphin, says he was a tall youngfellow, mild and good-natured; 'we talked for some time about horses, and such things; he seemed to be perfectly natural, and not pre-occupiedat all. ' At Pont d'Ain, he talked of his being a foundling; of the placewhere he had been brought up, and where he had served; and finally, atRossillon, an hour before his death, he conversed familiarly with themaster of the port, and spoke on indifferent subjects. 

"All Peytel's insinuations against his servant had no other end thanto show, in every point of Rey's conduct, the behavior of a man who waspremeditating attack. Of what, in fact, does he accuse him? Of wishingto rob him of 7, 500 francs, and of having had recourse to assassination, in order to effect the robbery. But, for a premeditated crime, considerwhat singular improvidence the person showed who had determined oncommitting it; what folly and what weakness there is in the execution ofit. 

"How many insurmountable obstacles are there in the way of committingand profiting by crime! On leaving Belley, Louis Rey, according toPeytel's statement, knowing that his master would return with money, provided himself with a holster pistol, which Madame Peytel had oncebefore perceived among his effects. In Peytel's cabinet there were someballs; four of these were found in Rey's trunk, on the 6th of November. And, in order to commit the crime, this domestic had brought away withhim a pistol, and no ammunition; for Peytel has informed us that Rey, an hour before his departure from Macon, purchased six balls at agunsmith's. To gain his point, the assassin must immolate his victims;for this, he has only one pistol, knowing, perfectly well, that Peytel, in all his travels, had two on his person; knowing that, at a late hourof the night, his shot might fail of effect; and that, in this case, hewould be left to the mercy of his opponent. 

"The execution of the crime is, according to Peytel's account, stillmore singular. Louis does not get off the carriage, until Peytel tellshim to descend. He does not think of taking his master's life until heis sure that the latter has his eyes open. It is dark, and the pair arecovered in one cloak; and Rey only fires at them at six paces' distance:he fires at hazard, without disquieting himself as to the choice of hisvictim; and the soldier, who was bold enough to undertake this doublemurder, has not force nor courage to consummate it. He flies, carryingin his hand a useless whip, with a heavy mantle on his shoulders, inspite of the detonation of two pistols at his ears, and the rapid stepsof an angry master in pursuit, which ought to have set him upon somebetter means of escape. And we find this man, full of youth and vigor, lying with his face to the ground, in the midst of a public road, falling without a struggle, or resistance, under the blows of a hammer!

"And suppose the murderer had succeeded in his criminal projects, whatfruit could he have drawn from them?--Leaving, on the road, the twobleeding bodies; obliged to lead two carriages at a time, for fear ofdiscovery; not able to return himself, after all the pains he had takento speak, at every place at which they had stopped, of the money whichhis master was carrying with him; too prudent to appear alone at Belley;arrested at the frontier, by the excise officers, who would present animpassable barrier to him till morning, what could he do, or hope todo? The examination of the car has shown that Rey, at the moment of thecrime, had neither linen, nor clothes, nor effects of any kind. Therewas found in his pockets, when the body was examined, no passport, norcertificate; one of his pockets contained a ball, of large calibre, which he had shown, in play, to a girl, at the inn at Macon, a littlehorn-handled knife, a snuff-box, a little packet of gunpowder, and apurse, containing only a halfpenny and some string. Here is all thebaggage, with which, after the execution of his homicidal plan, LouisRey intended to take refuge in a foreign country. * Beside these absurdcontradictions, there is another remarkable fact, which must not bepassed over; it is this:--the pistol found by Rey is of antique form, and the original owner of it has been found. He is a curiosity-merchantat Lyons; and, though he cannot affirm that Peytel was the person whobought this pistol of him, he perfectly recognizes Peytel as having beena frequent customer at his shop!

 * This sentence is taken from another part of the "Acte d'accusation. "

"No, we may fearlessly affirm that Louis Rey was not guilty of the crimewhich Peytel lays to his charge. If, to those who knew him, his mild andopen disposition, his military career, modest and without a stain, the touching regrets of his employers, are sufficient proofs of hisinnocence, --the calm and candid observer, who considers how the crimewas conceived, was executed, and what consequences would have resultedfrom it, will likewise acquit him, and free him of the odious imputationwhich Peytel endeavors to cast upon his memory. 

"But justice has removed the veil, with which an impious hand endeavoredto cover itself. Already, on the night of the 1st of November, suspicionwas awakened by the extraordinary agitation of Peytel; by thoseexcessive attentions towards his wife, which came so late; by thatexcessive and noisy grief, and by those calculated bursts of sorrow, which are such as Nature does not exhibit. The criminal, whom the publicconscience had fixed upon; the man whose frightful combinations havebeen laid bare, and whose falsehoods, step by step, have been exposed, during the proceedings previous to the trial; the murderer, at whosehands a heart-stricken family, and society at large, demands an accountof the blood of a wife;--that murderer is Peytel. "

When, my dear Briefless, you are a judge (as I make no doubt youwill be, when you have left off the club all night, cigar-smoking ofmornings, and reading novels in bed), will you ever find it in yourheart to order a fellow-sinner's head off upon such evidence as this?Because a romantic Substitut du Procureur de Roi chooses to composeand recite a little drama, and draw tears from juries, let us hope thatsevere Rhadamanthine judges are not to be melted by such trumpery. One wants but the description of the characters to render the piececomplete, as thus:--

 Personages Costumes. 

 SEBASTIAN PEYTAL Meurtrier Habillement complet de notaire perfide: figure pâle, barbe noire, cheveux noirs. 

 LOUIS REY Soldat rétiré, bon, Costume ordinaire; il porte sur brave, franc, jovial ses épaules une couverture de aimant le vin, les cheval. Femmes, la gaieté, ses maîtres surtout; vrai Français, enfin

 WOLF Lieutenant de gendarmerie. 

 FÉLICITÉ D'ALCAZAR Femme et victime de Peytel. 

 Médecins, Villageois, Filles d'Auberge, Garçons d'Ecurie, &c. &c. 

 La scène se passe sur le pont d'Andert, entre Macon et Belley. Il est minuit. La pluie tombe: les tonnerres grondent. Le ciel est convert de nuages, et sillonné d'éclairs. 

All these personages are brought into play in the Procureur's drama;the villagers come in with their chorus; the old lieutenant ofgendarmes with his suspicions; Rey's frankness and gayety, the romanticcircumstances of his birth, his gallantry and fidelity, are allintroduced, in order to form a contrast with Peytel, and to call downthe jury's indignation against the latter. But are these proofs? oranything like proofs? And the suspicions, that are to serve instead ofproofs, what are they?

"My servant, Louis Rey, was very sombre and reserved, " says Peytel; "herefused to call me in the morning, to carry my money-chest to my room, to cover the open car when it rained. " The Prosecutor disproves this bystating that Rey talked with the inn maids and servants, asked if hismaster was up, and stood in the inn-yard, grooming the horses, with hismaster by his side, neither speaking to the other. Might he not havetalked to the maids, and yet been sombre when speaking to his master?Might he not have neglected to call his master, and yet have askedwhether he was awake? Might he not have said that the inn-gates weresafe, out of hearing of the ostler witness? Mr. Substitute's answers toPeytel's statements are no answer at all. Every word Peytel said mightbe true, and yet Louis Rey might not have committed the murder; or everyword might have been false, and yet Louis Rey might have committed themurder. 

"Then, " says Mr. Substitute, "how many obstacles are there to thecommission of the crime? And these are--

"1. Rey provided himself with ONE holster pistol, to kill two people, knowing well that one of them had always a brace of pistols about him. 

"2. He does not think of firing until his master's eyes are open: firesat six paces, not caring at whom he fires, and then runs away. 

"3. He could not have intended to kill his master, because he had nopassport in his pocket, and no clothes; and because he must have beendetained at the frontier until morning; and because he would have had todrive two carriages, in order to avoid suspicion. 

"4. And, a most singular circumstance, the very pistol which was foundby his side had been bought at the shop of a man at Lyons, who perfectlyrecognized Peytel as one of his customers, though he could not say hehad sold that particular weapon to Peytel. "

Does it follow, from this, that Louis Rey is not the murderer, muchmore, that Peytel is? Look at argument No. 1. Rey had no need to killtwo people: he wanted the money, and not the blood. Suppose he hadkilled Peytel, would he not have mastered Madame Peytel easily?--a weakwoman, in an excessively delicate situation, incapable of much energy, at the best of times. 

2. "He does not fire till he knows his master's eyes are open. " Why, ona stormy night, does a man driving a carriage go to sleep? Was Rey towait until his master snored? "He fires at six paces, not caring whom hehits;"--and might not this happen too? The night is not so dark butthat he can see his master, in HIS USUAL PLACE, driving. He fires andhits--whom? Madame Peytel, who had left her place, AND WAS WRAPPED UPWITH PEYTEL IN HIS CLOAK. She screams out, "Husband, take your pistols. "Rey knows that his master has a brace, thinks that he has hit the wrongperson, and, as Peytel fires on him, runs away. Peytel follows, hammerin hand; as he comes up with the fugitive, he deals him a blow onthe back of the head, and Rey falls--his face to the ground. Is thereanything unnatural in this story?--anything so monstrously unnatural, that is, that it might not be true?

3. These objections are absurd. Why need a man have change of linen?If he had taken none for the journey, why should he want any for theescape? Why need he drive two carriages?--He might have driven both intothe river, and Mrs. Peytel in one. Why is he to go to the douane, andthrust himself into the very jaws of danger? Are there not a thousandways for a man to pass a frontier? Do smugglers, when they have to passfrom one country to another, choose exactly those spots where a policeis placed?

And, finally, the gunsmith of Lyons, who knows Peytel quite well, cannotsay that he sold the pistol to him; that is, he did NOT sell the pistolto him; for you have only one man's word, in this case (Peytel's), tothe contrary; and the testimony, as far as it goes, is in his favor. I say, my lud, and gentlemen of the jury, that these objections of mylearned friend, who is engaged for the Crown, are absurd, frivolous, monstrous; that to SUSPECT away the life of a man upon such suppositionsas these, is wicked, illegal, and inhuman; and, what is more, that LouisRey, if he wanted to commit the crime--if he wanted to possess himselfof a large sum of money, chose the best time and spot for so doing; and, no doubt, would have succeeded, if Fate had not, in a wonderful manner, caused Madame Peytel TO TAKE HER HUSBAND'S PLACE, and receive the ballintended for him in her own head. 

But whether these suspicions are absurd or not, hit or miss, it isthe advocate's duty, as it appears, to urge them. He wants to make asunfavorable an impression as possible with regard to Peytel's character;he, therefore, must, for contrast's sake, give all sorts of praise tohis victim, and awaken every sympathy in the poor fellow's favor. Having done this, as far as lies in his power, having exaggerated everycircumstance that can be unfavorable to Peytel, and given his own talein the baldest manner possible--having declared that Peytel is themurderer of his wife and servant, the Crown now proceeds to back thisassertion, by showing what interested motives he had, and by relating, after its own fashion, the circumstances of his marriage. 

They may be told briefly here. Peytel was of a good family, of Macon, and entitled, at his mother's death, to a considerable property. He hadbeen educated as a notary, and had lately purchased a business, in thatline, in Belley, for which he had paid a large sum of money; part of thesum, 15, 000 francs, for which he had given bills, was still due. 

Near Belley, Peytel first met Félicité Alcazar, who was residing withher brother-in-law, Monsieur de Montrichard; and, knowing that the younglady's fortune was considerable, he made an offer of marriage to thebrother-in-law, who thought the match advantageous, and communicated onthe subject with Félicité's mother, Madame Alcazar, at Paris. After atime Peytel went to Paris, to press his suit, and was accepted. Thereseems to have been no affectation of love on his side; and some littlerepugnance on the part of the lady, who yielded, however, to the wishesof her parents, and was married. The parties began to quarrel on thevery day of the marriage, and continued their disputes almost to theclose of the unhappy connection. Félicité was half blind, passionate, sarcastic, clumsy in her person and manners, and ill educated; Peytel, a man of considerable intellect and pretensions, who had lived for sometime at Paris, where he had mingled with good literary society. Thelady was, in fact, as disagreeable a person as could well be, and theevidence describes some scenes which took place between her and herhusband, showing how deeply she must have mortified and enraged him. 

A charge very clearly made out against Peytel, is that of dishonesty; heprocured from the notary of whom he bought his place an acquittance infull, whereas there were 15, 000 francs owing, as we have seen. Healso, in the contract of marriage, which was to have resembled, inall respects, that between Monsieur Broussais and another DemoiselleAlcazar, caused an alteration to be made in his favor, which gavehim command over his wife's funded property, without furnishingthe guarantees by which the other son-in-law was bound. And, almostimmediately after his marriage, Peytel sold out of the funds a sumof 50, 000 francs, that belonged to his wife, and used it for his ownpurposes. 

About two months after his marriage, PEYTEL PRESSED HIS WIFE TO MAKE HERWILL. He had made his, he said, leaving everything to her, in case ofhis death: after some parley, the poor thing consented. * This is a cruelsuspicion against him; and Mr. Substitute has no need to enlarge uponit. As for the previous fact, the dishonest statement about the 15, 000francs, there is nothing murderous in that--nothing which a man veryeager to make a good marriage might not do. The same may be said of thesuppression, in Peytel's marriage contract, of the clause to be foundin Broussais's, placing restrictions upon the use of the wife's money. Mademoiselle d'Alcazar's friends read the contract before they signedit, and might have refused it, had they so pleased. 

 * "Peytel, " says the act of accusation, "did not fail to see the danger which would menace him, if this will (which had escaped the magistrates in their search of Peytel's papers) was discovered. He, therefore, instructed his agent to take possession of it, which he did, and the fact was not mentioned for several months afterwards. Peytel and his agent were called upon to explain the circumstance, but refused, and their silence for a long time interrupted the 'instruction'" (getting up of the evidence). "All that could be obtained from them was an avowal, that such a will existed, constituting Peytel his wife's sole legatee; and a promise, on their parts, to produce it before the court gave its sentence. " But why keep the will secret? The anxiety about it was surely absurd and unnecessary: the whole of Madame Peytel's family knew that such a will was made. She had consulted her sister concerning it, who said--"If there is no other way of satisfying him, make the will;" and the mother, when she heard of it, cried out--"Does he intend to poison her?"

After some disputes, which took place between Peytel and his wife (therewere continual quarrels, and continual letters passing between themfrom room to room), the latter was induced to write him a couple ofexaggerated letters, swearing "by the ashes of her father" that shewould be an obedient wife to him, and entreating him to counsel anddirect her. These letters were seen by members of the lady's family, who, in the quarrels between the couple, always took the husband's part. They were found in Peytel's cabinet, after he had been arrested for themurder, and after he had had full access to all his papers, of whichhe destroyed or left as many as he pleased. The accusation makes ita matter of suspicion against Peytel, that he should have left theseletters of his wife's in a conspicuous situation. 

"All these circumstances, " says the accusation, "throw a frightful lightupon Peytel's plans. The letters and will of Madame Peytel are in thehands of her husband. Three months pass away, and this poor woman isbrought to her home, in the middle of the night, with two balls inher head, stretched at the bottom of her carriage, by the side of apeasant. "

"What other than Sebastian Peytel could have committed thismurder?--whom could it profit?--who but himself had an odious chainto break, and an inheritance to receive? Why speak of the servant'sprojected robbery? The pistols found by the side of Louis's body, theballs bought by him at Macon, and those discovered at Belley among hiseffects, were only the result of a perfidious combination. The pistol, indeed, which was found on the hill of Darde, on the night of the 1st ofNovember, could only have belonged to Peytel, and must have been thrownby him, near the body of his domestic, with the paper which had beforeenveloped it. Who had seen this pistol in the hands of Louis? Amongall the gendarmes, work-women, domestics, employed by Peytel and hisbrother-in-law, is there one single witness who had seen this weapon inLouis's possession? It is true that Madame Peytel did, on one occasion, speak to M. De Montrichard of a pistol; which had nothing to do, however, with that found near Louis Rey. "

Is this justice, or good reason? Just reverse the argument, and apply itto Rey. "Who but Rey could have committed this murder?--who but Reyhad a large sum of money to seize upon?--a pistol is found by his side, balls and powder in his pocket, other balls in his trunks at home. Thepistol found near his body could not, indeed, have belonged to Peytel:did any man ever see it in his possession? The very gunsmith who soldit, and who knew Peytel, would he not have known that he had sold himthis pistol? At his own house, Peytel has a collection of weapons ofall kinds; everybody has seen them--a man who makes such collections isanxious to display them. Did any one ever see this weapon?--Not one. And Madame Peytel did, in her lifetime, remark a pistol in the valet'spossession. She was short-sighted, and could not particularize whatkind of pistol it was; but she spoke of it to her husband and herbrother-in-law. " This is not satisfactory, if you please; but, at least, it is as satisfactory as the other set of suppositions. It is the verychain of argument which would have been brought against Louis Rey bythis very same compiler of the act of accusation, had Rey survived, instead of Peytel, and had he, as most undoubtedly would have been thecase, been tried for the murder. 

This argument was shortly put by Peytel's counsel:--"if Peytel had beenkilled by Rey in the struggle, would you not have found Rey guilty ofthe murder of his master and mistress?" It is such a dreadful dilemma, that I wonder how judges and lawyers could have dared to persecutePeytel in the manner which they did. 

After the act of accusation, which lays down all the suppositionsagainst Peytel as facts, which will not admit the truth of one of theprisoner's allegations in his own defence, comes the trial. The judge isquite as impartial as the preparer of the indictment, as will be seen bythe following specimens of his interrogatories:--

Judge. "The act of accusation finds in your statement contradictions, improbabilities, impossibilities. Thus your domestic, who had determinedto assassinate you, in order to rob you, and who MUST HAVE CALCULATEDUPON THE CONSEQUENCE OF A FAILURE, had neither passport nor money uponhim. This is very unlikely; because he could not have gone far with onlya single halfpenny, which was all he had. "

Prisoner. "My servant was known, and often passed the frontier without apassport. "

Judge. "YOUR DOMESTIC HAD TO ASSASSINATE TWO PERSONS, and had no weaponbut a single pistol. He had no dagger; and the only thing found on himwas a knife. "

Prisoner. "In the car there were several turner's implements, which hemight have used. "

Judge. "But he had not those arms upon him, because you pursued himimmediately. He had, according to you, only this old pistol. "

Prisoner. "I have nothing to say. "

Judge. "Your domestic, instead of flying into woods, which skirt theroad, ran straight forward on the road itself: THIS, AGAIN, IS VERYUNLIKELY. "

Prisoner. "This is a conjecture I could answer by another conjecture; Ican only reason on the facts. "

Judge. "How far did you pursue him?"

Prisoner. "I don't know exactly. "

Judge. "You said 'two hundred paces. '"

No answer from the prisoner. 

Judge. "Your domestic was young, active, robust, and tall. He was aheadof you. You were in a carriage, from which you had to descend: you hadto take your pistols from a cushion, and THEN your hammer;--how are weto believe that you could have caught him, if he ran? It is IMPOSSIBLE. "

Prisoner. "I can't explain it: I think that Rey had some defect in oneleg. I, for my part, run tolerably fast. "

Judge. "At what distance from him did you fire your first shot?"

Prisoner. "I can't tell. "

Judge. "Perhaps he was not running when you fired. "

Prisoner. "I saw him running. "

Judge. "In what position was your wife?"

Prisoner. "She was leaning on my left arm, and the man was on the rightside of the carriage. "

Judge. "The shot must have been fired à bout portant, because it burnedthe eyebrows and lashes entirely. The assassin must have passed hispistol across your breast. "

Prisoner. "The shot was not fired so close; I am convinced of it:professional gentlemen will prove it. "

Judge. "That is what you pretend, because you understand perfectlythe consequences of admitting the fact. Your wife was hit with twoballs--one striking downwards, to the right, by the nose, the othergoing horizontally through the cheek, to the left. "

Prisoner. "The contrary will be shown by the witnesses called for thepurpose. "

Judge. "IT IS A VERY UNLUCKY COMBINATION FOR YOU that these balls, whichwent, you say, from the same pistol, should have taken two differentdirections. "

Prisoner. "I can't dispute about the various combinations offire-arms--professional persons will be heard. "

Judge. "According to your statement, your wife said to you, 'My poorhusband, take your pistols. '"

Prisoner. "She did. "

Judge. "In a manner quite distinct. "

Prisoner. "Yes. "

Judge. "So distinct that you did not fancy she was hit?"

Prisoner. "Yes; that is the fact. "

Judge. "HERE, AGAIN, IS AN IMPOSSIBILITY; and nothing is more precisethan the declaration of the medical men. They affirm that your wifecould not have spoken--their report is unanimous. "

Prisoner. "I can only oppose to it quite contrary opinions fromprofessional men, also: you must hear them. "

Judge. "What did your wife do next?"

 . . . . . . 

Judge. "You deny the statements of the witnesses:" (they related toPeytel's demeanor and behavior, which the judge wishes to show werevery unusual;--and what if they were?) "Here, however, are some mutewitnesses, whose testimony, you will not perhaps refuse. Near LouisRey's body was found a horse-cloth, a pistol, and a whip. .. .. Yourdomestic must have had this cloth upon him when he went to assassinateyou: it was wet and heavy. An assassin disencumbers himself of anythingthat is likely to impede him, especially when he is going to strugglewith a man as young as himself. "

Prisoner. "My servant had, I believe, this covering on his body; itmight be useful to him to keep the priming of his pistol dry. "

The president caused the cloth to be opened, and showed that there wasno hook, or tie, by which it could be held together; and that Rey musthave held it with one hand, and, in the other, his whip, and the pistolwith which he intended to commit the crime; which was impossible. 

Prisoner. "These are only conjectures. "

And what conjectures, my God! upon which to take away the life of a man. Jeffreys, or Fouquier Tinville, could scarcely have dared to make such. Such prejudice, such bitter persecution, such priming of the jury, suchmonstrous assumptions and unreason--fancy them coming from an impartialjudge! The man is worse than the public accuser. 

"Rey, " says the Judge, "could not have committed the murder, BECAUSE HEHAD NO MONEY IN HIS POCKET, TO FLY, IN CASE OF FAILURE. " And what is theprecise sum that his lordship thinks necessary for a gentleman to have, before he makes such an attempt? Are the men who murder for money, usually in possession of a certain independence before they begin?How much money was Rey, a servant, who loved wine and women, had beenstopping at a score of inns on the road, and had, probably, an annualincome of 400 francs, --how much money was Rey likely to have?

"Your servant had to assassinate two persons. " This I have mentionedbefore. Why had he to assassinate two persons, * when one was enough?If he had killed Peytel, could he not have seized and gagged his wifeimmediately?

 * M. Balzac's theory of the case is, that Rey had intrigued with Madame Peytel; having known her previous to her marriage, when she was staying in the house of her brother- in-law, Monsieur de Montrichard, where Rey had been a servant. 

"Your domestic ran straight forward, instead of taking to the woods, bythe side of the rood: this is very unlikely. " How does his worship know?Can any judge, however enlightened, tell the exact road that a man willtake, who has just missed a coup of murder, and is pursued by a man whois firing pistols at him? And has a judge a right to instruct a jury inthis way, as to what they shall, or shall not, believe?

"You have to run after an active man, who has the start of you: to jumpout of a carriage; to take your pistols; and THEN, your hammer. THIS ISIMPOSSIBLE. " By heavens! does it not make a man's blood boil, to readsuch blundering, blood-seeking sophistry? This man, when it suits him, shows that Rey would be slow in his motions; and when it suits him, declares that Rey ought to be quick; declares ex cathedrâ, what pace Reyshould go, and what direction he should take; shows, in a breath, thathe must have run faster than Peytel; and then, that he could not runfast, because the cloak clogged him; settles how he is to be dressedwhen he commits a murder, and what money he is to have in his pocket;gives these impossible suppositions to the jury, and tells them that theprevious statements are impossible; and, finally, informs them of theprecise manner in which Rey must have stood holding his horse-cloth inone hand, his whip and pistol in the other, when he made the supposedattempt at murder. Now, what is the size of a horse-cloth? Is it as bigas a pocket-handkerchief? Is there no possibility that it might hangover one shoulder; that the whip should be held under that very arm?Did you never see a carter so carry it, his hands in his pockets all thewhile? Is it monstrous, abhorrent to nature, that a man should fire apistol from under a cloak on a rainy day?--that he should, after firingthe shot, be frightened, and run; run straight before him, with thecloak on his shoulders, and the weapon in his hand? Peytel's story ispossible, and very possible; it is almost probable. Allow that Reyhad the cloth on, and you allow that he must have been clogged in hismotions; that Peytel may have come up with him--felled him with a blowof the hammer; the doctors say that he would have so fallen by oneblow--he would have fallen on his face, as he was found: the papermight have been thrust into his breast, and tumbled out as he fell. Circumstances far more impossible have occurred ere this; and men havebeen hanged for them, who were as innocent of the crime laid to theircharge as the judge on the bench, who convicted them. 

In like manner, Peytel may not have committed the crime charged tohim; and Mr. Judge, with his arguments as to possibilities andimpossibilities, --Mr. Public Prosecutor, with his romantic narrative andinflammatory harangues to the jury, --may have used all these powers tobring to death an innocent man. From the animus with which the case hadbeen conducted from beginning to end, it was easy to see the result. Here it is, in the words of the provincial paper:--

BOURG, 28 October, 1839. 

"The condemned Peytel has just undergone his punishment, which tookplace four days before the anniversary of his crime. The terrible dramaof the bridge of Andert, which cost the life of two persons, has justterminated on the scaffold. Mid-day had just sounded on the clock of thePalais: the same clock tolled midnight when, on the 30th of August, hissentence was pronounced. 

"Since the rejection of his appeal in Cassation, on which his principalhopes were founded, Peytel spoke little of his petition to the King. The notion of transportation was that which he seemed to cherish most. However, he made several inquiries from the gaoler of the prison, whenhe saw him at meal-time, with regard to the place of execution, theusual hour, and other details on the subject. From that period, thewords 'Champ de Foire' (the fair-field, where the execution was to beheld), were frequently used by him in conversation. 

"Yesterday, the idea that the time had arrived seemed to be morestrongly than ever impressed upon him; especially after the departureof the curé, who latterly has been with him every day. The documentsconnected with the trial had arrived in the morning. He was ignorant ofthis circumstance, but sought to discover from his guardians whatthey tried to hide from him; and to find out whether his petition wasrejected, and when he was to die. 

"Yesterday, also, he had written to demand the presence of his counsel, M. Margerand, in order that he might have some conversation with him, and regulate his affairs, before he ----; he did not write down theword, but left in its place a few points of the pen. 

"In the evening, whilst he was at supper, he begged earnestly to beallowed a little wax-candle, to finish what he was writing: otherwise, he said, TIME MIGHT FAIL. This was a new, indirect manner of repeatinghis ordinary question. As light, up to that evening, had been refusedhim, it was thought best to deny him in this, as in former instances;otherwise his suspicions might have been confirmed. The keeper refusedhis demand. 

"This morning, Monday, at nine o'clock, the Greffier of the AssizeCourt, in fulfilment of the painful duty which the law imposes upon him, came to the prison, in company with the curé of Bourg, and announced tothe convict that his petition was rejected, and that he had onlythree hours to live. He received this fatal news with a great deal ofcalmness, and showed himself to be no more affected than he had beenon the trial. 'I am ready; but I wish they had given me four-and-twentyhours' notice, '--were all the words he used. 

"The Greffier now retired, leaving Peytel alone with the curé, who didnot thenceforth quit him. Peytel breakfasted at ten o'clock. 

"At eleven, a piquet of mounted gendarmerie and infantry took theirstation upon the place before the prison, where a great concourse ofpeople had already assembled. An open car was at the door. Beforehe went out Peytel asked the gaoler for a looking-glass; and havingexamined his face for a moment, said, 'At least, the inhabitants ofBourg will see that I have not grown thin. '

"As twelve o'clock sounded, the prison gates opened, an aide appeared, followed by Peytel, leaning on the arm of the curé. Peytel's facewas pale, he had a long black beard, a blue cap on his head, and hisgreat-coat flung over his shoulders, and buttoned at the neck. 

"He looked about at the place and the crowd; he asked if the carriagewould go at a trot; and on being told that that would be difficult, he said he would prefer walking, and asked what the road was. Heimmediately set out, walking at a firm and rapid pace. He was not boundat all. 

"An immense crowd of people encumbered the two streets through which hehad to pass to the place of execution. He cast his eyes alternately uponthem and upon the guillotine, which was before him. 

"Arrived at the foot of the scaffold, Peytel embraced the curé, andbade him adieu. He then embraced him again; perhaps, for his mother andsister. He then mounted the steps rapidly, and gave himself into thehands of the executioner, who removed his coat and cap. He asked how hewas to place himself, and on a sign being made, he flung himself brisklyon the plank, and stretched his neck. In another moment he was no more. 

"The crowd, which had been quite silent, retired, profoundly moved bythe sight it had witnessed. As at all executions, there was a very greatnumber of women present. 

"Under the scaffold there had been, ever since the morning, a coffin. The family had asked for his remains, and had them immediately buried, privately: and thus the unfortunate man's head escaped the modellers inwax, several of whom had arrived to take an impression of it. "

Down goes the axe; the poor wretch's head rolls gasping into the basket;the spectators go home, pondering; and Mr. Executioner and his aideshave, in half an hour, removed all traces of the august sacrifice, andof the altar on which it had been performed. Say, Mr. Briefless, doyou think that any single person, meditating murder, would be deterredtherefrom by beholding this--nay, a thousand more executions? It isnot for moral improvement, as I take it, nor for opportunity to makeappropriate remarks upon the punishment of crime, that people make aholiday of a killing-day, and leave their homes and occupations, toflock and witness the cutting off of a head. Do we crowd to see Mr. Macready in the new tragedy, or Mademoiselle Ellssler in her last newballet and flesh-colored stockinnet pantaloons, out of a pure love ofabstract poetry and beauty; or from a strong notion that we shall beexcited, in different ways, by the actor and the dancer? And so, as wego to have a meal of fictitious terror at the tragedy, of something morequestionable in the ballet, we go for a glut of blood to the execution. The lust is in every man's nature, more or less. Did you ever witness awrestling or boxing match? The first clatter of the kick on the shins, or the first drawing of blood, makes the stranger shudder a little;but soon the blood is his chief enjoyment, and he thirsts for it with afierce delight. It is a fine grim pleasure that we have in seeing aman killed; and I make no doubt that the organs of destructiveness mustbegin to throb and swell as we witness the delightful savage spectacle. 

Three or four years back, when Fieschi and Lacenaire were executed, Imade attempts to see the execution of both; but was disappointed inboth cases. In the first instance, the day for Fieschi's death was, purposely, kept secret; and he was, if I remember rightly, executed atsome remote quarter of the town. But it would have done a philanthropistgood, to witness the scene which we saw on the morning when hisexecution did NOT take place. 

It was carnival time, and the rumor had pretty generally been carriedabroad that he was to die on that morning. A friend, who accompaniedme, came many miles, through the mud and dark, in order to be in at thedeath. We set out before light, floundering through the muddy ChampsElysées; where, besides, were many other persons floundering, and allbent upon the same errand. We passed by the Concert of Musard, then heldin the Rue St. Honoré; and round this, in the wet, a number of coacheswere collected. The ball was just up, and a crowd of people in hideousmasquerade, drunk, tired, dirty, dressed in horrible old frippery, anddaubed with filthy rouge, were trooping out of the place: tipsy womenand men, shrieking, jabbering, gesticulating, as French will do; partiesswaggering, staggering forwards, arm in arm, reeling to and fro acrossthe street, and yelling songs in chorus: hundreds of these were boundfor the show, and we thought ourselves lucky in finding a vehicle to theexecution place, at the Barrière d'Enfer. As we crossed the river andentered the Enfer Street, crowds of students, black workmen, and moredrunken devils from more carnival balls, were filling it; and on thegrand place there were thousands of these assembled, looking out forFiaschi and his cortège. We waited and waited; but alas! no fun forus that morning: no throat-cutting; no august spectacle of satisfiedjustice; and the eager spectators were obliged to return, disappointedof their expected breakfast of blood. It would have been a fine scene, that execution, could it but have taken place in the midst of the madmountebanks and tipsy strumpets who had flocked so far to witness it, wishing to wind up the delights of their carnival by a bonnebouche of amurder. 

The other attempt was equally unfortunate. We arrived too late on theground to be present at the execution of Lacenaire and his co-matein murder, Avril. But as we came to the ground (a gloomy round space, within the barrier--three roads lead to it; and, outside, you seethe wine-shops and restaurateurs' of the barrier looking gay andinviting, )--as we came to the ground, we only found, in the midst of it, a little pool of ice, just partially tinged with red. Two or three idlestreet-boys were dancing and stamping about this pool; and when I askedone of them whether the execution had taken place, he began dancing moremadly than ever, and shrieked out with a loud fantastical, theatricalvoice, "Venez tous Messieurs et Dames, voyez ici le sang du monstreLacenaire, et de son compagnon he traître Avril, " or words to thateffect; and straightway all the other gamins screamed out the words inchorus, and took hands and danced round the little puddle. 

O august Justice, your meal was followed by a pretty appropriate grace!Was any man, who saw the show, deterred, or frightened, or moralizedin any way? He had gratified his appetite for blood, and this wasall. There is something singularly pleasing, both in the amusement ofexecution-seeing, and in the results. You are not only delightfullyexcited at the time, but most pleasingly relaxed afterwards; the mind, which has been wound up painfully until now, becomes quite complacentand easy. There is something agreeable in the misfortunes of others, asthe philosopher has told us. Remark what a good breakfast you eat afteran execution; how pleasant it is to cut jokes after it, and upon it. This merry, pleasant mood is brought on by the blood tonic. 

But, for God's sake, if we are to enjoy this, let us do so inmoderation; and let us, at least, be sure of a man's guilt before wemurder him. To kill him, even with the full assurance that he is guiltyis hazardous enough. Who gave you the right to do so?--you, who cry outagainst suicides, as impious and contrary to Christian law? What use isthere in killing him? You deter no one else from committing the crimeby so doing: you give us, to be sure, half an hour's pleasantentertainment; but it is a great question whether we derive much moralprofit from the sight. If you want to keep a murderer from fartherinroads upon society, are there not plenty of hulks and prisons, Godwot; treadmills, galleys, and houses of correction? Above all, as inthe case of Sebastian Peytel and his family, there have been twodeaths already; was a third death absolutely necessary? and, taking thefallibility of judges and lawyers into his heart, and remembering thethousand instances of unmerited punishment that have been suffered, uponsimilar and stronger evidence before, can any man declare, positivelyand upon his oath, that Peytel was guilty, and that this was not THETHIRD MURDER IN THE FAMILY?

FOUR IMITATIONS OF BÉRANGER

LE ROI D'YVETOT. 

 Il était un roi d'Yvetot, Peu connu dans l'histoire; Se levant tard, se couchant tôt, Dormant fort bien sans gloire, Et couronné par Jeanneton D'un simple bonnet de coton, Dit-on. Oh! oh! oh! oh! ah! ah! ah! ah! Quel bon petit roi c'était là! La, la. 

 Il fesait ses quatre repas Dans son palais de chaume, Et sur un âne, pas à pas, Parcourait son royaume. Joyeux, simple et croyant le bien, Pour toute garde il n'avait rien Qu'un chien. Oh! oh! oh! oh! ah! ah! ah! ah! &c. La, la. 

 Il n'avait de goût onéreux Qu'une soif un peu vive; Mais, en rendant son peuple heureux, Il faux bien qu'un roi vive. Lui-même à table, et sans suppôt, Sur chaque muid levait un pot D'impôt. Oh! oh! oh! oh! ah! ah! ah! ah! &c. La, la. 

 Aux filles de bonnes maisons Comme il avait su plaire, Ses sujets avaient cent raisons De le nommer leur père: D'ailleurs il ne levait de ban Que pour tirer quatre fois l'an Au blanc. Oh! oh! oh! oh! ah! ah! ah! ah! &c. La, la. 

 Il n'agrandit point ses états, Fut un voisin commode, Et, modèle des potentats, Prit le plaisir pour code. Ce n'est que lorsqu'il expira, Que le peuple qui l'enterra Pleura. Oh! oh! oh! oh! ah! ah! ah! ah! &c. La, la. 

 On conserve encor le portrait De ce digne et bon prince; C'est l'enseigne d'un cabaret Fameux dans la province. Les jours de fête, bien souvent, La foule s'écrie en buvant Devant: Oh! oh! oh! oh! ah! ah! ah! ah! Quel bon petit roi c'était là! La, la. 

THE KING OF YVETOT. 

 There was a king of Yvetot, Of whom renown hath little said, Who let all thoughts of glory go, And dawdled half his days a-bed; And every night, as night came round, By Jenny, with a nightcap crowned, Slept very sound: Sing ho, ho, ho! and he, he, he! That's the kind of king for me. 

 And every day it came to pass, That four lusty meals made he; And, step by step, upon an ass, Rode abroad, his realms to see; And wherever he did stir, What think you was his escort, sir? Why, an old cur. Sing ho, ho, ho! &c. 

 If e'er he went into excess, 'Twas from a somewhat lively thirst; But he who would his subjects bless, Odd's fish!--must wet his whistle first; And so from every cask they got, Our king did to himself allot, At least a pot. Sing ho, ho! &c. 

 To all the ladies of the land, A courteous king, and kind, was he; The reason why you'll understand, They named him Pater Patriae. Each year he called his fighting men, And marched a league from home, and then Marched back again. Sing ho, ho! &c. 

 Neither by force nor false pretence, He sought to make his kingdom great, And made (O princes, learn from hence), -- "Live and let live, " his rule of state. 'Twas only when he came to die, That his people who stood by, Were known to cry. Sing ho, ho! &c. 

 The portrait of this best of kings Is extant still, upon a sign That on a village tavern swings, Famed in the country for good wine. The people in their Sunday trim, Filling their glasses to the brim, Look up to him, Singing ha, ha, ha! and he, he, he! That's the sort of king for me. 

THE KING OF BRENTFORD. ANOTHER VERSION. 

 There was a king in Brentford, --of whom no legends tell, But who, without his glory, --could eat and sleep right well. His Polly's cotton nightcap, --it was his crown of state, He slept of evenings early, --and rose of mornings late. 

 All in a fine mud palace, --each day he took four meals, And for a guard of honor, --a dog ran at his heels, Sometimes, to view his kingdoms, --rode forth this monarch good, And then a prancing jackass--he royally bestrode. 

 There were no costly habits--with which this king was curst, Except (and where's the harm on't?)--a somewhat lively thirst; But people must pay taxes, --and kings must have their sport, So out of every gallon--His Grace he took a quart. 

 He pleased the ladies round him, --with manners soft and bland; With reason good, they named him, --the father of his land. Each year his mighty armies--marched forth in gallant show; Their enemies were targets--their bullets they were tow. 

 He vexed no quiet neighbor, --no useless conquest made, But by the laws of pleasure, --his peaceful realm he swayed. And in the years he reigned, --through all this country wide, There was no cause for weeping, --save when the good man died. 

 The faithful men of Brentford, --do still their king deplore, His portrait yet is swinging, --beside an alehouse door. And topers, tender-hearted, --regard his honest phiz, And envy times departed--that knew a reign like his. 

LE GRENIER. 

 Je viens revoir l'asile où ma jeunesse De la misère a subi les leçons. J'avais vingt ans, une folle maîtresse, De francs amis et l'amour des chansons Bravant le monde et les sots et les sages, Sans avenir, riche de mon printemps, Leste et joyeux je montais six étages. Dans un grenier qu'on est bien à vingt ans!

 C'est un grenier, point ne veux qu'on l'ignore. Là fut mon lit, bien chétif et bien dur; Là fut ma table; et je retrouve encore Trois pieds d'un vers charbonnés sur le mur. Apparaissez, plaisirs de mon bel âge, Que d'un coup d'aile a fustigés le temps, Vingt fois pour vous j'ai mis ma montre en gage. Dans un grenier qu'on est bien à vingt ans!

 Lisette ici doit surtout apparaître, Vive, jolie, avec un frais chapeau; Déjà sa main à l'étroite fenêtre Suspend son schal, en guise de rideau. Sa robe aussi va parer ma couchette; Respecte, Amour, ses plis longs et flottans. J'ai su depuis qui payait sa toilette. Dans un grenier qu'on est bien à vingt ans!

 A table un jour, jour de grande richesse, De mes amis les voix brillaient en choeur, Quand jusqu'ici monte un cri d'allégresse: A Marengo Bonaparte est vainqueur. Le canon gronde; un autre chant commence; Nous célébrons tant de faits éclatans. Les rois jamais n'envahiront la France. Dans un grenier qu'on est bien à vingt ans!

 Quittons ce toit où ma raison s'enivre. Oh! qu'ils sont loin ces jours si regrettés! J'échangerais ce qu'il me reste à vivre Contre un des mois qu'ici Dieu m'a comptés, Pour rêver gloire, amour, plaisir, folie, Pour dépenser sa vie en peu d'instans, D'un long espoir pour la voir embellie, Dans un grenier qu'on est bien à vingt ans!

THE GARRET. 

 With pensive eyes the little room I view, Where, in my youth, I weathered it so long; With a wild mistress, a stanch friend or two, And a light heart still breaking into song: Making a mock of life, and all its cares, Rich in the glory of my rising sun, Lightly I vaulted up four pair of stairs, In the brave days when I was twenty-one. 

 Yes; 'tis a garret--let him know't who will-- There was my bed--full hard it was and small. My table there--and I decipher still Half a lame couplet charcoaled on the wall. Ye joys, that Time hath swept with him away, Come to mine eyes, ye dreams of love and fun; For you I pawned my watch how many a day, In the brave days when I was twenty-one. 

 And see my little Jessy, first of all; She comes with pouting lips and sparkling eyes: Behold, how roguishly she pins her shawl Across the narrow casement, curtain-wise; Now by the bed her petticoat glides down, And when did woman look the worse in none? I have heard since who paid for many a gown, In the brave days when I was twenty-one. 

 One jolly evening, when my friends and I Made happy music with our songs and cheers, A shout of triumph mounted up thus high, And distant cannon opened on our ears: We rise, --we join in the triumphant strain, -- Napoleon conquers--Austerlitz is won-- Tyrants shall never tread us down again, In the brave days when I was twenty-one. 

 Let us begone--the place is sad and strange-- How far, far off, these happy times appear; All that I have to live I'd gladly change For one such month as I have wasted here-- To draw long dreams of beauty, love, and power, From founts of hope that never will outrun, And drink all life's quintessence in an hour, Give me the days when I was twenty-one!

ROGER-BONTEMPS. 

 Aux gens atrabilaires Pour exemple donné, En un temps de misères Roger-Bontemps est né. Vivre obscur à sa guise, Narguer les mécontens: Eh gai! c'est la devise Du gros Roger-Bontemps. 

 Du chapeau de son père Coîffé dans le grands jours, De roses ou de lierre Le rajeunir toujours; Mettre un manteau de bure, Vieil ami de vingt ans; Eh gai! c'est la parure Du gros Roger-Bontemps. 

 Posséder dans sa hutte Une table, un vieux lit, Des cartes, une flûte, Un broc que Dieu remplit; Un portrait de maîtresse, Un coffre et rien dedans; Eh gai! c'est la richesse Du gros Roger-Bontemps. 

 Aux enfans de la ville Montrer de petits jeux; Etre fesseur habile De contes graveleux; Ne parler que de danse Et d'almanachs chantans; Eh gai! c'est la science Du gros Roger-Bontemps. 

 Faute de vins d'élite, Sabler ceux du canton: Préférer Marguerite Aux dames du grand ton: De joie et de tendresse Remplir tous ses instans; Eh gai! c'est la sagesse Du gros Roger-Bontemps. 

 Dire au ciel: Je me fie, Mon père, à ta bonté; De ma philosophie Pardonne le gaîté Que ma saison dernière Soit encore un printemps; Eh gai! c'est la prière Du gros Roger-Bontemps. 

 Vous, pauvres pleins d'envie, Vous, riches désireux, Vous, dont le char dévie Après un cours heureux; Vous, qui perdrez peut-être Des titres éclatans, Eh gai! prenez pour maître Le gros Roger Bontemps. 

JOLLY JACK. 

 When fierce political debate Throughout the isle was storming, And Rads attacked the throne and state, And Tories the reforming, To calm the furious rage of each, And right the land demented, Heaven sent us Jolly Jack, to teach The way to be contented. 

 Jack's bed was straw, 'twas warm and soft, His chair, a three-legged stool; His broken jug was emptied oft, Yet, somehow, always full. His mistress' portrait decked the wall, His mirror had a crack; Yet, gay and glad, though this was all His wealth, lived Jolly Jack. 

 To give advice to avarice, Teach pride its mean condition, And preach good sense to dull pretence, Was honest Jack's high mission. Our simple statesman found his rule Of moral in the flagon, And held his philosophic school Beneath the "George and Dragon. "

 When village Solons cursed the Lords, And called the malt-tax sinful, Jack heeded not their angry words, But smiled and drank his skinful. And when men wasted health and life, In search of rank and riches, Jack marked, aloof, the paltry strife, And wore his threadbare breeches. 

 "I enter not the church, " he said, "But I'll not seek to rob it;" So worthy Jack Joe Miller read, While others studied Cobbett. His talk it was of feast and fun; His guide the Almanack; From youth to age thus gayly run The life of Jolly Jack. 

 And when Jack prayed, as oft he would, He humbly thanked his Maker; "I am, " said he, "O Father good! Nor Catholic nor Quaker: Give each his creed, let each proclaim His catalogue of curses; I trust in Thee, and not in them, In Thee, and in Thy mercies!

 "Forgive me if, midst all Thy works, No hint I see of damning; And think there's faith among the Turks, And hope for e'en the Brahmin. Harmless my mind is, and my mirth, And kindly is my laughter: I cannot see the smiling earth, And think there's hell hereafter. "

 Jack died; he left no legacy, Save that his story teaches:-- Content to peevish poverty; Humility to riches. Ye scornful great, ye envious small, Come follow in his track; We all were happier, if we all Would copy JOLLY JACK. 

FRENCH DRAMAS AND MELODRAMAS. 

There are three kinds of drama in France, which you may subdivide asmuch as you please. 

There is the old classical drama, wellnigh dead, and full time too: oldtragedies, in which half a dozen characters appear, and spout sonorousAlexandrines for half a dozen hours. The fair Rachel has been trying torevive this genre, and to untomb Racine; but be not alarmed, Racine willnever come to life again, and cause audiences to weep as of yore. MadameRachel can only galvanize the corpse, not revivify it. Ancient Frenchtragedy, red-heeled, patched, and be-periwigged, lies in the grave;and it is only the ghost of it that we see, which the fair Jewess hasraised. There are classical comedies in verse, too, wherein the knavishvalets, rakish heroes, stolid old guardians, and smart, free-spokenserving-women, discourse in Alexandrines, as loud as the Horaces or theCid. An Englishman will seldom reconcile himself to the roulement ofthe verses, and the painful recurrence of the rhymes; for my part, I hadrather go to Madame Saqui's or see Deburau dancing on a rope: his linesare quite as natural and poetical. 

Then there is the comedy of the day, of which Monsieur Scribe is thefather. Good heavens! with what a number of gay colonels, smart widows, and silly husbands has that gentleman peopled the play-books. How thatunfortunate seventh commandment has been maltreated by him and hisdisciples. You will see four pieces, at the Gymnase, of a night; and sosure as you see them, four husbands shall be wickedly used. When isthis joke to cease? Mon Dieu! Play-writers have handled it for about twothousand years, and the public, like a great baby, must have the talerepeated to it over and over again. 

Finally, there is the Drama, that great monster which has sprung intolife of late years; and which is said, but I don't believe a word of it, to have Shakspeare for a father. If Monsieur Scribe's plays may be saidto be so many ingenious examples how to break one commandment, the drameis a grand and general chaos of them all; nay, several crimes are added, not prohibited in the Decalogue, which was written before dramas were. Of the drama, Victor Hugo and Dumas are the well-known and respectableguardians. Every piece Victor Hugo has written, since "Hernani, " hascontained a monster--a delightful monster, saved by one virtue. There isTriboulet, a foolish monster; Lucrèce Borgia, a maternal monster; MaryTudor, a religious monster; Monsieur Quasimodo, a humpback monster;and others, that might be named, whose monstrosities we are induced topardon--nay, admiringly to witness--because they are agreeably mingledwith some exquisite display of affection. And, as the great Hugo has onemonster to each play, the great Dumas has, ordinarily, half a dozen, to whom murder is nothing; common intrigue, and simple breakage of thebefore-mentioned commandment, nothing; but who live and move in a vast, delightful complication of crime, that cannot be easily conceived inEngland, much less described. 

When I think over the number of crimes that I have seen MademoiselleGeorges, for instance, commit, I am filled with wonder at her greatness, and the greatness of the poets who have conceived these charming horrorsfor her. I have seen her make love to, and murder, her sons, in the"Tour de Nesle. " I have seen her poison a company of no less than ninegentlemen, at Ferrara, with an affectionate son in the number; I haveseen her, as Madame de Brinvilliers, kill off numbers of respectablerelations in the first four acts; and, at the last, be actually burnedat the stake, to which she comes shuddering, ghastly, barefooted, and ina white sheet. Sweet excitement of tender sympathies! Such tragedies arenot so good as a real, downright execution; but, in point of interest, the next thing to it: with what a number of moral emotions do they fillthe breast; with what a hatred for vice, and yet a true pity and respectfor that grain of virtue that is to be found in us all: our bloody, daughter-loving Brinvilliers; our warmhearted, poisonous LucretiaBorgia; above all, what a smart appetite for a cool supper afterwards, at the Café Anglais, when the horrors of the play act as a piquant sauceto the supper!

Or, to speak more seriously, and to come, at last, to the point. Afterhaving seen most of the grand dramas which have been produced at Parisfor the last half-dozen years, and thinking over all that one hasseen, --the fictitious murders, rapes, adulteries, and other crimes, bywhich one has been interested and excited, --a man may take leave to beheartily ashamed of the manner in which he has spent his time; andof the hideous kind of mental intoxication in which he has permittedhimself to indulge. 

Nor are simple society outrages the only sort of crime in which thespectator of Paris plays has permitted himself to indulge; he hasrecreated himself with a deal of blasphemy besides, and has passed manypleasant evenings in beholding religion defiled and ridiculed. 

Allusion has been made, in a former paper, to a fashion that latelyobtained in France, and which went by the name of Catholic reaction; andas, in this happy country, fashion is everything, we have had not merelyCatholic pictures and quasi religious books, but a number of Catholicplays have been produced, very edifying to the frequenters of thetheatres or the Boulevards, who have learned more about religion fromthese performances than they have acquired, no doubt, in the whole oftheir lives before. In the course of a very few years we have seen--"TheWandering Jew;" "Belshazzar's Feast;" "Nebuchadnezzar:" and the"Massacre of the Innocents;" "Joseph and his Brethren;" "The Passage ofthe Red Sea;" and "The Deluge. "

The great Dumas, like Madame Sand before mentioned, has brought avast quantity of religion before the foot-lights. There was his famoustragedy of "Caligula, " which, be it spoken to the shame of the Pariscritics, was coldly received; nay, actually hissed, by them. And why?Because, says Dumas, it contained a great deal too much piety for therogues. The public, he says, was much more religious, and understood himat once. 

"As for the critics, " says he, nobly, "let those who cried out againstthe immorality of Antony and Marguérite de Bourgogne, reproach me forTHE CHASTITY OF MESSALINA. " (This dear creature is the heroine of theplay of "Caligula. ") "It matters little to me. These people have butseen the form of my work: they have walked round the tent, but have notseen the arch which it covered; they have examined the vases and candlesof the altar, but have not opened the tabernacle!

"The public alone has, instinctively, comprehended that there was, beneath this outward sign, an inward and mysterious grace: it followedthe action of the piece in all its serpentine windings; it listened forfour hours, with pious attention (avec recueillement et religion), tothe sound of this rolling river of thoughts, which may have appeared toit new and bold, perhaps, but chaste and grave; and it retired, with itshead on its breast, like a man who had just perceived, in a dream, thesolution of a problem which he has long and vainly sought in his wakinghours. "

You see that not only Saint Sand is an apostle, in her way; but SaintDumas is another. We have people in England who write for bread, likeDumas and Sand, and are paid so much for their line; but they don't setup for prophets. Mrs. Trollope has never declared that her novels areinspired by heaven; Mr. Buckstone has written a great number of farces, and never talked about the altar and the tabernacle. Even Sir EdwardBulwer (who, on a similar occasion, when the critics found fault witha play of his, answered them by a pretty decent declaration of his ownmerits, ) never ventured to say that he had received a divine mission, and was uttering five-act revelations. 

All things considered, the tragedy of "Caligula" is a decent tragedy; asdecent as the decent characters of the hero and heroine can allow itto be; it may be almost said, provokingly decent: but this, it must beremembered, is the characteristic of the modern French school (nay, of the English school too); and if the writer take the character ofa remarkable scoundrel, it is ten to one but he turns out an amiablefellow, in whom we have all the warmest sympathy. "Caligula" is killedat the end of the performance; Messalina is comparatively well-behaved;and the sacred part of the performance, the tabernacle-characters apartfrom the mere "vase" and "candlestick" personages, may be said to bedepicted in the person of a Christian convert, Stella, who has had thegood fortune to be converted by no less a person than Mary Magdalene, when she, Stella, was staying on a visit to her aunt, near Narbonne. 

STELLA (Continuant. ) Voilà Que je vois s'avancer, sans pilote et sansrames, Une barque portant deux hommes et deux femmes, Et, spectacleinouï qui me ravit encor, Tous quatre avaient au front une auréoled'or D'où partaient des rayons de si vive lumière Que je fus obligée àbaisser la paupière; Et, lorsque je rouvris les yeux avec effroi, Lesvoyageurs divins étaient auprès de moi. Un jour de chacun d'eux etdans toute sa gloire Je te raconterai la marveilleuse histoire, Et tul'adoreras, j'espère; en ce moment, Ma mère, il te suffit de savoirseulement Que tous quatre venaient du fond de la Syrie: Un édit lesavait bannis de leur patrie, Et, se faisant bourreaux, des hommesirrités, Sans avirons, sans eau, sans pain et garrotés, Sur une frêlebarque échouée au rivage, Les avaient à la mer poussés dans un orage. Mais à peine l'esquif eut-il touché les flots Qu'au cantique chanté parles saints matelots, L'ouragan replia ses ailes frémissantes, Que la meraplanit ses vagues mugissantes, Et qu'un soleil plus pur, reparaissantaux cieux, Enveloppa l'esquif d'un cercle radieux!. .. 

JUNIA. --Mais c'était un prodige. 

STELLA. -- Un miracle, ma mère! Leurs fers tombèrent seuls, l'eau cessad'être amère, Et deux fois chaque jour le bateau fut couvert D'unemanne pareille à celle du désert: C'est ainsi que, poussés par une maincéleste, Je les vis aborder. 

JUNIA. -- Oh! dis vîte le reste!

STELLA. --A l'aube, trois d'entre eux quittèrent la maison: Marthe pritle chemin qui mène à Tarascon, Lazare et Maximin celui de Massilie, Et celle qui resta. .. . C'ETAIT LA PLUS JOLIE, (how truly French!) Nousfaisant appeler vers le milieu du jour, Demanda si les monts ou les boisd'alentour Cachaient quelque retraite inconnue et profonde, Qui lapût séparer à tout jamais du monde. .. .. Aquila se souvint qu'il avaitpénétré Dans un antre sauvage et de tous ignoré, Grotte creusée auxflancs de ces Alpes sublimes, Ou l'aigle fait son aire au-dessus desabîmes. Il offrit cet asile, et dès le lendemain Tous deux, pour l'yguider, nous étions en chemin. Le soir du second jour nous touchâmes sabase: Là, tombant à genoux dans une sainte extase, Elle pria long-temps, puis vers l'antre inconnu, Dénouant se chaussure, elle marcha pied nu. Nos prières, nos cris restèrent sans réponses: Au milieu des cailloux, des épines, des ronces, Nous la vîmes monter, un bâton à la main, Et cen'est qu'arrivée au terme du chemin, Qu'enfin elle tomba sans force etsans haleine. .. . 

JUNIA. --Comment la nommait-on, ma fille?

STELLA. -- Madeleine. 

Walking, says Stella, by the sea-shore, "A bark drew near, that had norsail nor oar; two women and two men the vessel bore: each of that crew, 'twas wondrous to behold, wore round his head a ring of blazing gold;from which such radiance glittered all around, that I was fain to looktowards the ground. And when once more I raised my frightened eyne, before me stood the travellers divine; their rank, the glorious lot thateach befell, at better season, mother, will I tell. Of this anon:the time will come when thou shalt learn to worship as I worship now. Suffice it, that from Syria's land they came; an edict from theircountry banished them. Fierce, angry men had seized upon the four, andlaunched them in that vessel from the shore. They launched these victimson the waters rude; nor rudder gave to steer, nor bread for food. As thedoomed vessel cleaves the stormy main, that pious crew uplifts a sacredstrain; the angry waves are silent as it sings; the storm, awe-stricken, folds its quivering wings. A purer sun appears the heavens to light, andwraps the little bark in radiance bright. 

"JUNIA. --Sure, 'twas a prodigy. 

"STELLA. --A miracle. Spontaneous from their hands the fetters fell. Thesalt sea-wave grew fresh, and, twice a day, manna (like that which onthe desert lay) covered the bark and fed them on their way. Thus, hitherled, at heaven's divine behest, I saw them land--

"JUNIA. --My daughter, tell the rest. 

"STELLA. --Three of the four, our mansion left at dawn. One, Martha, tookthe road to Tarascon; Lazarus and Maximin to Massily; but one remained(the fairest of the three), who asked us, if i' the woods or mountainsnear, there chanced to be some cavern lone and drear; where she mighthide, for ever, from all men. It chanced, my cousin knew of such a den;deep hidden in a mountain's hoary breast, on which the eagle builds hisairy nest. And thither offered he the saint to guide. Next day upon thejourney forth we hied; and came, at the second eve, with weary pace, unto the lonely mountain's rugged base. Here the worn traveller, fallingon her knee, did pray awhile in sacred ecstasy; and, drawing off hersandals from her feet, marched, naked, towards that desolate retreat. Noanswer made she to our cries or groans; but walking midst the pricklesand rude stones, a staff in hand, we saw her upwards toil; nor ever didshe pause, nor rest the while, save at the entry of that savage den. Here, powerless and panting, fell she then. 

"JUNIA. --What was her name, my daughter?

"STELLA. MAGDALEN. "

Here the translator must pause--having no inclination to enter "thetabernacle, " in company with such a spotless high-priest as MonsieurDumas. 

Something "tabernacular" may be found in Dumas's famous piece of "DonJuan de Marana. " The poet has laid the scene of his play in a vastnumber of places: in heaven (where we have the Virgin Mary and littleangels, in blue, swinging censers before her!)--on earth, under theearth, and in a place still lower, but not mentionable to ears polite;and the plot, as it appears from a dialogue between a good and a badangel, with which the play commences, turns upon a contest between thesetwo worthies for the possession of the soul of a member of the family ofMarana. 

"Don Juan de Marana" not only resembles his namesake, celebrated byMozart and Molière, in his peculiar successes among the ladies, butpossesses further qualities which render his character eminentlyfitting for stage representation: he unites the virtues of Lovelaceand Lacenaire; he blasphemes upon all occasions; he murders, at theslightest provocation, and without the most trifling remorse; heovercomes ladies of rigid virtue, ladies of easy virtue, and ladies ofno virtue at all; and the poet, inspired by the contemplation of sucha character, has depicted his hero's adventures and conversation withwonderful feeling and truth. 

The first act of the play contains a half-dozen of murders andintrigues; which would have sufficed humbler genius than M. Dumas's, forthe completion of, at least, half a dozen tragedies. In the second actour hero flogs his elder brother, and runs away with his sister-in-law;in the third, he fights a duel with a rival, and kills him: whereuponthe mistress of his victim takes poison, and dies, in great agonies, onthe stage. In the fourth act, Don Juan, having entered a church for thepurpose of carrying off a nun, with whom he is in love, is seized by thestatue of one of the ladies whom he has previously victimized, and madeto behold the ghosts of all those unfortunate persons whose deaths hehas caused. 

This is a most edifying spectacle. The ghosts rise solemnly, each in awhite sheet, preceded by a wax-candle; and, having declared their namesand qualities, call, in chorus, for vengeance upon Don Juan, as thus:--

DON SANDOVAL loquitur. 

"I am Don Sandoval d'Ojedo. I played against Don Juan my fortune, thetomb of my fathers, and the heart of my mistress;--I lost all: I playedagainst him my life, and I lost it. Vengeance against the murderer!vengeance!"--(The candle goes out. )

THE CANDLE GOES OUT, and an angel descends--a flaming sword in hishand--and asks: "Is there no voice in favor of Don Juan?" when lo!Don Juan's father (like one of those ingenious toys called"Jack-in-the-box, ") jumps up from his coffin, and demands grace for hisson. 

When Martha the nun returns, having prepared all things for herelopement, she finds Don Juan fainting upon the ground. --"I am no longeryour husband, " says he, upon coming to himself; "I am no longer DonJuan; I am Brother Juan the Trappist. Sister Martha, recollect that youmust die!"

This was a most cruel blow upon Sister Martha, who is no less a personthan an angel, an angel in disguise--the good spirit of the house ofMarana, who has gone to the length of losing her wings and forfeitingher place in heaven, in order to keep company with Don Juan on earth, and, if possible, to convert him. Already, in her angelic character, shehad exhorted him to repentance, but in vain; for, while she stood at oneelbow, pouring not merely hints, but long sermons, into his ear, at theother elbow stood a bad spirit, grinning and sneering at all her piouscounsels, and obtaining by far the greater share of the Don's attention. 

In spite, however, of the utter contempt with which Don Juan treatsher, --in spite of his dissolute courses, which must shock hervirtue, --and his impolite neglect, which must wound her vanity, the poorcreature (who, from having been accustomed to better company, might havebeen presumed to have had better taste), the unfortunate angel feels acertain inclination for the Don, and actually flies up to heaven to askpermission to remain with him on earth. 

And when the curtain draws up, to the sound of harps, and discoverswhite-robed angels walking in the clouds, we find the angel of Maranaupon her knees, uttering the following address:--

LE BON ANGE. 

 Vierge, à qui le calice à la liqueur amère Fut si souvent offert, Mère, que l'on nomma la douloureuse mère, Tant vous avez souffert!

 Vous, dont les yeux divins sur la terre des hommes Ont versé plus de pleurs Que vos pieds n'ont depuis, dans le ciel où nous sommes, Fait éclore de fleurs. 

 Vase d'élection, étoile matinale, Miroir de pureté, Vous qui priez pour nous, d'une voix virginale, La suprême bonté;

 A mon tour, aujourd'hui, bienheureuse Marie, Je tombe à vos genoux; Daignez donc m'écouter, car c'est vous que je prie, Vous qui priez pour nous. 

 Which may be thus interpreted:--

 O Virgin blest! by whom the bitter draught So often has been quaffed, That, for thy sorrow, thou art named by us The Mother Dolorous!

 Thou, from whose eyes have fallen more tears of woe, Upon the earth below, Than 'neath thy footsteps, in this heaven of ours, Have risen flowers!

 O beaming morning star! O chosen vase! O mirror of all grace! Who, with thy virgin voice, dost ever pray Man's sins away;

 Bend down thine ear, and list, O blessed saint! Unto my sad complaint; Mother! to thee I kneel, on thee I call, Who hearest all. 

She proceeds to request that she may be allowed to return to earth, andfollow the fortunes of Don Juan; and, as there is one difficulty, or, touse her own words, --

 Mais, comme vous savez qu'aux voûtes éternelles, Malgré moi, tend mon vol, Soufflez sur mon étoile et détachez mes ailes, Pour m'enchainer au sol;

her request is granted, her star is BLOWN OUT (O poetic allusion!) andshe descends to earth to love, and to go mad, and to die for Don Juan!

The reader will require no further explanation, in order to be satisfiedas to the moral of this play: but is it not a very bitter satire uponthe country, which calls itself the politest nation in the world, thatthe incidents, the indecency, the coarse blasphemy, and the vulgarwit of this piece, should find admirers among the public, and procurereputation for the author? Could not the Government, which hasre-established, in a manner, the theatrical censorship, and forbids oralters plays which touch on politics, exert the same guardianshipover public morals? The honest English reader, who has a faith in hisclergyman, and is a regular attendant at Sunday worship, will not be alittle surprised at the march of intellect among our neighbors acrossthe Channel, and at the kind of consideration in which they hold theirreligion. Here is a man who seizes upon saints and angels, merely to putsentiments in their mouths which might suit a nymph of Drury Lane. Heshows heaven, in order that he may carry debauch into it; and availshimself of the most sacred and sublime parts of our creed as a vehiclefor a scene-painter's skill, or an occasion for a handsome actress towear a new dress. 

M. Dumas's piece of "Kean" is not quite so sublime; it was brought outby the author as a satire upon the French critics, who, to their creditbe it spoken, had generally attacked him, and was intended by him, andreceived by the public, as a faithful portraiture of English manners. As such, it merits special observation and praise. In the first act youfind a Countess and an Ambassadress, whose conversation relates purelyto the great actor. All the ladies in London are in love with him, especially the two present. As for the Ambassadress, she prefers himto her husband (a matter of course in all French plays), and to a moreseducing person still--no less a person than the Prince of Wales!who presently waits on the ladies, and joins in their conversationconcerning Kean. "This man, " says his Royal Highness, "is the very pinkof fashion. Brummell is nobody when compared to him; and I myself onlyan insignificant private gentleman. He has a reputation among ladies, for which I sigh in vain; and spends an income twice as great as mine. "This admirable historic touch at once paints the actor and the Prince;the estimation in which the one was held, and the modest economy forwhich the other was so notorious. 

Then we have Kean, at a place called the Trou de Charbon, the "CoalHole, " where, to the edification of the public, he engages in a fistycombat with a notorious boxer. This scene was received by the audiencewith loud exclamations of delight, and commented on, by the journals, as a faultless picture of English manners. "The Coal Hole" being on thebanks of the Thames, a nobleman--LORD MELBOURN!--has chosen the tavernas a rendezvous for a gang of pirates, who are to have their ship inwaiting, in order to carry off a young lady with whom his lordship isenamored. It need not be said that Kean arrives at the nick of time, saves the innocent Meess Anna, and exposes the infamy of the Peer. Aviolent tirade against noblemen ensues, and Lord Melbourn slinks away, disappointed, to meditate revenge. Kean's triumphs continue throughall the acts: the Ambassadress falls madly in love with him; the Princebecomes furious at his ill success, and the Ambassador dreadfullyjealous. They pursue Kean to his dressing-room at the theatre; where, unluckily, the Ambassadress herself has taken refuge. Dreadful quarrelsensue; the tragedian grows suddenly mad upon the stage, and so cruellyinsults the Prince of Wales that his Royal Highness determines to sendHIM TO BOTANY BAY. His sentence, however, is commuted to banishment toNew York; whither, of course, Miss Anna accompanies him; rewarding him, previously, with her hand and twenty thousand a year!

This wonderful performance was gravely received and admired by thepeople of Paris: the piece was considered to be decidedly moral, becausethe popular candidate was made to triumph throughout, and to triumph inthe most virtuous manner; for, according to the French code of morals, success among women is, at once, the proof and the reward of virtue. 

The sacred personage introduced in Dumas's play behind a cloud, figuresbodily in the piece of the Massacre of the Innocents, represented atParis last year. She appears under a different name, but the costumeis exactly that of Carlo Dolce's Madonna; and an ingenious fable isarranged, the interest of which hangs upon the grand Massacre of theInnocents, perpetrated in the fifth act. One of the chief charactersis Jean le Précurseur, who threatens woe to Herod and his race, and isbeheaded by orders of that sovereign. 

In the Festin de Balthazar, we are similarly introduced to Daniel, andthe first scene is laid by the waters of Babylon, where a certain numberof captive Jews are seated in melancholy postures; a Babylonian officerenters, exclaiming, "Chantez nous quelques chansons de Jerusalem, " andthe request is refused in the language of the Psalm. Belshazzar's Feastis given in a grand tableau, after Martin's picture. That painter, inlike manner, furnished scenes for the Deluge. Vast numbers of schoolboysand children are brought to see these pieces; the lower classes delightin them. The famous Juif Errant, at the theatre of the Porte St. Martin, was the first of the kind, and its prodigious success, nodoubt, occasioned the number of imitations which the other theatres haveproduced. 

The taste of such exhibitions, of course, every English person willquestion; but we must remember the manners of the people among whom theyare popular; and, if I may be allowed to hazard such an opinion, thereis in every one of these Boulevard mysteries, a kind of rude moral. TheBoulevard writers don't pretend to "tabernacles" and divine gifts, likeMadame Sand and Dumas before mentioned. If they take a story from thesacred books, they garble it without mercy, and take sad liberties withthe text; but they do not deal in descriptions of the agreeablywicked, or ask pity and admiration for tender-hearted criminals andphilanthropic murderers, as their betters do. Vice is vice on theBoulevard; and it is fine to hear the audience, as a tyrant king roarsout cruel sentences of death, or a bereaved mother pleads for the lifeof her child, making their remarks on the circumstances of the scene. "Ah, le gredin!" growls an indignant countryman. "Quel monstre!" says agrisette, in a fury. You see very fat old men crying like babies, and, like babies, sucking enormous sticks of barley-sugar. Actors andaudience enter warmly into the illusion of the piece; and so especiallyare the former affected, that at Franconi's, where the battles of theEmpire are represented, there is as regular gradation in the ranks ofthe mimic army as in the real imperial legions. After a man has served, with credit, for a certain number of years in the line, he is promotedto be an officer--an acting officer. If he conducts himself well, he mayrise to be a Colonel or a General of Division; if ill, he is degraded tothe ranks again; or, worst degradation of all, drafted into a regimentof Cossacks or Austrians. Cossacks is the lowest depth, however; nay, it is said that the men who perform these Cossack parts receive higherwages than the mimic grenadiers and old guard. They will not consentto be beaten every night, even in play; to be pursued in hundreds, by ahandful of French; to fight against their beloved Emperor. Surely thereis fine hearty virtue in this, and pleasant child-like simplicity. 

So that while the drama of Victor Hugo, Dumas, and the enlightenedclasses, is profoundly immoral and absurd, the DRAMA of the commonpeople is absurd, if you will, but good and right-hearted. I have madenotes of one or two of these pieces, which all have good feeling andkindness in them, and which turn, as the reader will see, upon one ortwo favorite points of popular morality. A drama that obtained a vastsuccess at the Porte Saint Martin was "La Duchesse de la Vauballière. "The Duchess is the daughter of a poor farmer, who was carried off in thefirst place, and then married by M. Le Duc de la Vauballière, a terribleroué, the farmer's landlord, and the intimate friend of Philipped'Orléans, the Regent of France. 

Now the Duke, in running away with the lady, intended to dispensealtogether with ceremony, and make of Julie anything but his wife; butGeorges, her father, and one Morisseau, a notary, discovered him inhis dastardly act, and pursued him to the very feet of the Regent, whocompelled the pair to marry and make it up. 

Julie complies; but though she becomes a Duchess, her heart remainsfaithful to her old flame, Adrian, the doctor; and she declares that, beyond the ceremony, no sort of intimacy shall take place between herhusband and herself. 

Then the Duke begins to treat her in the most ungentleman-like manner:he abuses her in every possible way; he introduces improper charactersinto her house; and, finally, becomes so disgusted with her, that hedetermines to make away with her altogether. 

For this purpose, he sends forth into the highways and seizes a doctor, bidding him, on pain of death, to write a poisonous prescription forMadame la Duchesse. She swallows the potion; and O horror! the doctorturns out to be Dr. Adrian; whose woe may be imagined, upon finding thathe has been thus committing murder on his true love!

Let not the reader, however, be alarmed as to the fate of theheroine; no heroine of a tragedy ever yet died in the third act; and, accordingly, the Duchess gets up perfectly well again in the fourth, through the instrumentality of Morisseau, the good lawyer. 

And now it is that vice begins to be really punished. The Duke, who, after killing his wife, thinks it necessary to retreat, and take refugein Spain, is tracked to the borders of that country by the virtuousnotary, and there receives such a lesson as he will never forget to hisdying day. 

Morisseau, in the first instance, produces a deed (signed by hisHoliness the Pope), which annuls the marriage of the Duke de laVauballière; then another deed, by which it is proved that he was notthe eldest son of old La Vauballière, the former Duke; then anotherdeed, by which he shows that old La Vauballière (who seems to have beena disreputable old fellow) was a bigamist, and that, in consequence, the present man, styling himself Duke, is illegitimate; and finally, Morisseau brings forward another document, which proves that the REG'LARDuke is no other than Adrian, the doctor!

Thus it is that love, law, and physic combined, triumph over the horridmachinations of this star-and-gartered libertine. 

"Hermann l'Ivrogne" is another piece of the same order; and though notvery refined, yet possesses considerable merit. As in the case of thecelebrated Captain Smith of Halifax, who "took to drinking ratafia, and thought of poor Miss Bailey, "--a woman and the bottle have been thecause of Hermann's ruin. Deserted by his mistress, who has been seducedfrom him by a base Italian Count, Hermann, a German artist, giveshimself entirely up to liquor and revenge: but when he finds that force, and not infidelity, have been the cause of his mistress's ruin, thereader can fancy the indignant ferocity with which he pursues the infameravisseur. A scene, which is really full of spirit, and excellently wellacted, here ensues! Hermann proposes to the Count, on the eve of theirduel, that the survivor should bind himself to espouse the unhappyMarie; but the Count declares himself to be already married, and thestudent, finding a duel impossible (for his object was to restore, atall events, the honor of Marie), now only thinks of his revenge, and murders the Count. Presently, two parties of men enter Hermann'sapartment: one is a company of students, who bring him the news that hehas obtained the prize of painting; the other the policemen, who carryhim to prison, to suffer the penalty of murder. 

I could mention many more plays in which the popular morality issimiliarly expressed. The seducer, or rascal of the piece, is always anaristocrat, --a wicked count, or licentious marquis, who is brought tocondign punishment just before the fall of the curtain. And too goodreason have the French people had to lay such crimes to the charge ofthe aristocracy, who are expiating now, on the stage, the wrongs whichthey did a hundred years since. The aristocracy is dead now; but thetheatre lives upon traditions: and don't let us be too scornful atsuch simple legends as are handed down by the people from race to race. Vulgar prejudice against the great it may be; but prejudice againstthe great is only a rude expression of sympathy with the poor; long, therefore, may fat épiciers blubber over mimic woes, and honestprolétaires shake their fists, shouting--"Gredin, scélérat, monstre demarquis!" and such republican cries. 

Remark, too, another development of this same popular feeling of dislikeagainst men in power. What a number of plays and legends have we (thewriter has submitted to the public, in the preeeding pages, a couple ofspecimens; one of French, and the other of Polish origin, ) in whichthat great and powerful aristocrat, the Devil, is made to be miserablytricked, humiliated, and disappointed? A play of this class, which, inthe midst of all its absurdities and claptraps, had much of good in it, was called "Le Maudit des Mers. " Le Maudit is a Dutch captain, who, inthe midst of a storm, while his crew were on their knees at prayers, blasphemed and drank punch; but what was his astonishment at beholdingan archangel with a sword all covered with flaming resin, who told himthat as he, in this hour of danger, was too daring, or too wicked, toutter a prayer, he never should cease roaming the seas until he couldfind some being who would pray to heaven for him!

Once only, in a hundred years, was the skipper allowed to land for thispurpose; and this piece runs through four centuries, in as manyacts, describing the agonies and unavailing attempts of the miserableDutchman. Willing to go any lengths in order to obtain his prayer, he, in the second act, betrays a Virgin of the Sun to a follower of Pizarro:and, in the third, assassinates the heroic William of Nassau; but everbefore the dropping of the curtain, the angel and sword maketheir appearance--"Treachery, " says the spirit, "cannot lessen thypunishment;--crime will not obtain thy release--A la mer! à la mer!" andthe poor devil returns to the ocean, to be lonely, and tempest-tossed, and sea-sick for a hundred years more. 

But his woes are destined to end with the fourth act. Having landed inAmerica, where the peasants on the sea-shore, all dressed in Italiancostumes, are celebrating, in a quadrille, the victories of Washington, he is there lucky enough to find a young girl to pray for him. Then thecurse is removed, the punishment is over, and a celestial vessel, withangels on the decks and "sweet little cherubs" fluttering about theshrouds and the poop, appear to receive him. 

This piece was acted at Franconi's, where, for once, an angel-ship wasintroduced in place of the usual horsemanship. 

One must not forget to mention here, how the English nation is satirizedby our neighbors; who have some droll traditions regarding us. In one ofthe little Christmas pieces produced at the Palais Royal (satires uponthe follies of the past twelve months, on which all the small theatresexhaust their wit), the celebrated flight of Messrs. Green and MonckMason was parodied, and created a good deal of laughter at the expenseof John Bull. Two English noblemen, Milor Cricri and Milor Hanneton, appear as descending from a balloon, and one of them communicates to thepublic the philosophic observations which were made in the course of hisaërial tour. 

"On leaving Vauxhall, " says his lordship, "we drank a bottle of Madeira, as a health to the friends from whom we parted, and crunched a fewbiscuits to support nature during the hours before lunch. In two hourswe arrived at Canterbury, enveloped in clouds: lunch, bottled porter:at Dover, carried several miles in a tide of air, bitter cold, cherry-brandy; crossed over the Channel safely, and thought with pity ofthe poor people who were sickening in the steamboats below: morebottled porter: over Calais, dinner, roast-beef of Old England;near Dunkirk, --night falling, lunar rainbow, brandy-and-water; nightconfoundedly thick; supper, nightcap of rum-punch, and so to bed. Thesun broke beautifully through the morning mist, as we boiled the kettleand took our breakfast over Cologne. In a few more hours we concludedthis memorable voyage, and landed safely at Weilburg, in good time fordinner. "

The joke here is smart enough; but our honest neighbors make manybetter, when they are quite unconscious of the fun. Let us leave plays, for a moment, for poetry, and take an instance of French criticism, concerning England, from the works of a famous French exquisite and manof letters. The hero of the poem addresses his mistress--

 Londres, tu le sais trop, en fait de capitale, Est-ce que fit le ciel de plus froid et plus pâle, C'est la ville du gaz, des marins, du brouillard; On s'y couche à minuit, et l'on s'y lève tard; Ses raouts tant vantés ne sont qu'une boxade, Sur ses grands quais jamais échelle ou sérénade, Mais de volumineux bourgeois pris de porter Qui passent sans lever le front à Westminster; Et n'était sa forêt de mâts perçant la brume, Sa tour dont à minuit le vieil oeil s'allume, Et tes deux yeux, Zerline, illuminés bien plus, Je dirais que, ma foi, des romans que j'ai lus, Il n'en est pas un seul, plus lourd, plus léthargique Que cette nation qu'on nomme Britannique!

The writer of the above lines (which let any man who can translate) isMonsieur Roger de Beauvoir, a gentleman who actually lived many monthsin England, as an attaché to the embassy of M. De Polignac. He placesthe heroine of his tale in a petit réduit près le Strand, "with a greenand fresh jalousie, and a large blind, let down all day; you fanciedyou were entering a bath of Asia, as soon as you had passed the perfumedthreshold of this charming retreat!" He next places her--

 Dans un square écarté, morne et couverte de givre, Où se cache un hôtel, aux vieux lions de cuivre;

and the hero of the tale, a young French poet, who is in London, istruly unhappy in that village. 

 Arthur dessèche et meurt. Dans la ville de Sterne, Rien qu'en voyant le peuple il a le mal de mer Il n'aime ni le Parc, gai comme une citerne, Ni le tir au pigeon, ni le soda-water. 

 Liston ne le fait plus sourciller! Il rumine Sur les trottoirs du Strand, droit comme un échiquier, Contre le peuple anglais, les nègres, la vermine, Et les mille cokneys du peuple boutiquier, Contre tous les bas-bleus, contre les pâtissières, Les parieurs d'Epsom, le gin, le parlement, La quaterly, le roi, la pluie et les libraires, Dont il ne touche plus, hélas! un sou d'argent!

 Et chaque gentleman lui dit: L'heureux poète!

"L'heureux poète" indeed! I question if a poet in this wide world is sohappy as M. De Beauvoir, or has made such wonderful discoveries. "Thebath of Asia, with green jalousies, " in which the lady dwells; "the oldhotel, with copper lions, in a lonely square;"--were ever such thingsheard of, or imagined, but by a Frenchman? The sailors, the negroes, thevermin, whom he meets in the street, --how great and happy are all thesediscoveries! Liston no longer makes the happy poet frown; and "gin, ""cokneys, " and the "quaterly" have not the least effect upon him!And this gentleman has lived many months amongst us; admires WilliamsShakspear, the "grave et vieux prophète, " as he calls him, and never, for an instant, doubts that his description contains anything absurd!

I don't know whether the great Dumas has passed any time in England; buthis plays show a similar intimate knowledge of our habits. Thus in Kean, the stage-manager is made to come forward and address the pit, witha speech beginning, "My Lords and Gentlemen;" and a company ofEnglishwomen are introduced (at the memorable "Coal hole"), and they allwear PINAFORES; as if the British female were in the invariable habit ofwearing this outer garment, or slobbering her gown without it. There wasanother celebrated piece, enacted some years since, upon the subjectof Queen Caroline, where our late adored sovereign, George, was made toplay a most despicable part; and where Signor Bergami fought a duel withLord Londonderry. In the last act of this play, the House of Lords wasrepresented, and Sir Brougham made an eloquent speech in the Queen'sfavor. Presently the shouts of the mob were heard without; from shoutingthey proceeded to pelting; and pasteboard-brickbats and cabbages cameflying among the representatives of our hereditary legislature. At thisunpleasant juncture, SIR HARDINGE, the Secretary-at-War, rises and callsin the military; the act ends in a general row, and the ignominious fallof Lord Liverpool, laid low by a brickbat from the mob!

The description of these scenes is, of course, quite incapable ofconveying any notion of their general effect. You must have thesolemnity of the actors, as they Meess and Milor one another, and theperfect gravity and good faith with which the audience listen to them. Our stage Frenchman is the old Marquis, with sword, and pigtail, and spangled court coat. The Englishman of the French theatre has, invariably, a red wig, and almost always leather gaiters, and a longwhite upper Benjamin: he remains as he was represented in the oldcaricatures after the peace, when Vernet designed him. 

And to conclude this catalogue of blunders: in the famous piece ofthe "Naufrage de la Meduse, " the first act is laid on board an Englishship-of-war, all the officers of which appeared in light blue orgreen coats (the lamp-light prevented our distinguishing the coloraccurately), and TOP-BOOTS!

Let us not attempt to deaden the force of this tremendous blow by anymore remarks. The force of blundering can go no further. Would a Chineseplaywright or painter have stranger notions about the barbarians thanour neighbors, who are separated from us but by two hours of salt water?

MEDITATIONS AT VERSAILLES. 

The palace of Versailles has been turned into a bricabrac shop of lateyears, and its time-honored walls have been covered with many thousandyards of the worst pictures that eye ever looked on. I don't know howmany leagues of battles and sieges the unhappy visitor is now obligedto march through, amidst a crowd of chattering Paris cockneys, who arenever tired of looking at the glories of the Grenadier Français; tothe chronicling of whose deeds this old palace of the old kings is nowaltogether devoted. A whizzing, screaming steam-engine rushes hitherfrom Paris, bringing shoals of badauds in its wake. The old coucousare all gone, and their place knows them no longer. Smooth asphaltumterraces, tawdry lamps, and great hideous Egyptian obelisks, havefrightened them away from the pleasant station they used to occupy underthe trees of the Champs Elysées; and though the old coucous were justthe most uncomfortable vehicles that human ingenuity ever constructed, one can't help looking back to the days of their existence with a tenderregret; for there was pleasure then in the little trip of three leagues:and who ever had pleasure in a railway journey? Does any reader of thisventure to say that, on such a voyage, he ever dared to be pleasant?Do the most hardened stokers joke with one another? I don't believe it. Look into every single car of the train, and you will see that everysingle face is solemn. They take their seats gravely, and are silent, for the most part, during the journey; they dare not look out of window, for fear of being blinded by the smoke that comes whizzing by, or oflosing their heads in one of the windows of the down train; they ridefor miles in utter damp and darkness: through awful pipes of brick, thathave been run pitilessly through the bowels of gentle mother earth, thecast-iron Frankenstein of an engine gallops on, puffing and screaming. Does any man pretend to say that he ENJOYS the journey?--he might aswell say that he enjoyed having his hair cut; he bears it, but that isall: he will not allow the world to laugh at him, for any exhibitionof slavish fear; and pretends, therefore, to be at his ease; but he ISafraid: nay, ought to be, under the circumstances. I am sure Hannibal orNapoleon would, were they locked suddenly into a car; there kept closeprisoners for a certain number of hours, and whirled along at this dizzypace. You can't stop, if you would:--you may die, but you can't stop;the engine may explode upon the road, and up you go along with it; or, may be a bolter and take a fancy to go down a hill, or into a river:all this you must bear, for the privilege of travelling twenty miles anhour. 

This little journey, then, from Paris to Versailles, that used to beso merry of old, has lost its pleasures since the disappearance of thecoucous; and I would as lief have for companions the statues that latelytook a coach from the bridge opposite the Chamber of Deputies, andstepped out in the court of Versailles, as the most part of the peoplewho now travel on the railroad. The stone figures are not a whit morecold and silent than these persons, who used to be, in the old coucous, so talkative and merry. The prattling grisette and her swain from theEcole de Droit; the huge Alsacian carabineer, grimly smiling under hissandy moustaches and glittering brass helmet; the jolly nurse, inred calico, who had been to Paris to show mamma her darling Lolo, orAuguste;--what merry companions used one to find squeezed into thecrazy old vehicles that formerly performed the journey! But the age ofhorseflesh is gone--that of engineers, economists, and calculators hassucceeded; and the pleasure of coucoudom is extinguished for ever. Whynot mourn over it, as Mr. Burke did over his cheap defence of nationsand unbought grace of life; that age of chivalry, which he lamented, àpropos of a trip to Versailles, some half a century back?

Without stopping to discuss (as might be done, in rather a neat andsuccessful manner) whether the age of chivalry was cheap or dear, andwhether, in the time of the unbought grace of life, there was not morebribery, robbery, villainy, tyranny, and corruption, than exists even inour own happy days, --let us make a few moral and historical remarksupon the town of Versailles; where, between railroad and coucou, we aresurely arrived by this time. 

The town is, certainly, the most moral of towns. You pass from therailroad station through a long, lonely suburb, with dusty rows ofstunted trees on either side, and some few miserable beggars, idle boys, and ragged old women under them. Behind the trees are gaunt, mouldyhouses; palaces once, where (in the days of the unbought grace of life)the cheap defence of nations gambled, ogled, swindled, intrigued; whencehigh-born duchesses used to issue, in old times, to act as chambermaidsto lovely Du Barri; and mighty princes rolled away, in gilt caroches, hot for the honor of lighting his Majesty to bed, or of presenting hisstockings when he rose, or of holding his napkin when he dined. Tailors, chandlers, tinmen, wretched hucksters, and greengrocers, are nowestablished in the mansions of the old peers; small children are yellingat the doors, with mouths besmeared with bread and treacle; damp ragsare hanging out of every one of the windows, steaming in the sun;oyster-shells, cabbage-stalks, broken crockery, old papers, lie baskingin the same cheerful light. A solitary water-cart goes jingling down thewide pavement, and spirts a feeble refreshment over the dusty, thirstystones. 

After pacing for some time through such dismal streets, we deboucheron the grande place; and before us lies the palace dedicated to all theglories of France. In the midst of the great lonely plain this famousresidence of King Louis looks low and mean. --Honored pile! Time was whentall musketeers and gilded body-guards allowed none to pass the gate. Fifty years ago, ten thousand drunken women from Paris broke through thecharm; and now a tattered commissioner will conduct you through it for apenny, and lead you up to the sacred entrance of the palace. 

We will not examine all the glories of France, as here they areportrayed in pictures and marble: catalogues are written about thesemiles of canvas, representing all the revolutionary battles, from Valmyto Waterloo, --all the triumphs of Louis XIV. --all the mistresses of hissuccessor--and all the great men who have flourished since the Frenchempire began. Military heroes are most of these--fierce constables inshining steel, marshals in voluminous wigs, and brave grenadiers inbearskin caps; some dozens of whom gained crowns, principalities, dukedoms; some hundreds, plunder and epaulets; some millions, death inAfrican sands, or in icy Russian plains, under the guidance, and for thegood, of that arch-hero, Napoleon. By far the greater part of "all theglories" of France (as of most other countries) is made up of thesemilitary men: and a fine satire it is on the cowardice of mankind, thatthey pay such an extraordinary homage to the virtue called courage;filling their history-books with tales about it, and nothing but it. 

Let them disguise the place, however, as they will, and plaster thewalls with bad pictures as they please, it will be hard to think of anyfamily but one, as one traverses this vast gloomy edifice. It has notbeen humbled to the ground, as a certain palace of Babel was of yore;but it is a monument of fallen pride, not less awful, and would affordmatter for a whole library of sermons. The cheap defence of nationsexpended a thousand millions in the erection of this magnificentdwelling-place. Armies were employed, in the intervals of their warlikelabors, to level hills, or pile them up; to turn rivers, and to buildaqueducts, and transplant woods, and construct smooth terraces, and longcanals. A vast garden grew up in a wilderness, and a stupendous palacein the garden, and a stately city round the palace: the city was peopledwith parasites, who daily came to do worship before the creator of thesewonders--the Great King. "Dieu seul est grand, " said courtly Massillon;but next to him, as the prelate thought, was certainly Louis, his vicegerent here upon earth--God's lieutenant-governor of theworld, --before whom courtiers used to fall on their knees, and shadetheir eyes, as if the light of his countenance, like the sun, whichshone supreme in heaven, the type of him, was too dazzling to bear. 

Did ever the sun shine upon such a king before, in such a palace?--or, rather, did such a king ever shine upon the sun? When Majesty came outof his chamber, in the midst of his superhuman splendors, viz, in hiscinnamon-colored coat, embroidered with diamonds; his pyramid of a wig, *his red-heeled shoes, that lifted him four inches from the ground, "thathe scarcely seemed to touch;" when he came out, blazing upon the dukesand duchesses that waited his rising, --what could the latter do, butcover their eyes, and wink, and tremble? And did he not himself believe, as he stood there, on his high heels, under his ambrosial periwig, thatthere was something in him more than man--something above Fate?

 * It is fine to think that, in the days of his youth, his Majesty Louis XIV. Used to POWDER HIS WIG WITH GOLD-DUST. 

This, doubtless, was he fain to believe; and if, on very fine days, fromhis terrace before his gloomy palace of Saint Germains, he could catcha glimpse, in the distance, of a certain white spire of St. Denis, where his race lay buried, he would say to his courtiers, with a sublimecondescension, "Gentlemen, you must remember that I, too, am mortal. "Surely the lords in waiting could hardly think him serious, and vowedthat his Majesty always loved a joke. However, mortal or not, the sightof that sharp spire wounded his Majesty's eyes; and is said, by thelegend, to have caused the building of the palace of Babel-Versailles. 

In the year 1681, then, the great king, with bag and baggage, --withguards, cooks, chamberlains, mistresses, Jesuits, gentlemen, lackeys, Fénélons, Molières, Lauzuns, Bossuets, Villars, Villeroys, Louvois, Colberts, --transported himself to his new palace: the old one being leftfor James of England and Jaquette his wife, when their time should come. And when the time did come, and James sought his brother's kingdom, it is on record that Louis hastened to receive and console him, andpromised to restore, incontinently, those islands from which thecanaille had turned him. Between brothers such a gift was a trifle; andthe courtiers said to one another reverently:* "The Lord said untomy Lord, Sit thou on my right hand, until I make thine enemies thyfootstool. " There was no blasphemy in the speech: on the contrary, itwas gravely said, by a faithful believing man, who thought it no shameto the latter, to compare his Majesty with God Almighty. Indeed, thebooks of the time will give one a strong idea how general was thisLouis-worship. I have just been looking at one, which was written byan honest Jesuit and Protégé of Père la Chaise, who dedicates a book ofmedals to the august Infants of France, which does, indeed, go almostas far in print. He calls our famous monarch "Louis le Grand:--1, l'invincible; 2, le sage; 3, le conquérant; 4, la merveille de sonsiècle; 5, la terreur de ses ennemis; 6, l'amour de ses peuples; 7, l'arbitre de la paix et de la guerre; 8, l'admiration de l'univers; 9, et digne d'en être le maître; 10, le modèle d'un héros achevé; 11, dignede l'immortalité, et de la vénération de tous les siècles!"

 * I think it is in the amusing "Memoirs of Madame de Crequi" (a forgery, but a work remarkable for its learning and accuracy) that the above anecdote is related. 

A pretty Jesuit declaration, truly, and a good honest judgment upon thegreat king! In thirty years more--1. The invincible had been beaten avast number of times. 2. The sage was the puppet of an artful old woman, who was the puppet of more artful priests. 3. The conqueror had quiteforgotten his early knack of conquering. 5. The terror of his enemies(for 4, the marvel of his age, we pretermit, it being a loose term, thatmay apply to any person or thing) was now terrified by his enemies inturn. 6. The love of his people was as heartily detested by them asscarcely any other monarch, not even his great-grandson, has been, before or since. 7. The arbiter of peace and war was fain to send superbambassadors to kick their heels in Dutch shopkeepers' ante-chambers. 8, is again a general term. 9. The man fit to be master of the universe, was scarcely master of his own kingdom. 10. The finished hero was allbut finished, in a very commonplace and vulgar way. And 11. The manworthy of immortality was just at the point of death, without a friendto soothe or deplore him; only withered old Maintenon to utter prayersat his bedside, and croaking Jesuits to prepare him, * with heaven knowswhat wretched tricks and mummeries, for his appearance in that GreatRepublic that lies on the other side of the grave. In the course of hisfourscore splendid miserable years, he never had but one friend, and heruined and left her. Poor La Vallière, what a sad tale is yours! "Lookat this Galerie des Glaces, " cries Monsieur Vatout, staggering withsurprise at the appearance of the room, two hundred and forty-two feetlong, and forty high. "Here it was that Louis displayed all the grandeurof royalty; and such was the splendor of his court, and the luxury ofthe times, that this immense room could hardly contain the crowd ofcourtiers that pressed around the monarch. " Wonderful! wonderful! Eightthousand four hundred and sixty square feet of courtiers! Give a squareyard to each, and you have a matter of three thousand of them. Think ofthree thousand courtiers per day, and all the chopping and changingof them for near forty years: some of them dying, some getting theirwishes, and retiring to their provinces to enjoy their plunder; somedisgraced, and going home to pine away out of the light of the sun;**new ones perpetually arriving, --pushing, squeezing, for their place, in the crowded Galerie des Glaces. A quarter of a million of noblecountenances, at the very least, must those glasses have reflected. Rouge, diamonds, ribbons, patches, upon the faces of smiling ladies:towering periwigs, sleek shaven crowns, tufted moustaches, scars, andgrizzled whiskers, worn by ministers, priests, dandies, and grim oldcommanders. --So many faces, O ye gods! and every one of them lies! Somany tongues, vowing devotion and respectful love to the great king inhis six-inch wig; and only poor La Vallière's amongst them all which hada word of truth for the dull ears of Louis of Bourbon. 

 * They made a Jesuit of him on his death-bed. 

 ** Saint Simon's account of Lauzun, in disgrace, is admirably facetious and pathetic; Lauzun's regrets are as monstrous as those of Raleigh when deprived of the sight of his adorable Queen and Mistress, Elizabeth. 

"Quand j'aurai de la peine aux Carmélites, " says unhappy Louise, aboutto retire from these magnificent courtiers and their grand Galeriedes Glaces, "je me souviendrai de ce que ces gens là m'ont faitsouffrir!"--A troop of Bossuets inveighing against the vanities ofcourts could not preach such an affecting sermon. What years of anguishand wrong had the poor thing suffered, before these sad words came fromher gentle lips! How these courtiers have bowed and flattered, kissedthe ground on which she trod, fought to have the honor of riding by hercarriage, written sonnets, and called her goddess; who, in the days ofher prosperity, was kind and beneficent, gentle and compassionate toall; then (on a certain day, when it is whispered that his Majestyhath cast the eyes of his gracious affection upon another) behold threethousand courtiers are at the feet of the new divinity. --"O divineAthenais! what blockheads have we been to worship any but you. --THAT agoddess?--a pretty goddess forsooth;--a witch, rather, who, for a while, kept our gracious monarch blind! Look at her: the woman limps as shewalks; and, by sacred Venus, her mouth stretches almost to her diamondear-rings?"* The same tale may be told of many more deserted mistresses;and fair Athenais de Montespan was to hear it of herself one day. Meantime, while La Vallière's heart is breaking, the model of a finishedhero is yawning; as, on such paltry occasions, a finished hero should. LET her heart break: a plague upon her tears and repentance; what righthas she to repent? Away with her to her convent. She goes, and thefinished hero never sheds a tear. What a noble pitch of stoicism to havereached! Our Louis was so great, that the little woes of mean peoplewere beyond him: his friends died, his mistresses left him; hischildren, one by one, were cut off before his eyes, and great Louisis not moved in the slightest degree! As how, indeed, should a god bemoved?

 * A pair of diamond ear-rings, given by the King to La Vallière, caused much scandal; and some lampoons are extant, which impugn the taste of Louis XIV. For loving a lady with such an enormous mouth. 

I have often liked to think about this strange character in the world, who moved in it, bearing about a full belief in his own infallibility;teaching his generals the art of war, his ministers the science ofgovernment, his wits taste, his courtiers dress; ordering deserts tobecome gardens, turning villages into palaces at a breath; and indeedthe august figure of the man, as he towers upon his throne, cannot failto inspire one with respect and awe:--how grand those flowing locksappear; how awful that sceptre; how magnificent those flowing robes! InLouis, surely, if in any one, the majesty of kinghood is represented. 

But a king is not every inch a king, for all the poet may say; and it iscurious to see how much precise majesty there is in that majestic figureof Ludovicus Rex. In the Frontispiece, we have endeavored to make theexact calculation. The idea of kingly dignity is equally strong in thetwo outer figures; and you see, at once, that majesty is made out of thewig, the high-heeled shoes, and cloak, all fleurs-de-lis bespangled. Asfor the little lean, shrivelled, paunchy old man, of five feet two, in ajacket and breeches, there is no majesty in HIM at any rate; and yet hehas just stepped out of that very suit of clothes. Put the wig and shoeson him, and he is six feet high;--the other fripperies, and he standsbefore you majestic, imperial, and heroic! Thus do barbers and cobblersmake the gods that we worship: for do we not all worship him? Yes;though we all know him to be stupid, heartless, short, of doubtfulpersonal courage, worship and admire him we must; and have set up, inour hearts, a grand image of him, endowed with wit, magnanimity, valor, and enormous heroical stature. 

And what magnanimous acts are attributed to him! or, rather, howdifferently do we view the actions of heroes and common men, and findthat the same thing shall be a wonderful virtue in the former, which, in the latter, is only an ordinary act of duty. Look at yonder window ofthe king's chamber;--one morning a royal cane was seen whirling out ofit, and plumped among the courtiers and guard of honor below. King Louishad absolutely, and with his own hand, flung his own cane out ofthe window, "because, " said he, "I won't demean myself by striking agentleman!" O miracle of magnanimity! Lauzun was not caned, because hebesought majesty to keep his promise, --only imprisoned for ten years inPignerol, along with banished Fouquet;--and a pretty story is Fouquet'stoo. 

Out of the window the king's august head was one day thrust, when oldCondé was painfully toiling up the steps of the court below. "Don'thurry yourself, my cousin, " cries magnanimity, "one who has to carryso many laurels cannot walk fast. " At which all the courtiers, lackeys, mistresses, chamberlains, Jesuits, and scullions, clasp their hands andburst into tears. Men are affected by the tale to this very day. Fora century and three-quarters, have not all the books that speak ofVersailles, or Louis Quatorze, told the story?--"Don't hurryyourself, my cousin!" O admirable king and Christian! what a pitch ofcondescension is here, that the greatest king of all the world should gofor to say anything so kind, and really tell a tottering old gentleman, worn out with gout, age, and wounds, not to walk too fast!

What a proper fund of slavishness is there in the composition ofmankind, that histories like these should be found to interest and awethem. Till the world's end, most likely, this story will have its placein the history-books; and unborn generations will read it, and tenderlybe moved by it. I am sure that Magnanimity went to bed that night, pleased and happy, intimately convinced that he had done an action ofsublime virtue, and had easy slumbers and sweet dreams, --especially ifhe had taken a light supper, and not too vehemently attacked his en casde nuit. 

That famous adventure, in which the en cas de nuit was brought intouse, for the sake of one Poquelin alias Molière;--how often has it beendescribed and admired? This Poquelin, though king's valet-de-chambre, was by profession a vagrant; and as such, looked coldly on by the greatlords of the palace, who refused to eat with him. Majesty hearingof this, ordered his en cas de nuit to be placed on the table, andpositively cut off a wing with his own knife and fork for Poquelin'suse. O thrice happy Jean Baptiste! The king has actually sat down withhim cheek by jowl, had the liver-wing of a fowl, and given Molièrethe gizzard; put his imperial legs under the same mahogany (sub iisdemtrabibus). A man, after such an honor, can look for little else in thisworld: he has tasted the utmost conceivable earthly happiness, and hasnothing to do now but to fold his arms, look up to heaven, and sing"Nunc dimittis" and die. 

Do not let us abuse poor old Louis on account of this monstrous pride;but only lay it to the charge of the fools who believed and worshippedit. If, honest man, he believed himself to be almost a god, it was onlybecause thousands of people had told him so--people only half liars, too; who did, in the depths of their slavish respect, admire the manalmost as much as they said they did. If, when he appeared in hisfive-hundred-million coat, as he is said to have done, before theSiamese ambassadors, the courtiers began to shade their eyes and longfor parasols, as if this Bourbonic sun was too hot for them; indeed, itis no wonder that he should believe that there was something dazzlingabout his person: he had half a million of eager testimonies to thisidea. Who was to tell him the truth?--Only in the last years of his lifedid trembling courtiers dare whisper to him, after much circumlocution, that a certain battle had been fought at a place called Blenheim, andthat Eugene and Marlborough had stopped his long career of triumphs. 

"On n'est plus heureux à notre âge, " says the old man, to one of his oldgenerals, welcoming Tallard after his defeat; and he rewards himwith honors, as if he had come from a victory. There is, if you will, something magnanimous in this welcome to his conquered general, thisstout protest against Fate. Disaster succeeds disaster; armies afterarmies march out to meet fiery Eugene and that dogged, fatal Englishman, and disappear in the smoke of the enemies' cannon. Even at Versaillesyou may almost hear it roaring at last; but when courtiers, who haveforgotten their god, now talk of quitting this grand temple of his, oldLouis plucks up heart and will never hear of surrender. All the goldand silver at Versailles he melts, to find bread for his armies: allthe jewels on his five-hundred-million coat he pawns resolutely; and, bidding Villars go and make the last struggle but one, promises, if hisgeneral is defeated, to place himself at the head of his nobles, anddie King of France. Indeed, after a man, for sixty years, has beenperforming the part of a hero, some of the real heroic stuff must haveentered into his composition, whether he would or not. When the greatElliston was enacting the part of King George the Fourth, in the play of"The Coronation, " at Drury Lane, the galleries applauded very loudlyhis suavity and majestic demeanor, at which Elliston, inflamed by thepopular loyalty (and by some fermented liquor in which, it is said, hewas in the habit of indulging), burst into tears, and spreading out hisarms, exclaimed: "Bless ye, bless ye, my people!" Don't let us laugh athis Ellistonian majesty, nor at the people who clapped hands and yelled"bravo!" in praise of him. The tipsy old manager did really feel thathe was a hero at that moment; and the people, wild with delight andattachment for a magnificent coat and breeches, surely were utteringthe true sentiments of loyalty: which consists in reverencing these andother articles of costume. In this fifth act, then, of his long royaldrama, old Louis performed his part excellently; and when the curtaindrops upon him, he lies, dressed majestically, in a becoming kinglyattitude, as a king should. 

The king his successor has not left, at Versailles, half so muchoccasion for moralizing; perhaps the neighboring Parc aux Cerfswould afford better illustrations of his reign. The life of his greatgrandsire, the Grand Llama of France, seems to have frightened Louisthe well-beloved; who understood that loneliness is one of the necessaryconditions of divinity, and being of a jovial, companionable turn, aspired not beyond manhood. Only in the matter of ladies did hesurpass his predecessor, as Solomon did David. War he eschewed, as hisgrandfather bade him; and his simple taste found little in this world toenjoy beyond the mulling of chocolate and the frying of pancakes. Look, here is the room called Laboratoire du Roi, where, with his own hands, he made his mistress's breakfast:--here is the little door throughwhich, from her apartments in the upper story, the chaste Du Barri camestealing down to the arms of the weary, feeble, gloomy old man. But ofwomen he was tired long since, and even pancake-frying had palledupon him. What had he to do, after forty years of reign;--after havingexhausted everything? Every pleasure that Dubois could invent for hishot youth, or cunning Lebel could minister to his old age, was flat andstale; used up to the very dregs: every shilling in the national pursehad been squeezed out, by Pompadour and Du Barri and such brilliantministers of state. He had found out the vanity of pleasure, as hisancestor had discovered the vanity of glory: indeed it was high timethat he should die. And die he did; and round his tomb, as round that ofhis grandfather before him, the starving people sang a dreadful chorusof curses, which were the only epitaphs for good or for evil that wereraised to his memory. 

As for the courtiers--the knights and nobles, the unbought grace oflife--they, of course, forgot him in one minute after his death, asthe way is. When the king dies, the officer appointed opens his chamberwindow, and calling out into the court below, Le Roi est mort, breaks his cane, takes another and waves it, exclaiming, vive le Roi!Straightway all the loyal nobles begin yelling vive le Roi! and theofficer goes round solemnly and sets yonder great clock in the Courde Marbre to the hour of the king's death. This old Louis had solemnlyordained; but the Versailles clock was only set twice: there was noshouting of Vive le Roi when the successor of Louis XV. Mounted toheaven to join his sainted family. 

Strange stories of the deaths of kings have always been very recreatingand profitable to us: what a fine one is that of the death of Louis XV. , as Madame Campan tells it. One night the gracious monarch came back illfrom Trianon; the disease turned out to be the small-pox; so violentthat ten people of those who had to enter his chamber caught theinfection and died. The whole court flies from him; only poor old fatMesdames the King's daughters persist in remaining at his bedside, andpraying for his soul's welfare. 

On the 10th May, 1774, the whole court had assembled at the château; theoeil de Boeuf was full. The Dauphin had determined to depart as soon asthe king had breathed his last. And it was agreed by the people ofthe stables, with those who watched in the king's room, that a lightedcandle should be placed in a window, and should be extinguished assoon as he had ceased to live. The candle was put out. At that signal, guards, pages, and squires mounted on horseback, and everything wasmade ready for departure. The Dauphin was with the Dauphiness, waitingtogether for the news of the king's demise. AN IMMENSE NOISE, AS IF OFTHUNDER, WAS HEARD IN THE NEXT ROOM; it was the crowd of courtiers, whowere deserting the dead king's apartment, in order to pay their courtto the new power of Louis XVI. Madame de Noailles entered, and was thefirst to salute the queen by her title of Queen of France, and beggedtheir Majesties to quit their apartments, to receive the princesand great lords of the court desirous to pay their homage to the newsovereigns. Leaning on her husband's arm, a handkerchief to her eyes, in the most touching attitude, Marie Antoinette received these firstvisits. On quitting the chamber where the dead king lay, the Duc deVillequier bade M. Anderville, first surgeon of the king, to open andembalm the body: it would have been certain death to the surgeon. "I amready, sir, " said he; "but whilst I am operating, you must hold the headof the corpse: your charge demands it. " The Duke went away withouta word, and the body was neither opened nor embalmed. A few humbledomestics and poor workmen watched by the remains, and performed thelast offices to their master. The surgeons ordered spirits of wine to bepoured into the coffin. 

They huddled the king's body into a post-chaise; and in this deplorableequipage, with an escort of about forty men, Louis the well-beloved wascarried, in the dead of night, from Versailles to St. Denis, and thenthrown into the tomb of the kings of France!

If any man is curious, and can get permission, he may mount to the roofof the palace, and see where Louis XVI. Used royally to amuse himself, by gazing upon the doings of all the townspeople below with a telescope. Behold that balcony, where, one morning, he, his queen, and the littleDauphin stood, with Cromwell Grandison Lafayette by their side, whokissed her Majesty's hand, and protected her; and then, lovinglysurrounded by his people, the king got into a coach and came to Paris:nor did his Majesty ride much in coaches after that. 

There is a portrait of the king, in the upper galleries, clothed in redand gold, riding a fat horse, brandishing a sword, on which the word"Justice" is inscribed, and looking remarkably stupid and uncomfortable. You see that the horse will throw him at the very first fling; and asfor the sword, it never was made for such hands as his, which weregood at holding a corkscrew or a carving-knife, but not clever at themanagement of weapons of war. Let those pity him who will: call himsaint and martyr if you please; but a martyr to what principle was he?Did he frankly support either party in his kingdom, or cheat and tamperwith both? He might have escaped; but he must have his supper: and sohis family was butchered and his kingdom lost, and he had his bottle ofBurgundy in comfort at Varennes. A single charge upon the fatal 10thof August, and the monarchy might have been his once more; but he isso tender-hearted, that he lets his friends be murdered before his eyesalmost: or, at least, when he has turned his back upon his duty andhis kingdom, and has skulked for safety into the reporters' box, at theNational Assembly. There were hundreds of brave men who died that day, and were martyrs, if you will; poor neglected tenth-rate courtiers, forthe most part, who had forgotten old slights and disappointments, andleft their places of safety to come and die, if need were, sharing inthe supreme hour of the monarchy. Monarchy was a great deal too humaneto fight along with these, and so left them to the pikes of Santerre andthe mercy of the men of the Sections. But we are wandering a good tenmiles from Versailles, and from the deeds which Louis XVI. Performedthere. 

He is said to have been such a smart journeyman blacksmith, that hemight, if Fate had not perversely placed a crown on his head, haveearned a couple of louis every week by the making of locks and keys. Those who will may see the workshop where he employed many useful hours:Madame Elizabeth was at prayers meanwhile; the queen was making pleasantparties with her ladies. Monsieur the Count d'Artois was learningto dance on the tight-rope; and Monsieur de Provence was cultivatingl'eloquence du billet and studying his favorite Horace. It is said thateach member of the august family succeeded remarkably well in his or herpursuits; big Monsieur's little notes are still cited. At a minuetor syllabub, poor Antoinette was unrivalled; and Charles, on thetight-rope, was so graceful and so gentil, that Madame Saqui might envyhim. The time only was out of joint. O cursed spite, that ever suchharmless creatures as these were bidden to right it!

A walk to the little Trianon is both pleasing and moral: no doubt thereader has seen the pretty fantastical gardens which environ it; thegroves and temples; the streams and caverns (whither, as the guide tellsyou, during the heat of summer, it was the custom of Marie Antoinetteto retire, with her favorite, Madame de Lamballe): the lake and Swissvillage are pretty little toys, moreover; and the cicerone of the placedoes not fail to point out the different cottages which surroundthe piece of water, and tell the names of the royal masqueraders whoinhabited each. In the long cottage, close upon the lake, dwelt theSeigneur du Village, no less a personage than Louis XV. ; Louis XVI. , the Dauphin, was the Bailli; near his cottage is that of Monseigneur theCount d'Artois, who was the Miller; opposite lived the Prince de Condé, who enacted the part of Gamekeeper (or, indeed, any other rôle, for itdoes not signify much); near him was the Prince de Rohan, who was theAumônier; and yonder is the pretty little dairy, which was under thecharge of the fair Marie Antoinette herself. 

I forget whether Monsieur the fat Count of Provence took any share ofthis royal masquerading; but look at the names of the other six actorsof the comedy, and it will be hard to find any person for whom Fatehad such dreadful visitations in store. Fancy the party, in the days oftheir prosperity, here gathered at Trianon, and seated under the tallpoplars by the lake, discoursing familiarly together: suppose of asudden some conjuring Cagliostro of the time is introduced among them, and foretells to them the woes that are about to come. "You, Monsieurl'Aumônier, the descendant of a long line of princes, the passionateadmirer of that fair queen who sits by your side, shall be the cause ofher ruin and your own, * and shall die in disgrace and exile. You, sonof the Condés, shall live long enough to see your royal race overthrown, and shall die by the hands of a hangman. ** You, oldest son of SaintLouis, shall perish by the executioner's axe; that beautiful head, OAntoinette, the same ruthless blade shall sever. " "They shall kill mefirst, " says Lamballe, at the queen's side. "Yes, truly, " replies thesoothsayer, "for Fate prescribes ruin for your mistress and all who loveher. "*** "And, " cries Monsieur d'Artois, "do I not love my sister, too?I pray you not to omit me in your prophecies. "

 * In the diamond-necklace affair. 

 ** He was found hanging in his own bedroom. 

 *** Among the many lovers that rumor gave to the queen, poor Ferscu is the most remarkable. He seems to have entertained for her a high and perfectly pure devotion. He was the chief agent in the luckless escape to Varennes; was lurking in Paris during the time of her captivity; and was concerned in the many fruitless plots that were made for her rescue. Ferscu lived to be an old man, but died a dreadful and violent death. He was dragged from his carriage by the mob, in Stockholm, and murdered by them. 

To whom Monsieur Cagliostro says, scornfully, "You may look forwardto fifty years of life, after most of these are laid in the grave. Youshall be a king, but not die one; and shall leave the crown only; notthe worthless head that shall wear it. Thrice shall you go into exile:you shall fly from the people, first, who would have no more of youand your race; and you shall return home over half a million of humancorpses, that have been made for the sake of you, and of a tyrant asgreat as the greatest of your family. Again driven away, your bitterestenemy shall bring you back. But the strong limbs of France are not tobe chained by such a paltry yoke as you can put on her: you shall be atyrant, but in will only; and shall have a sceptre, but to see it robbedfrom your hand. "

"And pray, Sir Conjurer, who shall be the robber?" asked Monsieur theCount d'Artois. 

This I cannot say, for here my dream ended. The fact is, I had fallenasleep on one of the stone benches in the Avenue de Paris, and at thisinstant was awakened by a whirling of carriages and a great clatteringof national guards, lancers and outriders, in red. His MAJESTY LOUISPHILIPPE was going to pay a visit to the palace; which contains severalpictures of his own glorious actions, and which has been dedicated, byhim, to all the glories of France.