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LXXIV. + + + + + SCOTLAND SINCE THE UNION.[1] + + +Notwithstanding all that has been said regarding the strict impartiality +required from an historian, we are of opinion that the theory, however +proper and plausible, can hardly be reduced to practice by any writer +whilst treating of affairs in which he must feel a national or political +interest. If facts alone were to be dealt with, it might, at first +sight, appear no very difficult task to present an accurate and orderly +array of these. But no one who has had occasion to investigate minutely +contemporary records, for the purpose of arriving, if possible, at a +clear and distinct understanding of the details of any one particular +transaction, can have failed to remark the startling discrepancies and +gross contradictions which meet him at every turn. There is, indeed, a +common skeleton or framework, but the clay which is cast around it, and +moulded into form, differs in shape according to the peculiar instincts +of the artist. Even diarists, who might be supposed to be impartial, as +labouring solely for their own gratification, are by no means to be +implicitly received in regard to what they set down. The many tongues of +rumour begin to babble contrariety almost as soon as a deed is acted. +You cannot be certain that the event of yesterday is narrated to you one +whit more faithfully than that which occurred a hundred years ago. All +men have their prepossessions and tendencies towards belief—what they +wish they accept without investigation; and discard with as little +ceremony all that is obnoxious to their views. Men there are, +undoubtedly, at all times, who cannot be termed partisans, seeing that +they have no leaning to one side or other of a dispute; but theirs is +the impartiality of indifference, not of conscientiousness. And as it +rarely happens that a man thinks it worth his while to preserve a record +of events in which he does not feel a vivid interest, history receives +very little assistance from the contributions of cold-blooded +spectators. Take any event of moderate remoteness; and, if it be of such +a nature as to excite party antagonism, you will find, almost +invariably, that the real evidence is resoluble into two parts—one of +assertion and one of contradiction. For example, even a circumstance so +publicly notorious as a political execution, shall be related by two +eyewitnesses in a totally different manner. One of them, whose opinions +are precisely identical with those of the victim, describes his bearing +and demeanour at the scaffold as heroic, and claims for him the sympathy +of the populace—the other, who regards him as a criminal of the deepest +dye, charges him with cowardly pusillanimity, and declares that he +departed from this life amidst the execrations of the mob. As to what +took place before the execution, when the prisoner was necessarily +secluded from the eyes of both witnesses, that must ever remain a +mystery. The friend portrays him as a Christian martyr, surrounded by +fiends in human shape, whose delight was to insult his misfortunes—the +enemy would have you look upon him as a poltroon, whose fear of death +was so abject as to overcome all his other faculties. So difficult is +it, even at the source, to acquire accurate information as to the +complexion of the facts upon which subsequent historians must found. + +Passing from facts to motives, there is of course much greater +discrepancy. The grand outlines of history cannot be violently +distorted, though the accessories constantly are. Certain landmarks +remain, like mountains, unchangeable in their form, though the +portraying artist may invest them either with sunshine or with storm. +But in dealing with the characters of public men, historians are rarely +liberal, almost never impartial. They judge the man, not only by his +cause, but by their estimate of his cause. If the tendencies of the +writer are puritanical, he will see no merit in the devotion, loyalty, +and courted sufferings of the cavalier; nay, he will often insinuate +that he was actuated by baser motives. On the other hand, the writer who +detests the violence and condemns the principles of the Parliamentarian +faction, is too apt to include, in his general censure, men of +unblemished life and irreproachable private character. And the +temptation to exaggerate becomes all the greater, because exaggeration +has already been practised on the other side. + +Mr Burton, in his praiseworthy endeavours to elucidate the history of +Scotland from the Revolution of 1688, down to the suppression of the +Jacobite cause in 1746, has exhibited, throughout his work, very little +of the spirit of the partisan. In this respect he is entitled to much +credit—the more so perhaps, as, had he chosen to adopt the other course, +he might have pleaded the example of a brilliant living authority, who +is rather to be regarded as a fashioner than as a truthful exponent of +history. His subject, too, is a difficult one, and such as few men +living could approach without exhibiting a decided bias on one side or +on the other. In Scotland, religious and political zeal run constantly +into extremes, so that zealotry perhaps is the more appropriate term. +There was no considerable neutral party in the country, constituted as +it then was, to recall the others to reason, or to temper their stern +enthusiasm; and hence arose that series of conflicts and commotions +which, for more than a century, convulsed the kingdom. Even now, men are +not agreed as to the points on which their ancestors disputed. They have +inherited, concerning the events of the past, a political faith which +they will not surrender; and the old leaven is seen to affect the +consistency of modern character. From this sort of party spirit Mr +Burton is remarkably free. He has diligently collected facts from every +available source, but he has not allowed himself to be swayed by the +deductions of previous writers. In forming his estimate of public +characters, he has dismissed from his mind, as much perhaps as it was +possible for man to do, the extravagant eulogy of the friend, and the +indiscriminate abuse of the opponent; and it must be acknowledged that +many of his individual portraits impress us with the idea of reality, +though they differ widely in resemblance from the handiwork of other +artists. A book of history, constructed on such principles, though it +may not excite enthusiasm, is undeniably entitled to respect; and as Mr +Burton was eminently qualified, by his previous studies and pursuits, to +undertake this difficult task, we are glad at length to receive from his +hands so valuable a contribution to the history of Scottish affairs +during a period of peculiar importance. + +If it were our intention to enter into a minute consideration of the +subject-matter of the work, we should be inclined to take exception to +some portions of the narrative, as calculated to convey erroneous +impressions as to the social state of the country. We have already said +that, as a political chronicler, Mr Burton may be considered as +remarkably free from prejudice. We ought to add that he is equally fair +in his estimate and analysis of the religious differences which were, in +Scotland, for a long period, the fruitful sources of discord; and that +he has succeeded, better than any former historian, in explaining the +nature of the ecclesiastical difficulties which—arising out of the +intricate question of the connection between Church and State, and the +efforts of the latter to restrain the former from arrogating, as had +been done before, an entire and dogmatic independence of action—have +resulted in repeated secessions from the main Presbyterian body. But we +cannot accord him the same meed of praise for his sketches of the +Highlanders, and his attempted delineation of their character. The +martial events of last century, in which the Highlanders were +principally engaged, have given them, in the eyes of strangers, a +prominence greater than is their due; so that, even at the present day, +Englishmen and foreigners are apt, when reference is made to Scotland, +to form an entirely mistaken view as to the bulk of the population. Many +of the present generation must remember the singular spectacle which +Edinburgh displayed during the visit of George IV., when the tartan +mania was at its height, and the boundary of the clans seemed to have +been extended from the Highland line to the Tweed. There was no harm in +such a demonstration, but it tended to generate and diffuse false ideas; +which, however, may be corrected without unduly lowering the position of +the Highlanders, or denying them that consideration which their valour +undoubtedly deserves. When we remember the materials of which the armies +of Montrose, Dundee, Mar, and Charles Edward were composed, we should be +slow to credit the assertion that the Highlanders have played an +unimportant part in Scottish history; nor can we assent to the sweeping +propositions advanced by writers who, for years past, have been ringing +the changes upon what they are pleased to term the superiority of the +Anglo-Saxon race, over every other sept which has a distinct name, and +especially over such of the inhabitants of the British Isles as are +supposed to be of a different descent. Notwithstanding the vast +intermixture of blood which has taken place, there are undoubtedly +visible, even at the present day, in so small a country as Scotland, +very marked peculiarities of race; but, without descending to the minute +distinctions of the antiquarian, the Scottish nation has, by popular +consent, been long divided into two sections, territorially +separated—the Lowlanders and the Highlanders. Whatever may have been the +origin of the Lowlanders, it is at all events certain that up to the +reign of Malcolm III. there were few or no Saxons in the land. +“Malcolm,” says Hailes, “had passed his youth at the English court; he +married an Anglo-Saxon princess; he afforded an asylum in his dominions +to many English and Norman malcontents. The king appeared in public with +a state and retinue unknown in more rude and simple times, and affected +to give frequent and sumptuous entertainments to his nobles. The natives +of Scotland, tenacious of their ancient customs, viewed with disgust the +introduction of foreign manners, and secretly censured the favour shown +to the English and Norman adventurers, as proceeding from injurious +partiality.” Of many important districts on the coasts, the +Scandinavians acquired and retained possession, and some of the nobility +and gentry are undoubtedly of Norman descent. But the old names, such as +those of Douglas, Graham, Ogilvie, and Keith, are indigenous to the +country, and have no more affinity with the Saxon than they have with +the Hungarian race. Alexander III.—whose accidental death at Kinghorn +led to the nefarious attempts of the English Edward upon the liberties +of a free nation—was the last of a long line of Celtic monarchs, in +whom, however, it is not now the fashion for our petty virtuosos to +believe. That descent, which tradition had preserved from times of the +remotest antiquity—which was referred to as acknowledged fact in the +public acts of the legislature and official documents of the +kingdom—which was not refuted nor denied when advanced as a plea against +the pretended right of suzerainty asserted for the English crown—which +such men as Fletcher and Belhaven cited in the course of their arguments +against an entire incorporating union—is sneered at by modern +antiquaries who have nothing to substitute for the faith which they seek +to overthrow. Indeed, to call such gentlemen antiquaries, is a direct +abuse of language. Scriblerus, we are told, flew into a violent passion +when, by dint of unnecessary scouring, his handmaid demonstrated that +the ancient buckler in which he prided himself, was nothing more than a +rusty pot lid. His successors take the scouring into their own hands, +and deny the possibility of a buckler. Our present business, however, is +not with the pseudo-antiquaries—for whom we entertain a sentiment +bordering very closely upon contempt—we simply wish to show that the +term Saxon, as applied to the Scottish Lowlanders, is altogether +inappropriate; and that, if there is any remarkable degree of energy in +their character which distinguishes them from the Highlanders, it does +not, at all events, arise from a superabundant infusion of the +Anglo-Saxon blood. Energy, indeed, is about the last quality that can be +claimed for the Saxons. They were brave, no doubt, but also intensely +phlegmatic; and, in point of intellect, were not to be compared either +to the Normans or the Danes. They were smally endowed with that +imaginative faculty which is so remarkable a characteristic of the +Celtic race—displayed but little aptitude for proficiency in the +arts—and in all matters of taste and cultivation were exceedingly slow +and unimpressible. + +Owing to the peculiar nature of the country in which they were located, +and to their obstinate adherence to the patriarchal, as opposed to the +feudal system, the Highlanders retained not only their speech but their +original manners and customs, while the Lowlanders were gradually +altering theirs. Thus there came to be, within the same country, and +nominally owing allegiance to the same sovereign, two great sections +which held but little intercourse with each other. Still they were both +Scots, and gathered round the same standard. At Bannockburn and at +Flodden, the Highland chief and clansman fought alongside of the Lowland +knight and man-at-arms; and some of the most powerful heads of tribes +stood high in the roll of the nobility. In this way the Highland +influence, important on account of the warlike material which it +commanded, was always more or less powerfully represented at the court +of Scotland; and although the southern population generally saw little, +and knew less, of their northern neighbours, it is not true that there +existed between them a feeling of strong animosity. Raids and reprisals +there were undoubtedly; but these were common from Caithness to the +border. The strife was not always between the tartan and the broadcloth. +Scotts and Kerrs, Johnstones and Maxwells, fought and harried one +another with as much ferocity as did the Campbells, Macdonalds, and +M‘Leans in their mountain country; nor, if we are to trust contemporary +accounts, is it very clear that the former were decidedly superior in +civilisation to the latter. + +Mr Burton, we think, has not done full justice to the Highland +character. Whatever may be thought of the abstract merits of the cause +which they espoused, the resolute adherence of the Highland clans to the +exiled family, the surprising efforts which they made, and sufferings +which they endured in the last memorable outbreak, must ever command our +sympathy, and excite our warm admiration. Surely Mr Burton might have +been contented with narrating the fact that, notwithstanding the reward +of thirty thousand pounds offered for the apprehension of Prince Charles +Edward, none of the poor Highlanders or outlaws whom he encountered in +his wanderings would stoop to the treachery of betraying him, without +suggesting that the amount “was too large for their imagination +practically to grasp as an available fund”! The same under-current of +depreciation towards the Highlanders is visible in his account of the +atrocious massacre of Glencoe, and even in the half-apologetic manner in +which he palliates, though not excuses, the butcheries of Cumberland +after the battle of Culloden. It is necessary to note these blemishes, +the rather because they occur in a work distinguished, in other +respects, for a high degree of accuracy. + +We have the less inclination to enter upon disputed grounds, because the +points on which we differ from Mr Burton are not of practical moment. +The political intrigues and risings of the last century have not left +any permanent effect upon the social condition of the country; but the +subsequent blending together of the Lowland and Highland population, and +the establishment throughout the country of a uniform administration of +the laws, have been productive of the happiest results. So far the +changes have wrought well within Scotland. But the great event of last +century undoubtedly is the union between England and Scotland, which, +often proposed, and long delayed by mutual jealousy and clashing +interests, has elevated Great Britain to the foremost rank among the +European states. + +That union was carried into effect, not as the result of any sympathy +between the English and Scottish nations—for antipathy rather than +sympathy was felt on both sides—but as an absolute political necessity. +In truth, such an event was an almost inevitable sequel to the union of +the crowns in the person of one monarch, at least if that arrangement +was to be maintained; and it could not be long delayed. There is, in +Lockhart’s Papers, an anecdote which shows how early this was foreseen. +“We are told,” says he, “that when King James was preparing to go and +take possession of his crown of England, his subjects of Scotland came +to take their leave of him, and attend him part of his way thither with +all the state and magnificence imaginable; but amongst these numerous +attendants, decked up in their finest apparel, and mounted on their best +horses, there appeared an old reverend gentleman of Fife, clothed all +over in the deepest mourning; and being asked why, whilst all were +contending to appear most gay on such an occasion, he should be so +singular? ‘Why, truly,’ replied he, ‘there is none of you congratulate +His Majesty’s good fortune more than I do, and here I am to perform my +duty to him. I have often marched this road, and entered England in an +hostile manner, and then I was as well accoutered in clothes, horses, +and arms, as my neighbours, and suitable to the occasion; but since I +look upon this procession as Scotland’s funeral solemnity, I’m come to +perform my last duty to my deceased and beloved country, with a heart +full of grief, and in a dress correspondent thereto.’ This gentleman, it +seems, foresaw that, by the removal of the king’s residence from +Scotland, the subject wanted an occasion of making so immediate an +application to the fountain of justice, and the state of the nation +could not be so well understood by the king; so that the interest and +concerns of every particular person, and likewise of the nation in +general, would be committed to the care of the ministers of state, who, +acting with a view to themselves, could not fail to oppress the people. +He foresaw that England, being a greater kingdom, made (as said Henry +VII. when he gave his daughter to the King of Scotland rather than the +King of France) an acquisition of Scotland, and that the king would be +under a necessity of siding with, and pleasing the most powerful of his +two kingdoms, which were jealous of, and rivals to, one another; and +that, therefore, ever after the union of the crowns, the king would not +mind, at least dare encourage, the trades of Scotland; and that all +state affairs would be managed, laws made and observed, ministers of +state put in and turned out, as suited best with the interest and +designs of England; by which means trade would decay, the people be +oppressed, and the nobility and great men become altogether corrupted.” +These anticipations—though probably confined to a few who were not +dazzled at the prospect of the enormous succession which had opened to +their prince, nor rendered blind to the future by the splendour of the +present triumph—were afterwards thoroughly realised. From the union of +the crowns, Scotland derived no permanent benefit, but the reverse. She +retained, indeed, her parliament; but she had parted with the presence +of her sovereign, who was entirely surrounded and swayed by English +influence. Whenever the interests of the two countries clashed—and that +was not seldom—the weaker was sure to suffer; and thus, instead of +increasing amity, a feeling even bitterer than that which had existed +while the kingdoms were entirely independent, was engendered. No wonder +that there were rebellions and outbreaks; for, in a political point of +view, it would have been better for Scotland to have had no king at all, +than to owe allegiance to one who was necessarily under English +dictation. Hence, instead of advancing like England, steadily in the +path of prosperity, Scotland rapidly decayed—until, to use the words of +an historian of the union—“in process of time, the nobility and gentry +turned, generally speaking, so corrupted by the constant and long tract +of discouragement to all that endeavoured to rectify the abuses and +advance the interests of the country, that the same was entirely +neglected, and religion, justice, and trade made tools of to advance the +private and sinister designs of selfish men; and thus the nation, being +for a hundred years in a manner without a head, and ravaged and gutted +by a parcel of renegadoes, became, from a flourishing, happy people, +extremely miserable.” + +Passages like the foregoing are apt to be regarded as general +complaints, which hardly could be substantiated by reference to special +instances. There is, however, abundance of evidence to show that +Scotland, during the period which intervened between the union of the +crowns and that of the kingdoms, was greatly depressed by the influence +and policy of her more powerful neighbour. Under Cromwell, an entire +freedom of trade had been established between the two countries. His +ordinance was as follows: “That all customs, excise, and other imposts +for goods transported from England to Scotland, and from Scotland to +England, by sea or land, are, and shall be, so far taken off and +discharged, as that all goods for the future shall pass as free, and +with like privileges, and with the like charges and burdens, from +England to Scotland, and from Scotland to England, as goods passing from +port to port, or place to place in England; and that all goods shall and +may pass between Scotland _and any other part_ of this commonwealth or +dominions thereof, with the like privileges, freedom, and charges, as +such goods do or shall pass between England and the said parts or +dominions.” + + “Thus,” remarks Mr Burton, who has entered very fully and distinctly + into the trading and commercial history of the times, “there was no + privilege enjoyed by traders in England which was not communicated to + Scotland; and what was not even attempted in France till the days of + Turgot, and only arose in Germany with the Prussian league—an internal + free trade—was accomplished for Britain in the middle of the + seventeenth century. It was during the few years of prosperity + following this event that many of our commercial cities arose. + Scotland enjoyed peace and abundance, and was making rapid progress in + wealth.” + +After the Restoration, however, the Parliament of England repealed this +wise arrangement, and by enacting that the Scottish people should be +commercially considered as aliens, introduced a fresh element of discord +between the nations. + + “In 1667, commissioners were appointed from the two kingdoms to treat + of union, when this object of a free trade was at once brought + prominently forward on the part of Scotland, and at once repelled on + that of England. It was stated that the colonies had been created at + the expense of Englishmen, and should exist for their advantage only; + that the East India and some other trades were monopolies in the hands + of companies, not even open to the English at large, which it was out + of the question to communicate to any strangers; and, finally, that + the privileges of English shipping were far too precious to the + merchants of England to be extended to Scotsmen.” + +This churlishness on the part of England was the more inexcusable, +because the Scots nation was not left, as of old, free to form an +unfettered and reciprocal alliance with any of the Continental states. +From very early times, the relations between Scotland and France had +been of the most intimate description—it being the policy of the latter +country to support the former, and to retain its friendship, as the most +effective check upon English aggression. The military service of France +had long been open to the enterprising Scottish youth, and at the French +universities the northern men of letters were received with open arms. +But the union of the crowns, if it did not entirely close, at least +greatly limited the extent of this intercourse. If England went to war +with France, all communication with Scotland was necessarily closed. It +might not be Scotland’s quarrel, but the enemies of the King of England +were also to be considered as her foes. Hence she found that, on the one +hand, her old relations were ruthlessly broken off, whilst, on the +other, she was denied all participation in the commercial privileges +which were rapidly augmenting the wealth of her southern neighbour. Hume +tells us that “the commerce and riches of England did never, during any +period, increase so fast as from the Restoration to the Revolution.” At +the accession of the Stuarts to the English throne, the revenue of that +country amounted to about £500,000: in 1688, when James II. left the +throne, it had risen to £2,000,000. Within twenty-eight years the +shipping of England had more than doubled. And, while this extraordinary +degree of prosperity prevailed in the south, Scotland was daily becoming +poorer, not through the fault or indolence of her people, but in +consequence of that anomalous connection, which, while it withheld any +new advantages, deprived her of the opportunity of the old. + +One effort, which well deserves to be remembered in history, was made by +the Scottish nation to rescue themselves from this degrading position. +We allude to the Darien scheme, which, though unfortunate in its issue, +was yet as bold and comprehensive a commercial enterprise as ever was +undertaken. That it failed, was undoubtedly not the fault of the +projectors. The most disgraceful means were used on the part of the +English government, at the instigation of English merchants alarmed for +the continuance of their monopoly, to render it abortive; and even were +the character of William of Orange otherwise without reproach, his +duplicity and treacherous dealing in this transaction would remain as a +dark blot upon his memory. But in thus attempting, disreputably and +unfairly, to crush the rising spirit of Scottish enterprise in a field +hitherto unoccupied, the English advisers of the crown had gone too far. +True, they had succeeded in annihilating nearly all the available +capital of the northern kingdom, which had been embarked in this +gigantic scheme; but they had also roused to a point almost of +ungovernable fury the passion of an insulted people. There is this +peculiarity about the Scots, that they are slow to proclaim a grievance, +but resolute to redress it when proclaimed. The extreme quietude of +demeanour and retinence of speech have sometimes been falsely +interpreted as indicative of a want of spirit; whereas, on the contrary, +no people can be more keenly alive than they are to a sense of injury. +And such was the attitude of the Scottish parliament at the time, and +such the defiant tone of the nation, that William, seriously alarmed for +the safety of his throne, “took up the neglected question of the union, +and earnestly recommended such a measure to the House of Lords, with a +special reference to the history of Darien, and to the adjustment of +trading privileges, as the only means of saving the two nations from +endless and irreconcilable discord.” + +It was not, however, destined that the union of the kingdoms should be +effected under the auspices of the prince whose name in Scotland is +indissolubly connected with the tragedies of Glencoe and Darien. The +accession of Queen Anne, a daughter of the house of Stuart, inspired the +Scottish people with the hope that their grievances might be at last +redressed, or, at all events, be considered with more fairness than they +could expect from her predecessor, who was an utter stranger to their +habits and their laws, and whose title to rule, being questionable in +itself, might naturally lead him to show undue favour to the stronger +nation which had accepted him, at the expense of the weaker and more +remote. It was now perfectly evident to all who were capable of forming +a judgment on the matter, that, unless some decided step were taken for +admitting the Scots to a commercial reciprocity with the English, an +entire separation of the two kingdoms must inevitably take place. With a +large portion of the northern population, the latter alternative would +have been cheerfully accepted. What they complained of was, that they +were uselessly fettered by England—could not take a single step in any +direction without interfering or being interfered with by her—were +denied the privilege, which every free nation should possess, of making +their own alliances; and had not even the right of sending an accredited +ambassador to a foreign court. They had no objection, but the reverse, +to be associated with England on fair terms; but hitherto there appeared +no reason to hope that such terms would ever be granted; and they would +not consent to be degraded from their rank as an independent nation. The +English were, on the other hand, exceedingly adverse to any measure of +conciliation. As in individuals, so in nations, there are always +peculiarities which distinguish one from another; and an overweening +idea of their own superiority is essentially the English characteristic. +A great deal has been and is written in the South about Scottish +nationality—it is, in reality, nothing compared to the feelings which +are entertained by the Englishman. But of this we shall have occasion to +speak presently; in the mean time, it is sufficient to note that no +measure could have been more unpopular in the trading towns and shipping +ports of England, than one which proposed to admit the subjects of the +same crown to an equal participation of privileges. Accordingly, the +first attempt of Queen Anne, made only three days after her accession, +in her opening speech to the Parliament of England, towards a union +between the two countries, proved entirely abortive. It is worth while +quoting from Mr Burton the note—for it is little more—of this +negotiation, for the purpose of showing how determined the English +people were to maintain their old monopoly. Commissioners on either side +were appointed. + + “It became at once apparent that the admission of Scotland to equal + trading privileges was still the great difficulty on the side of + England. The first fundamental proposition—the succession to the + throne, according to the Act of Settlement—was readily acceded to, as + well as the second for giving the United Kingdom one legislature. As + an equivalent fundamental article, the Scottish commissioners demanded + ‘the mutual communication of trade, and other privileges and + advantages.’ To this it was answered, that such a communication was + indeed a necessary result of a complete union; but a specific answer + was deferred, until the Board should discuss ‘the terms and + conditions’ of this communication. There was a deficiency of + attendance of English members to form a quorum, which for some time + interrupted the treaty. Whether this was from their being otherwise + occupied, or from distaste of the business before them, it chafed the + spirits of the Scots. When the two bodies were brought together again, + the trade demands of the Scots were articulately set forth. They + demanded free trade between the two nations; the same regulations and + duties in both countries for importation and exportation; equal + privileges to the shipping and seamen of the two nations; the two + nations not to be burdened with each other’s debts, or, if they were + to be so, an equivalent to be paid to Scotland, as the nation more + unequally so burdened; and, lastly, it was proposed that these demands + should be considered without reference to existing companies in either + kingdom. This was well understood by both parties to have reference to + the Darien affair. + + “On the part of England it was conceded that ‘there be a free trade + between the two kingdoms for the native commodities of the growth, + product, and manufactures of the respective countries.’ But even this + concession, defined so as to exclude external trade, was not to extend + to wool—an article on which English restrictions on exportation, for + the support of home manufacture, had risen to a fanatical excess. A + reference was made to the colonial trade—the main object of the + Scottish demand of an exchange of commercial privileges. It was + postponed, and in a tone indicating that it was too precious, as a + privilege of Englishmen and a disqualification of Scotsmen, to be + conceded.” + +After further communing, without any satisfactory result, the meetings +of the commissioners were adjourned; and there stands on the minutes of +the Scottish Parliament the following brief but exceedingly emphatic +resolution, that the Scottish commission for the treaty is terminate and +extinct, and not to be revived without the consent of the Estates. + +These details are absolutely necessary for a proper understanding of the +circumstances under which the great Act of Union of the two kingdoms was +finally carried. Former historians have given too much prominence to +mere party intrigues and ecclesiastical contests, which, though they +undoubtedly lend a colour to the transactions of the times, are by no +means to be regarded as the sole motives of action. The Presbyterian +form of Church government was by this time finally settled; and there +was no wish, on the part of any large section in the country, to have +that settlement disturbed. The Jacobite or Cavalier party regarded the +proposals for a union with suspicion, as necessarily involving a +surrender of their cherished principle of legitimacy; and it is not +unreasonable to suppose that many of them were rather glad than +otherwise to perceive that the failure of the negotiation was entirely +attributable to the tenacity and superciliousness of the English. Some +of the nobility were conscientiously opposed to an entire incorporating +union as degrading to the country, and injurious to the dignity of their +own order; and they were supported in that view by a large number of the +gentry, who were not sufficiently conversant with commercial affairs to +understand the enormous importance of the development of the national +trade. But in the midst of parties actuated by traditionary feeling and +sectarian motives, there had arisen one, the members of which were fully +alive to the critical state of the country, earnestly impressed with the +necessity of elevating its position, and, withal, determined that its +honour should not suffer in their hands. + +At the head of this independent body of politicians was Fletcher of +Saltoun, a man of high and vigorous intellect, but of a hasty and +impetuous nature. Fletcher was heart and soul a Scotsman, and devoted to +his country. Loyalty to the sovereign was with him a secondary +consideration—indeed he seems always to have entertained the theory that +the kingly office was simply the result of the election of the people. +He had taken an active part in Monmouth’s rebellion, and fought against +King James—William he looked upon as no better than a usurping +tyrant—and he was now ready to transfer the crown, if transferred it +must be, to the head of any claimant, if by so doing he could rescue his +country from what he deemed to be intolerable degradation. Those who +followed Fletcher, and acted along with him in Parliament, did not +subscribe to all these peculiar opinions; but, like him, they regarded +the welfare of the country as their primary object, and were determined, +since England would not come to terms, to achieve once more an entire +and thorough independence. They looked for support, as brave men will +ever do in such emergencies, not to party politicians who might use and +betray them, but to the great body of the people; and they did not +appeal in vain. + +The last Parliament ever held in Scotland, assembled on the 6th of May +1703. Nothing was said about further negotiation for a union, but +something was done significant of the determination of the country to +vindicate its rights. An act was passed restraining the right of the +monarch to make war, on the part of Scotland, without the consent of the +Scottish Parliament. Another, by removing the restrictions on the +importation of French wines, was intended to show that the Scottish +legislature did not consider themselves involved in the English +continental policy. But the most important measure by far was that +termed the “Act for the Security of the Kingdom.” The crown of England +had been formally settled upon the Princess Sophia and her heirs, +failing direct descendants of Queen Anne, and it appears to have been +confidently expected that the Scottish Parliament would adopt the same +order of succession. So little doubt seems to have been entertained on +this point, that no conference on the subject had been held or even +proposed,—a neglect which the Scots were entitled to consider either as +an insult, or as an indirect intimation that they were at perfect +liberty to make their own arrangements. The latter view was that which +they chose to adopt. In their then temper, indeed, it was not to be +expected that they would let slip the opportunity of testifying to +England that, except on equal terms, they would enter into no permanent +alliance, and that, in the event of these not being granted, they were +desirous to dissolve the connection by effecting a separation of the +crowns. The main provisions of the Act, as it was passed, were these:— + + “That on the death of the Queen without issue, the Estates were to + name a successor from the Protestant descendants of the royal line of + Scotland, _but the admitted successor to the crown of England was + excluded from their choice_, unless ‘there be such conditions of + government settled and enacted as may secure the honour and + sovereignty of this crown and kingdom,—the freedom, frequency, and + power of Parliaments,—the religion, freedom, and trade of the nation, + from English or any foreign influence.’ It was made high treason to + administer the coronation oath without instructions from the Estates. + By a further clause, to come in force immediately, the nation was + placed in a state of defence, and the able-bodied population were + ordained to muster under their respective heritors or burgh + magistrates.” + +This act, though not formally ratified until another session, affords +the true key to the history of the great Union effected in 1707, whereby +the people of two kingdoms, long rivals and often at hostility, were +happily blended into one. It is not our intention to enter into any +minute details regarding the progress of that measure, or to depict the +popular feeling with which it was received. It was hardly possible that +an event of this magnitude could take place, without exciting in some +quarters a feeling of regret for altered nationality, and creating in +others a strong misgiving for the future. But, in reality, there was no +national surrender. The treaty was conducted and carried through on +terms of perfect equality. England and Scotland were united into one +kingdom by the name of Great Britain, and their separate ensigns were +appointed to be conjoined. Each division was to retain its own laws, +institutions, and ecclesiastical polity, and one Parliament was to +legislate for the whole. It was upon the latter point that the great +difference of opinion prevailed. Some advocated—and the reasons they +adduced were not without their weight—a federal union, which would at +least have the effect of preserving to Scotland the administration of +its own affairs. They maintained that, under an incorporating union, the +interests of Scotland, in so far as their own domestic and peculiar +institutions were concerned, must necessarily, in the course of time, be +neglected, in as much as the Scottish representatives in the Imperial +Parliament would constitute but a small minority—that by entire +centralisation of government, the wealth of the lesser country would be +gradually attracted to the greater—and that no guarantees could justify +the imprudence of parting with an administrative and controlling power +over such matters as were intended to remain peculiarly distinctive of +the nation. The experience of well-nigh a century and a half has proved +that such apprehensions were not altogether without a foundation, and +that the predicted tendency to absorb and centralise was not the mere +phantom of an inflamed patriotic imagination; nevertheless, we are +clearly of opinion that the objections which were raised to a federal +were of far greater weight than those which could be urged against an +incorporating union. It is impossible, we think, to read the history of +last century without perceiving that a federal union, however skilfully +framed, could hardly have been maintained unbroken—it would at any rate +have engendered jealousies and perpetuated prejudices which are now +happily set at rest—and it probably would have been a material bar to +that unrestricted intercourse which has been productive of so much +advantage to both divisions of the island. But, while granting this, we +by no means intend to deny that centralisation, when pushed beyond a +certain necessary point, may not become a grievance which loudly calls +for a remedy. + +To judge from their language, and the general tone of their opinions, +many of our brethren in the south seem to regard the Union simply as an +act by means of which Scotland was annexed to England. A few weeks ago, +a presumptuous scribbler in a London weekly journal, while reviewing Mr +Burton’s work, designated Scotland as the incorporated, in +contradistinction to the incorporating body; and although we do not +suppose that such exceeding ignorance of historical fact is common, we +are nevertheless constrained to believe that a good deal of +misapprehension prevails as to the real nature of the treaty. Even the +language of statesmen in Parliament is often inaccurate, and has a +tendency to promote false views upon the subject. To talk of the laws of +England or of her Church, is strictly correct, for these are peculiar +to, and distinctive of herself; but such expressions as the English +flag, English army, English parliament, &c., are altogether +inappropriate, unless, indeed, the Treaty of Union is to be considered +as an absolute dead letter. These things may be deemed trifles; but +still there is a significance in words, which becomes the greater the +oftener they are employed. We have, however, no desire to cavil about +terms; nor would we have noticed such a matter, if it were not also +evident that there has been, for some time past, and still is, a +tendency to regard Scotland in the light of a subsidiary province, and +to deal with her accordingly. Such, we say, is the case at present; but +we do not therefore by any means conclude that there is a desire to +defraud us of our privileges, or to degrade us from our proper position. +We believe that we have grievances for which we require redress; but we +are induced to attribute the existence of these grievances, most of +which have been generated by neglect, rather to the limited number of +our national representatives, and the inadequate provision which has +been made for the administration of Scottish affairs, than to any +intention on the part of British statesmen to withhold from us what we +consider to be our due. Still, as claimants, and especially as claimants +under so solemn a treaty, we are not only entitled, but bound to state +our case, which we shall do, we hope, with proper temperance and +discretion. + +We have often been told, especially of late years, that any expression +of what is called Scottish nationality is absurd, and likely to be +injurious to the general interest of the kingdom; and those journals who +have taken upon themselves the task of ridiculing any movement on the +part of Scotsmen to obtain what they consider to be their just +privileges under a solemn international treaty, beseech us not “to +engage in a disgraceful imitation of the worst features of Irish +character.” We certainly have no intention of imitating the Irish; but +we have as little idea of relinquishing that which is our own, or of +submitting to domineering pretensions which have not a shadow of a +foundation to rest on. In all matters common to the British empire, we +acknowledge but one interest—in all matters peculiar to Scotland, we +claim a right to be heard. + +To say that Scottish nationality is a dream without an object, is to +deny history, and to fly in the face of fact. The Union neither did nor +could denationalise us. It left us in undisturbed possession of our +national laws and our national religion; and it further provided, as +well as could be done at the period, and most anxiously, for the future +maintenance of those institutions which the state is bound to foster and +preserve. If it had been intended that in all time coming the Imperial +Parliament of Britain was to have full liberty to deal as it pleased +with the internal affairs of Scotland, certainly there would not have +been inserted in the treaty those stringent clauses, which, while they +maintain the institutions of the past, lay down rules for their +regulation in the future. These were, to all intents and purposes, +fundamental conditions of the treaty; and to that treaty, both in word +and spirit, we look and appeal. We can assure our friends in the south +that they will hear nothing of what a polished and judicious journalist +has had the exquisite taste to term “a parcel of trash about +Bannockburn, and sticks of sulphur of which a schoolboy, in his calmer +moments, might feel ashamed.” We have no intention whatever, as the same +ornament of letters has averred, of demanding a repeal of the Union—on +the contrary, our demand resolves itself into this, that the spirit of +the treaty should be observed, and the same consideration be shown by +Parliament to matters which are purely Scottish, as to those which +relate exclusively to England. And until it shall be received as +righteous doctrine, that men are not only ridiculous, but culpable, in +demanding what has been guaranteed to them, we shall give such +assistance as lies in our power, to any movement in Scotland for the +vindication of the national rights. + +That the provisions of the Treaty of Union were just and equitable, will +not be disputed. They were adjusted with much care, with much +difficulty, and were, in many points of view, exceedingly favourable to +Scotland. But, unfortunately, almost from the very outset, a series of +infringements began. Mr Burton, who certainly does not exaggerate +Scottish grievances, remarks, “that many of the calamities following on +the Union, had much encouragement, if they did not spring from that +haughty English nature which would not condescend to sympathise in, or +even know, the peculiarities of their new fellow-countrymen.” We go even +further than this; for we are convinced that, had the provisions of the +Union been scrupulously observed, and a judicious delicacy used in the +framing of the new regulations necessary for the establishment of a +uniform fiscal system—had the pride of the Scots not been wantonly +wounded, and a strong colour given to the suspicions of the vulgar that +the national cause had been betrayed—it is more than probable that no +serious rising would have been attempted on behalf of the Stuarts. +Obviously it was the policy of the English to have conciliated the +Scots, and by cautious and kindly treatment to have reconciled them to +their new position. But conciliation is not one of the arts for which +Englishmen are famed; and it is not improbable that the nation was +possessed with the idea that the Scots had, somehow or other, obtained a +better bargain than they were altogether entitled to. Moreover, the +English were then, as some of them are even now, profoundly ignorant of +the history, temper, and feelings of the northern population. Mr Burton +very justly remarks:— + + “The people of Scotland, indeed, knew England much better than the + people of England knew Scotland—perhaps as any village knows a + metropolis better than the people of the metropolis know the village. + Those who pursued historical literature, it is true, were acquainted + with the emphatic history of the people inhabiting the northern part + of the island, and were taught by it to respect and fear them; but the + ordinary Englishman knew no more about them than he did about the + natives of the Faroe or Scilly isles. The efforts of the pamphleteers + to make Scotland known to the English at the period of the Union, are + like the missionary efforts at the present day to instruct people + about the policy of the Caffres or the Japanese.” + +No sooner was the Union effected, than disputes began about duties. +Illegal seizures of Scottish vessels were made by the authorities. +Englishmen, wholly ignorant of the laws and habits of those among whom +they were to reside, were appointed to superintend the revenue; and, as +sometimes occurs even at the present day, the dogmatic adherence of such +men to the technicalities of the “system” under which they were bred, +and their intolerance of any other method, made them peculiarly odious, +and cast additional unpopularity upon the English name. If we again +quote Mr Burton on this subject, it is less with the view of exposing +what formerly took place, than in the hope that the spirit of his +remarks, not altogether inapplicable even now, may penetrate the obtuse +mist which shrouds our public departments; and lead to some relaxation +of that bigoted bureaucracy which prevails in the Government offices. It +has been, we are aware, laid down as an axiom that the local business of +any district is best conducted by a stranger. Our view is directly the +reverse. We maintain that an intimate knowledge of the people with whom +he is to transact, is a high qualification for an official; and it is +much to be regretted that the opposite system has been pursued in +London, under the baneful influence of centralisation. + + “Cause of enmity still more formidable passed across to Scotland + itself, where the Englishman showed his least amiable characteristics. + To manage the revenue, new commissioners of excise and customs were + appointed, consisting in a great measure of Englishmen. They were + followed by subordinate officers trained in the English method of + realising the duties, whose distribution throughout the country + afforded opportunities for saying that a swarm of harpies had been let + loose on the devoted land, to suck its blood and fatten on the spoils + of the oppressed people. The Englishman’s national character is not + the best adapted for such delicate operations. He lays his hand to his + functions with a steady sternness, and resolute unconsciousness of the + external conditions by which he is surrounded. The subordinate officer + generally feels bound, with unhesitating singleness of purpose, to the + peculiar methods followed at home in his own ‘department,’ as being + the only true and sound methods. He has no toleration for any other, + and goes to his duty among strangers as one surrounded by knaves and + fools, whose habits and ideas must be treated with disdain. Thus has + it often happened, that the collective honesty and national fidelity + to engagements of the English people, have been neutralised by the + tyrannical pride and surly unadaptability of the individual men who + have come in contact with other nations.” + +These arrangements were evidently unwise, as being calculated to produce +throughout the country a spirit of discontent among the middle and lower +classes, whom the Government ought to have conciliated by every means in +their power. There is much independence of thought, as well as +shrewdness, among the Scottish peasantry and burghers; and their hearty +co-operation and good-will would have been an effectual barrier against +any attempts to overthrow the Hanoverian succession. To that, indeed, as +a security for the maintenance of the Presbyterian form of church +government, they were well inclined; and, therefore, it was of the more +moment that they should be reconciled as speedily as possible to the +Union. But instead of the fair side of the picture, the dark one was +imprudently presented to them. The taxation was greatly increased, the +measures altered according to a foreign standard, and a degree of rigour +exercised in the collection of the revenue, to which they had been +previously unaccustomed. Against these immediate burdens and +innovations, it was of no use to expatiate upon future prospects of +national prosperity as an off-set. The Commons, never keenly in favour +of the Union, began presently to detest it; and, if they did not +absolutely wish success to the Jacobite cause, it was pretty generally +understood that they would take no active measures to oppose a rising +which at least might have the effect of freeing them from a burdensome +connection. + +Nothing, indeed, could be more injudicious than the early legislation of +the United Parliament in regard to Scottish affairs. In order to +strengthen the hands of the English officers of customs and excise +located in the north, who could not understand the technicalities, and +would not observe the forms of a law to which they were habitually +strangers, it was determined that the Scottish Justices of the Peace +should be made fac-similes of the English. We may conceive the horror of +a grim Presbyterian west-country laird at finding himself associated in +the commission with “the most reverent father in Christ, and our +faithful counsellor, Thomas Archbishop of Canterbury, primate of all +England, and metropolitan thereof!” Then came the abolition of the +Scottish Privy Council, and a new act for the trial of treason, +superseding the authority of the Court of Justiciary, and introducing +the commission, unintelligible to Scottish ears, of Oyer and Terminer. +This was passed in the face of the united opposition of the whole body +of the Scottish members. Then came the Patronage Act, which effected a +schism in the church, and others more or less injurious or injudicious; +so that it is impossible to avoid the conclusion of Mr Burton, “that +English statesmen, had they desired to alienate Scotland, and create a +premature revulsion against the Union, could not have pursued a course +better directed to such an end.” In fact, the existence of the Union was +at one time in the greatest peril. The Scottish members of the House of +Commons, though almost to a man returned on the Revolution interest, +held a meeting for the purpose of considering the propriety of taking +steps to have the Union dissolved; and it does not appear that there was +a single dissentient voice. Lockhart, the member for Mid-Lothian, who +summoned the meeting, has given us a sketch of his statement, the most +important points of which were as follows: “That the Scots trade was +sunk and destroyed by the many prohibitions, regulations, and +impositions on it, and the heavy taxes imposed on the native produce and +manufacture (all which were calculated and adapted to the conveniency +and circumstances of England, with which those of Scotland did noways +correspond); and that the country was exhausted of money, by the +remittance of so great a part of the public taxes, and the great +recourse of so many Scotsmen to London: if matters stood long on such a +footing, the ruin and misery of Scotland was unavoidable; that from the +haughty and insolent treatment we had lately received, it was +sufficiently evident we could expect no just redress from the English.” +The result of the conference was a communication with the Scottish +Representative Peers, who were also by this time thoroughly disgusted +with the Union; and the Earl of Findlater, selected as the mouthpiece of +the party, moved the dissolution of the Union in the House of Lords, and +succeeded in effecting an equal division of the members present. The +motion was lost by the small majority of three upon the proxies. + +It is remarkable that in this debate the Duke of Argyle and his brother, +Lord Ilay, both warm friends of the Hanoverian succession, spoke +strongly in favour of the motion; thus showing how keenly and +universally the attempt to provincialise Scotland was felt by all +classes. It became evident that, under such a system of administration, +Scotland could not long remain tranquil; and, accordingly, the death of +Queen Anne was followed by the raising of the insurrectionary standard. + +Mar’s rebellion was at length quelled, mainly through the efforts and +personal popularity of the Duke of Argyle. In all human probability it +never would have taken place, but for the encouragement held out to the +Jacobites by the universal discontent of Scotland. But in spite of every +warning, the ministers of the day persevered in a line of conduct most +offensive to the northern population. They suppressed the important +office of the Scottish Secretary of State, as if the affairs of that +kingdom were of so little importance, that an English Secretary, who +knew nothing of the people or their laws, was perfectly competent to +superintend their business in addition to that of the other country. +Such an arrangement as this, however, was too preposterous to remain +unaltered. The English Secretary might just as well have attempted to +administer the affairs of Muscovy as those of Scotland; and, in process +of time, the functions of Secretary were quietly handed over to the Lord +Advocate—a combination of which the country has had much reason to +complain, and which it certainly ought not to tolerate longer. The +history of the country between 1715 and 1745, is, with the exception of +a short period during which the Duke of Argyle exercised a sort of +provisional vice-royalty, little else than a catalogue of repeated +innovations and dissensions. At that time Scotland was regarded by +English statesmen as a dangerous and smouldering volcano; and fully half +a century, dating from the time of the Union, went by, before anything +like a feeling of cordiality was established between the two nations. + +When we regard Scotland as it is now—tranquil, prosperous, and +enterprising—we are naturally led to wonder at the exceeding greatness +of the change. The change, however, is not in the character of the +people: they are still as jealous of what they esteem to be their just +rights and guaranteed privileges as ever; but they have felt, and fully +appreciate, the advantages which they have derived from the union; a +closer intercourse has taught them to respect and admire the many +estimable qualities of the English character; and they perceive that a +very great deal of the aggression of which their fathers complained, and +which led not only to heartburnings but to civil strife, arose rather +from ignorance than from deliberate intention of offence. And if, even +now, there are some matters with regard to which they consider that they +have not received justice, these have not been, and will not be, made +the subjects of a reckless agitation. No one believes that there is any +design on the part of England to deal unkindly or unfairly with her +sister. We may, indeed, complain that purely Scottish matters are +treated with comparative indifference in the British House of Commons; +but, then, it is impossible to forget that the great majority of the +members know very little indeed of the Scottish laws and institutions. +There is some truth in one observation of the _Times_—though the writer +intended it for a sneer—“that the Scottish representatives in London are +not only regarded with the deepest respect, but to them the highest of +all compliments is paid—namely, that when a Scotch subject is brought +before the House, almost invariably the matter is left to their own +decision, without interference of any kind.” If the _Times_ could have +added that Scottish business obtained that prominence to which it is +entitled—that our bills were not invariably shuffled off and postponed, +as if they related to matters of no moment whatever—the statement might +be accepted as satisfactory. Even as it is, we are not inclined to stand +greatly upon our dignity. Neglect is, upon the whole, preferable to +over-legislation; and we are not covetous of the repetition of such +experiments as were made by the late Sir Robert Peel upon our banking +system. But, so far as we know, beyond an occasional grumble at slight +and delay, there has been no serious remonstrance on this head. What we +do remonstrate against is, that while exposed to an equal taxation with +England, Scotland does not receive the same, or anything like the same, +encouragement for her national institutions, and that her local +interests are not properly cared for on the part of the British +government. + +We are very anxious that this matter should be stated fairly and calmly, +so that our brethren in the south may judge for themselves whether or +not there is substantive reason in the appeal for “Justice to Scotland” +which, having been faintly audible for many years, is now sounded +throughout the land. We have anything but a wish to make mountains out +of molehills, or to magnify and parade trifles as positive grievances. +Therefore we shall not allude to such matters as heraldic arrangements, +though why the stipulations made by treaty with regard to these should +be violated or overlooked, we cannot comprehend. If emblems are to be +retained at all, they ought to be in strict accordance with the position +of the things which they represent. Our real complaints, however, are +not of a nature which will admit of so easy a remedy as the application +of a painter’s brush, or a readjustment of quarterings; nor can they be +laughed down by silly sneers at the attitude of the Scottish Lion. They +are substantial and specific; and both the honour and the interest of +Scotland are concerned in obtaining their redress. + +And first we maintain, and refer to the Treaty of Union, and our present +arrangements as proof, that the equality established between England and +Scotland has been observed only as regards equality of taxation, but has +been disregarded in the matter of allowances. We ask Englishmen, against +whom the charge of pecuniary injustice has almost never been made, and +who frequently have erred, in regard to foreign connection and subsidy, +on the other side, to take into serious consideration the facts which we +are about to adduce. + +The object of the Treaty of Union was to establish uniformity of trade +and privilege, internal and external, throughout the United Kingdom; to +equalise taxation and burdens; and to extinguish all trace of separate +interest in matters purely imperial. But it was not intended by the +Union to alter or innovate the laws and institutions of either +country—on the contrary, these were strictly excepted and provided for. +The previous acts, both of the English and the Scottish Parliaments, +remained in force, applicable to the two countries: but, for the future, +all legislation was to be intrusted to one body, “to be styled the +Parliament of Great Britain.” Referring again to the Treaty of Union, we +find anxious and careful provision made for the maintenance in Scotland +of three national institutions, the Church, the Courts, and the +Universities; all of which the united legislature was bound to recognise +and protect. In short, the whole spirit and tenor of the Treaty is, +that, without altering national institutions, equality should be +observed as much as possible in the future administration of the +countries. + +It cannot be pretended that the Union implied no real sacrifice on the +part of the Scottish people. London, to the exclusion of Edinburgh, +became the seat of government. Thither the nobility and wealthier gentry +were drawn, and there a considerable portion of the revenue of the +country was expended. That was the inevitable consequence of the +arrangement which was made, and the Scots were too shrewd not to +perceive it. But, on the other hand, the advantages which the union +offered, seemed, in prospect at least, to counterbalance the sacrifice; +and it was understood that, though the Scottish parliament was +abolished, and the great offices of state suppressed, the remanent local +institutions were to receive from the British government that +consideration and support which was necessary to maintain them in a +healthy state of existence. + +It is almost to be regretted that the Treaty of Union was not more +distinct and specific on those points; and that no stipulation was made +for the expenditure of a fair proportion of the revenue raised from +Scotland within her bounds. That such a guarantee would have been +advantageous is now evident; for, instead of diminishing, the tendency +towards centralisation has become greater than ever. No government has +tried to check it—indeed, we question whether public men are fully aware +of its evil. + +As a country advances in wealth, the seat of government will always +prove the centre point of attraction. The fascinations of the court, the +concourse of the nobility, the necessary throng of the leading commoners +of Britain during the parliamentary season, are all in favour of the +metropolis. To this, as a matter of course, we must submit, and do so +cheerfully; but not by any means because we are in the situation of an +English province. It never was intended to make us such, nor could the +whole power of England, however exerted, have degraded us to that +position. London is not our capital city, nor have we any interest in +its aggrandisement. We do not acknowledge the authority, in matters of +law, of the Chief-Justice of England—we are altogether beyond the reach +of the southern Ecclesiastical Courts. These are not accidental +exceptions; they are necessary parts of the system by which it was +provided that, in all things concerning our local administration, we +were to have local courts, local powers, and a local executive. We +complain that, in this respect, the spirit of the treaty has not been +observed. Our Boards of Custom and Commissioners of Excise have been +abolished; the revenues of the Scottish Woods and Forests are +administered in London, and applied almost entirely to English purposes; +and a like centralisation has been extended to the departments of the +Stamps and Post-office. + +But lest it should be said that these are grievances more shadowy than +real, let us take the case of the Woods and Forests mentioned above. The +hereditary revenues of the Crown in Scotland amount to a very large sum, +all of which is sent to London, but hardly a penny of it ever returns. +Holyrood, Dunfermline, Linlithgow—all our old historical buildings and +objects of interest, are allowed to crumble into decay; because the +administration of a fund which ought to be devoted to such purposes is +confided to Englishmen, who care nothing whatever about the matter. By +one vote in the present year, £181,960 were devoted to the repair and +embellishment of royal palaces, parks, and pleasure-grounds in England; +but it seems by the statement of the Chancellor of the Exchequer that +there are no funds available for the repair of Holyrood. Of course there +can be no funds, if all our money is to be squandered in the south, and +an annual expenditure of nearly £10,000 lavished upon Hampton Court, +where royalty never resides. Of course there can be no funds, if £40,000 +is given for a palm-house at Kew, and upwards of £62,000 for royal parks +in England. But there _are_ funds, if we may believe the public +accounts, arising from the revenue of the Crown in Scotland, though most +unjustly diverted to other than Scottish purposes. It may be, however, +that, very soon, no such funds will remain. A large portion of the Crown +property situated in Scotland has been advertised for public sale; and +we may be sure of this, that not even a fractional portion of the +proceeds will be applied to the North of the Tweed. Now, if the +management of this branch of the Revenue had been intrusted to a board +in Edinburgh (as it formerly was, before the Barons of Exchequer were +abolished), we venture to say that, without asking or receiving one +shilling of English money, we could have effectually rescued ourselves +from the reproach to which we are daily subjected by strangers, who are +not aware of the extent to which centralisation has been carried. They +look with wonder and sorrow at Holyrood, with her ruined chapel, and the +bones of our Scottish kings and queens exposed to the common gaze, and +ask whether they really are among a people famous for the enthusiasm +with which they cleave to the memories of the past, and to the +recollections of their former glories. Peering through the bars of that +charnel vault where the giant skeleton of Darnley is thrown beside the +mouldering remains of those who once wore the crown and wielded the +sceptre of Scotland, they can recall no parallel instance of desecration +save the abominable violation of the sepulchres of St Denis by the base +republican rabble. And who are to blame for this? Not certainly the +Scottish people, but those who have diverted the revenues applicable to +purely national objects, to the maintenance of English palaces and the +purchase of London parks. + +Centralisation has deprived us of several important offices which could +have been filled quite as economically and efficiently for the public +service in Scotland as in the south. We are by no means in favour of the +extension of useless offices, but there is a vast difference between +such and places of responsibility, where local knowledge becomes a very +high qualification. It is impossible that a board, sitting in London, +can give the same satisfaction to the people of Scotland, or conduct +business so effectually, as if it was located among them. But, besides +this, it seems to be a settled matter that Scottish official +appointments are to be remunerated on a different scale from that which +is applied in England and in Ireland. Why is it that our officials—in +the Edinburgh Post-office, for example—are paid at a far lower rate than +those who perform the same duties in London and in Dublin? Is it because +Ireland contributes more than we do to the revenue? Let us see. The +revenue of Scotland for the year ending 1852 was £6,164,804, of which +there was expended in the country £400,000, leaving £5,764,804, which +was remitted to London. The revenue of Ireland for the same period was +£4,000,681, of which there was expended in Ireland £3,847,134; leaving a +balance merely of £153,547. Have the people of Scotland no reason to +complain whilst this monstrous inequality is tolerated? + +Let us now turn to the Universities, which in the eyes of a Government +so zealous as the present affects to be in the cause of education, and +to Lord John Russell in particular, ought to be objects of considerable +interest. Let us see how they have been treated. In the year 1826 a +Commissioner was appointed by George IV. to examine into the state of +the Scottish Universities, and to report thereon. The Commissioners, of +whom the Earl of Aberdeen was one, made a report in 1831, to the effect +that, in general, the chairs were scandalously ill-endowed, and that +adequate and complete provision should be made in all the Universities, +so that the appointment to the Chairs “should at all times be an object +of ambition to men of literature and science.” Four or five bulky blue +books of evidence, &c., were issued; but the only party connected with +literature who derived any benefit from the commission, was the English +printer. Not a step has been taken in consequence by any administration, +_although two-and-twenty years have elapsed since the report was given +in_! Sir Robert Peel had no objection to found and endow Popish colleges +in Ireland, but he would not listen to the representations made on +behalf of the Protestant colleges of Scotland. In consequence, the +emolument drawn from many Chairs in Scotland is under £250 per annum, +even in cases where the Crown is patron! Such is the liberality of the +British Government in regard to Scottish education in its highest +branches, even with the most positive reports recorded in its favour! As +for museums, antiquarian and scientific societies and the like, they are +left entirely dependent upon private support. We do not say that a +Government is bound to expend the public money upon such objects as the +latter; but it is at all events bound to be impartial; and really, when +we look at the large sums devoted every year as a matter of course to +London and Dublin, while Edinburgh is passed over without notice, we +have a right to know for what offence on our part we experience such +insulting neglect. This is, moreover, a matter which ought not to be +lightly dismissed, inasmuch as, if Edinburgh is still to be regarded as +a capital city, she is entitled to fair consideration and support in all +things relating to the diffusion of arts and science. We do not desire +to see the multiplication of British museums; but we wish to participate +directly in that very lavish expenditure presently confined to London, +for what are called the purposes of art. If we are made to pay for +pictures, let us at least have some among us, so that our artists may +derive the benefit. We have all the materials and collections for a +geological museum in Edinburgh, but the funds for the building are +denied. Nevertheless, a grant of £18,000 per annum is made from the +public money to the geological museums of London and Dublin. + +Passing from these things, and referring to public institutions of a +strictly charitable nature, we find no trace whatever of state almonry +in Scotland. Dublin last year received for its different hospitals +£23,654 of state money. Edinburgh has never received the smallest +contribution. Can any one explain to us why the people of Scotland are +called upon to maintain their own police, while that of London receives +annually £131,000, that of Dublin £36,000, and that of the Irish +counties £487,000—or why one half of the constabulary expense in the +counties of England is defrayed from the consolidated fund, while no +such allowance is made to Scotland? We should like very much to hear Mr +Gladstone or Lord Palmerston upon that subject. + +It is anything but an agreeable task for us to repeat the items of +grievance, of which these are only a part. There are others highly +discreditable to the Government, such as the continued delay, in spite +of constant application, to devote any portion of the public money to +the formation of harbours of refuge on the east and northern coasts of +Scotland, where shipwrecks frequently occur. But enough, and more than +enough, has been said to prove that, while subjected to the same +taxation, Scotland does not receive the same measure of allowances and +encouragements as England, and that the system of centralisation has +been carried to a pernicious and unjustifiable length. If these are not +grievances, we are really at a loss to know what may be the true meaning +of that term. To many of the English public they must be new, as we have +no doubt they are startling; for the general impression is, that +Scotsmen, on the whole, know pretty well how to manage their own +affairs, and are tolerably alive to their own interest. That is +undeniable; but the peculiarity of the case is, _that we are not +permitted to manage our own affairs_. England has relieved us of the +trouble; which latter, however, we would not grudge to bestow, if +allowed to do so. But our grounds of complaint are not new to statesmen +and officials of every party. Representation after representation has +been made, but made in vain. The press of Scotland has, year after year, +charged the Government with neglect of Scottish interests, and warned it +against persevering in such a course; but without effect. The +unwillingness of the people to agitate has been construed into +indifference; and now, when the national voice is raised in its own +defence, we are taunted with previous silence! + +Now, we beg to repeat again, what we have already expressed, that we do +not believe it is the wish of Englishmen, or of English statesmen, that +we should be so unfairly treated. Indeed, we have reason to know that +some of the latter have expressed their conviction that Scottish affairs +are not well administered, and that great reason of complaint exists. +That is consoling, perhaps, but not satisfactory. We are told that we +ought to be very proud, because, at the present moment, a Scotsman is at +the head of the Government. As yet we have seen no reason to plume +ourselves upon that accident, which in no way adds materially to the +national glory. We shall reserve our jubilation thereon, until we have a +distinct assurance that Lord Aberdeen is prepared to grant us +substantial justice. Of that, as yet, no indication has been afforded; +and, to confess the truth, were it only for the grace of the movement, +we would far rather see the reforms and readjustments we require +conceded to us, as matter of right, by an English than by a Scottish +Premier. What we seek is neither favour nor jobbing, but that attention +to our interests which is our due. If Lord Aberdeen thinks fit to render +it now, we shall, of course, be very glad to receive it; but we do not +entertain extravagant expectations from that quarter. If his heart had +really been warmly with the country of his birth, it is almost +impossible to suppose that, having set his name, as he did, to a strong +report in favour of assistance to the Scottish universities, he would +have allowed about a quarter of a century to elapse without mooting the +subject, either as a peer of Parliament, or as an influential member of +more than one Cabinet; and it is impossible to forget that, with the +most deplorable schism in the history of the national Church of +Scotland—the more deplorable, because it might have been prevented by +wise and timely legislation—his name is inseparably connected. +Therefore, in so far as our interests are concerned, we see no especial +reason for glorification in the fact that Lord Aberdeen is a peer of +Scotland. That Lord Campbell, who, as the _Times_ avers, “holds the +highest common law appointment in the three kingdoms,” was born in +Cupar, in the ancient kingdom of Fife, by no means reconciles us to the +fact of an unfair application of the revenue. Lord Brougham, we believe, +first saw the light in Edinburgh—is his subsequent occupation of the +woolsack to be considered a sufficient reason why the citizens of the +Scottish metropolis should be compelled to maintain their own police, +when those of London and Dublin are paid out of the imperial revenue? +Really it would appear that notorieties are sometimes expensive +productions. With profound respect for the eminent individuals referred +to, we would rather, on the whole, surrender the credit of their birth, +than accept that as an equivalent for the vested rights of the nation. + +Supposing, then, that the reality of the grievance is made out—as to +which we presume there can be no question, for the matters we have +referred to are of public notoriety—it is necessary to consider what +remedy ought to be applied. Undoubtedly much is in the power of +Ministers. They may select more than one point of grievance for curative +treatment; and Mr Gladstone may possibly endeavour, in his next +financial arrangements, to atone for past neglect; but it is not by such +means as these that the evil can be wholly eradicated. We must look to +the system in order to ascertain why Scotland should have been exposed +so long to so much injustice; and, believing as we do, that there was no +deliberate intention to slight her interests, we are driven to the +conclusion that the fault has arisen from the utterly inadequate +provision made by the State for the administration of her internal +affairs. + +The absurd idea that the true position of Scotland is merely that of a +province, has received countenance from the fact that there is no +Minister in the British Cabinet directly responsible for the +administration of Scottish affairs. There is, indeed, a Home Secretary +for the United Kingdom; but it is impossible to expect the holder of +that office to have an intimate acquaintance with the laws, +institutions, and internal relations of the northern division of the +island. The Secretary of State, in general, knows nothing about us, and +is compelled to rely, in almost every case, upon the information which +he receives from the Lord Advocate. Now, the position of a Lord Advocate +is this: He must be a Scottish barrister, and he usually is one who has +risen to eminence in his profession. But he has had no experience of +public affairs, and usually little intercourse with public men, before +he receives her Majesty’s commission as first law officer of the Crown. +He has not been trained to Parliament, for a Scottish barrister is +necessarily tied to his own courts, and cannot, as his English brethren +may, prosecute his profession while holding a seat in Parliament. Thus, +even supposing him to be a man of real eminence and ability—and we are +glad to express our opinion that, of late years, the office has been +worthily filled—he enters the House of Commons without parliamentary +experience, and has very little leisure allowed him to acquire it. For, +in the first place, he is, as public prosecutor, responsible for the +conduct of the whole criminal business of Scotland; and he is the Crown +adviser in civil cases. Then he has his own practice to attend to, which +generally increases rather than diminishes after his official elevation; +and in attending to that in Edinburgh, he is absent from London during +half the parliamentary session—in fact, is seldom there, except when +some important bill under his especial charge is in progress. Besides +this, the office of Lord Advocate is understood to be the stepping-stone +to the bench. One gentleman, now a judge of the Court of Session, did +not hold the office of Lord Advocate for three months, and never had a +seat in Parliament. In the course of last year (1852), no less than +three individuals were appointed Lords Advocate in succession, and two +of them did not sit in the House. Owing to these circumstances, it +rarely happens that a Lord Advocate can acquire a reputation for +statesmanship—he has neither the time, the training, the facilities, nor +the ordinary motives of doing so. At any moment, even on the eve of +completing some important national measure, he may be summoned to the +bench, and, in such an event, the interests of the country are tied up +until his successor in office has been able to procure a seat, and has +become, in some measure, reconciled to the novel atmosphere of St +Stephen’s. + +This is, beyond all question, a bad system. The peculiar legal functions +of the Lord Advocate are, in addition to his private practice, a burden +quite heavy enough for any single pair of shoulders to sustain; nor is +it consonant either with the dignity or the convenience of the country, +that he should be made to act as a sort of assessor or adviser to the +Home Secretary. He ought certainly to be in Parliament, as the +Attorney-General of England is, to give advice in legal matters, but no +further. The training of the bar is not by any means that which tends to +the development of administrative qualities; and, even were it +otherwise, we have shown that the precarious nature of the office must +preclude the holder of it from the advantage of official experience. +But, in fact, as those who have had public business to transact in +London know full well, there is no order or arrangement whatever +provided for the administration of Scottish affairs. Let us take the +case of a deputation sent to London about some local matter. They +naturally, in the first instance, direct their steps to the Lord +Advocate, who, if in town—by no means a certain occurrence—receives them +with great courtesy, listens to their story, and then, regretting that +the subject in question does not fall within the sphere of his +department, refers them to the Junior Lord of the Treasury. They recount +their tale to that official, who really seems to exhibit some interest, +but discovers, after a time, that they should have made application to +the Board of Woods and Forests. Thither they go, and are probably +referred to some clerk or under-secretary, brimful of conceit, and +exclusively English in his notions. He refers them to the Secretary of +the Treasury; but that man of figures is too busy to listen to them, and +knows nothing about the matter. He suggests an application to the Home +Secretary. Lord Palmerston, the pink of politeness, smiles, bows, and +remits them to the knowledge of the Lord Advocate. By this time half the +deputation have left, and the others are savage and excited. They are +advised to memorialise the Treasury, which they do, and receive an +immediate reply that “my Lords” will take the matter into their +consideration. And so in all probability they do; but it turns out at +the last moment that the Chancellor of the Exchequer has a ruling voice +in the matter; and, as his financial arrangements for the year are +already made, the application must stand over to be considered at a +future period. + +It is now full time that a new order of things should be introduced, and +that the affairs of Scotland should be administered by a responsible +Secretary of State with a seat in the Cabinet. We have, on every ground, +full right to demand this. The public revenue levied from Scotland is +larger than that of either Holland, Belgium, Naples, Sardinia, or Sweden +and Norway. It is larger than the combined revenues of Bavaria, Denmark, +Greece, and Switzerland. The revenue of Ireland is one-third less than +ours, and yet Ireland has not only a Secretary of State, but a +Lord-Lieutenant. No one surely can venture to say that the interests +here involved are too trifling to require superintendence, or that any +organisation would be superfluous. For our own part, having watched +narrowly for years the working of the present absurd and unregulated +system, we do not hesitate to declare our conviction that justice never +can, and never will, be done to Scotland until its affairs are placed +under the management of a separate Secretary of State. This point cannot +be pressed too strongly. The wealth, importance, and position of the +country justify the demand; and we have yet to learn that there is any +one sound or substantial reason for denying it. + +Another point, and it is one of vast importance, is to insist that, at +the next adjustment of the representation, Scotland shall send its just +proportion of members to the House of Commons. At present, whether the +test of revenue or of population be applied, we are inadequately +represented as contrasted with England. We pay more than a ninth of the +whole revenue of the United Kingdom, but we have only a thirteenth part +of the representation. It is quite necessary that this should be +remedied, so that our interests may be properly and efficiently attended +to in the legislature. We care not what criterion is taken—whether that +of revenue or that of population—but we have a right to demand and +expect, that in this matter also we shall be dealt with according to the +same measure which is applied to England. According to the last census, +each of our Scottish members represents an average population of 54,166; +whilst one member is returned for every 35,845 of the population of +England. The apportionment ought to be made according to some clear, +intelligible principle—not by a mere flourish of the pen, or an +arbitrarily assumed figure. With a responsible Minister, and an adequate +representation, attention to the interests of Scotland would be secured; +and it is the bounden duty of every man who wishes well to his country +to bestir himself for the attainment of these objects. + +We have not approached this subject with any feeling of exacerbation. In +demonstrating wherein Scotland has not received its proper meed of +justice and consideration, we have been careful to avoid rash strictures +or unworthy reflections upon our neighbours. If in some things we have +suffered from neglect, and in others from innovation, we must not +hastily conclude that there is a deliberate intention anywhere to +deprive us of our due. The form in which our affairs have been +administered for well-nigh a hundred years, is, as we believe we have +shown, quite inadequate for the purpose for which it was originally +intended; and the rapid development of the wealth and population of the +country ought, long ago, to have suggested the propriety of a more +rational arrangement. There is no occasion, in a matter of this sort, +for any appeal to national feelings, which indeed it would be +superfluous to rouse. The case is a very clear one, founded upon justice +and public policy; and, if properly urged, no government can venture to +treat it indifferently. But in whatever way this movement may be +met—whether it is regarded with sympathy, or replied to by derision—it +is our duty to aid in the assertion of our country’s rights; and we +shall not shrink from its performance. + + + + + FOREIGN ESTIMATES OF ENGLAND.[2] + + +With what heart or conscience can an English critic expose the +deficiencies of a foreign book, “dedicated to the great, the noble, the +hospitable English people”? Upon its first page he finds a compliment +that cripples his quill. Though he had gall in his ink, it must turn to +honey on his paper. Mr Schlesinger takes his English readers and +reviewers at an unfair advantage. Perhaps he thinks to treat them like +children, thrusting a comfit into their mouths to bribe them to swallow +drugs. The flattering flourish of his commencement may be intended to +mask the batteries about to open. He gags us with a rose, that we may +silently bear the pricking of the thorns. + +Inexhaustible interest attaches to the printed observations of +intelligent foreigners upon England and its capital. The field is vast, +and has been little worked. There are few books upon the subject either +in French or in German, and, of such as there are, very few possess +merit or have met with success. Defaced, in a majority of instances, by +prejudice, triviality, or misappreciation, they attracted slight notice +in the countries of their publication, and were utterly unheeded in that +they professed to describe. Increased facilities of communication, and +more extensive study of the English language in France and Germany, will +bring about a change in this respect. We anticipate the appearance, +within the next twenty years, of many foreign books upon England, and +especially upon London—a city first known to Continentals, according to +the author now present, in the year of grace 1851. “Stray travellers, +bankers, wandering artisans, and diplomatic documents, had occasionally +let fall a few words, which sounded like fairy tales, concerning the +greatness, the wealth, the industry, and the politics of the monster +city of the West; but that city lay, geographically, too far out of the +way, and the phases of its historical development had not been +sufficiently connected with the history of Continental nations, for it +to be, like Paris, a favourite object of travel and study.” The +cosmopolitan glasshouse was the glittering bait which drew to our shores +a larger concourse of foreigners than England ever before at one time +beheld, or than she is likely ever again to behold, at least in our day, +unless in the rather improbable contingency of the French Emperor’s +successfully realising those projects of invasion some are disposed to +impute to him. A summer of unusual beauty, a general disposition to show +kindness and hospitality to the stranger, the manifold attractions of +that really wonderful building, unsurpassed save by the edifice now +rising from its remains on the slope of a Kentish hill, combined to +invest London with a charm to which foreigners who had already visited +it were wholly unaccustomed, and for which those who for the first time +beheld it were quite unprepared. + +Max Schlesinger, well known as the author of one of the most successful +and popular of the books that were written on the late Hungarian war, +was amongst the visitors to the Crystal Palace, but must have resided in +England for a longer period than the duration of that exhibition. The +first volume of his “Wanderings,” which appeared last year, was written +in England, for he dates his preface from the Isle of Wight. He does not +profess to give an account of London. He felt that two volumes, +compendious though they be, would be insufficient for more than a glance +at such a multitude of objects for description, and of subjects for +reflection and analysis, as are presented by the overgrown British +metropolis, and he preferred dwelling upon a few points to glancing at a +great many. He has hit upon an ingenious and amusing plan for the +exposition of his views and maintenance of his impartiality. He +establishes himself in an English family, in the _terra incognita_ of +Guildford Street. The master of the house, Sir John, who is intended as +a prototype of his countrymen, is a thorough John Bull—shrewd, sensible, +intelligent, with a moderate allowance of English prejudices, a warm +attachment to his country, a well-founded conviction of its pre-eminence +amongst the nations, and of the excellence of its institutions. Dr Keif +(the word signifies a grumbler), another inmate of the house, and an old +friend of Sir John’s, is an Austrian journalist, whose pen has taken +liberties that have endangered his own, and who has sought refuge in +England, which he begins good-humouredly to abuse almost as soon as he +has landed in it. He is kind-hearted, impetuous, excitable, given to +faultfinding and polemics, and nearly as much convinced of German +superiority as Sir John is of that of England. Then there is a +Frenchman, Tremplin, introduced in the second volume, and who can see +nothing good out of Paris. An Englishman named Frolick—who conducts the +foreigners upon nocturnal excursions to theatres, gin palaces, “penny +gaffs,” the purlieus of Drury Lane and St Giles’s, and to any other +place they are curious to study—and the ladies of Sir John’s family, +make up the list of characters, amongst whom there are occasionally very +amusing dialogues, when the master of the house, Keif, and Tremplin, +hold stiff disputations as to the merits of their respective countries. +Mr Schlesinger’s style is pointed, and often humorous; and the plan he +has adopted imparts to his book a lightness and entertaining quality by +no means invariably found in works of the kind; whilst it at the same +time enables him to avoid that appearance of invidious dogmatism which +is one of the most fatal pitfalls literary travellers are exposed to +stray into. + +As may be supposed from the terms of his dedication, Mr Schlesinger has +found much to like and admire in England, and especially in the English +nation. His book is, upon the whole, highly favourable to us, although +sarcastic Dr Keif and that puppy Tremplin now and then point to a raw +spot. Evidently well acquainted with our language, gifted with an active +mind and an observant eye, he has no need to resort to the flimsy +devices of some recent writers on the same topic. There is solid pabulum +in his pages, something superior to the flimsy lucubrations of one or +two French writers we have lately fallen in with, and of one of whom (M. +Méry) we took notice a few months ago. Most Frenchmen who write about +London do so with an extremely superficial knowledge of the subject. +Want of self-confidence is not a failing of theirs; they come to England +with a mere smattering of the language, and with a predisposition to +dislike the place and its customs, to laugh at the people, to be +tortured by the climate and poisoned by the cooks. They remain a short +time, examine nothing thoroughly, nor appreciate anything impartially, +quit the country with joy, remember it with a shudder, and write books +in which burlesque stories and ridiculous exaggerations are eked out by +denunciations of perpetual fogs, and by hackneyed jokes concerning the +sun’s invisibility. Such writers may be sometimes witty, occasionally +amusing, but they are neither fair critics nor reliable authorities. + +There is no plan or order in Mr Schlesinger’s book. Guildford Street is +his headquarters; thence he rambles, usually with Dr Keif, sometimes +with Sir John and other companions, whithersoever the fancy of the +moment leads him. On their return home, from Greenwich or Vauxhall, from +the House of Commons or a minor theatre, or from a stroll in the +streets, they invariably find, no matter how late the hour, the cheerful +tea-urn and smiling female faces to welcome them; and it is usually +during these sober sederunts, whilst imbibing innumerable cups of bohea, +that Sir John and Dr Keif hold those lively arguments which Mr +Schlesinger has transcribed with stenographic fidelity. We turn to the +fourth chapter of the second volume, headed “Westminster—The +Parliament.” Probably no foreigner ever gave a more vivid and correct +description than this chapter contains of things with which it takes +both time and pains for a foreigner to become thoroughly acquainted. +Doubtless Mr Schlesinger has been indebted to reading and conversation +as well as to his own observations, and some statistical and descriptive +parts of his work are probably derived from English books. One entire +chapter, that on Spitalfields, he acknowledges to have taken from such a +source. But there are numerous remarkable passages for which he can +hardly be indebted to anything but to his own quick ear and sharp eye. +In company with Sir John and Dr Keif, he goes to the Speaker’s Gallery +of the House of Commons. It is five o’clock—bills are being +read—presently the debate begins—Dr Keif, who has a perfect knowledge of +English, is indignant that the chat amongst the members prevents his +hearing the orators. These, he is assured by Sir John, who is an old +frequenter of the House, are mere skirmishers, of little importance; the +gossips will be still enough when any one worth listening to rises to +speak. A message from the Upper House fixes the attention of the +Germans, who are immensely diverted by the formalities with which it is +presented, by the forward and backward bowing of the messengers and of +the sergeant-at-arms, whose official costume, knee breeches and sword, +has already excited their curiosity. Mr Schlesinger, a decided liberal +in German politics, not unfrequently becomes as decidedly conservative +in treating of English customs and institutions. “All these ceremonies,” +he says, “are extraordinarily comical to the foreign guest, and even the +Englishman, who enters for the first time in his life the workshop of +his lawmakers, may probably be rather startled by such pigtailed +formalities, although his courts of justice have already accustomed him +to periwigs. In most Continental states, ceremonies handed down from +previous generations, and unsuited to the present time, have been done +away with as opportunity offered. People got ashamed of perukes and silk +cloaks, and dismissed them to the lumber room, as opposed to the spirit +of the age. Whether they might not, in their war against those +intrinsically unimportant and harmless externals, make a commencement of +more serious conflicts, was probably overlooked. In France and Germany +we have lived to witness such conflicts. In the revolutions of both +those countries the war was in great measure against externals, against +abuses of minor importance, against titles of nobility, orders of +knighthood, upper chambers, clerical and royal prerogatives; but in +neither did a compact majority ever contrive to seize the right moment, +to harmonise contradictions, and to secure the two results which should +be the aim of every revolution—improvement of the condition of the +people, and unlimited individual liberty. Where these two things are +secured, all other difficulties peaceably solve themselves.... A pacific +progress ensues; a gradual, but so-much-the-safer activity of reform +becomes not only possible, but necessary and inevitable. The English, +even those belonging to the Radical party, have an instinctive sense of +this truth. The Lower House has never taken the field against the Peers, +because their wives wear coronets in their hair, or because the Queen +opens and closes Parliament in the Upper House, upon which occasions the +Commons stand thronged like a flock of sheep before the bar of the House +of Lords,” &c. &c. We pass over some pages of interesting remarks to get +to Mr Schlesinger’s sketches of certain prominent members of the House +of Commons, merely recording, by the way, this German reformer’s +opinion, that the monarchical principle is firmer in England at the +present day than it was a century ago, before the clamour of innovation +and revolution had swept across the Channel. We trust and believe that +he is right in this opinion. We well know that there are, both in and +out of Parliament, a few men, more noted for a certain class of talent +than respected for consistency and high principle, who look upon the +crown as a costly bauble, and would gladly see it replaced by a +republican government. If they do not say as much, it is because they +dare not, because they know that the press and the public would combine +to hoot them down. But it is not difficult to discern the levelling +principle that is paramount in their hearts. The enunciation of that +principle, did they ever contemplate it in any form, has not been +favoured by the events of the last five years. Common sense and shrewd +perception are qualities claimed by Englishmen, and usually conceded to +them even by those foreigners who like them least. We must, indeed, be +lamentably deficient in both, not to have taken a warning from what we +have beheld, since 1847, in the two most civilised countries of the +European continent. There is little contagion in such examples as have +been set to us. License, with despotism as a sequel, constitutes no very +alluring prospect to a nation accustomed to seek its prosperity in +industry and order. We have seen enough of the results of sudden changes +abroad to desire that any we adopt at home should be exceedingly gradual +and well-considered. Foreign revolutionists have done us the service +which drunken helots were made to render to the children of Sparta. We +have learned temperance from the spectacle of their degradation. + +In his preface, Mr Schlesinger protests his impartiality, and on this +score we have no fault to find with him. Some of his parliamentary +portraits, however, are perhaps a little tinged by his political +predilections. In the main they are extremely correct, and the +likenesses undeniable. Mr Disraeli, Lord John Russell, Lord Palmerston, +Colonel Sibthorp, are his four most prominent pictures. Lord John +himself would hardly claim the designation of “a great orator” bestowed +upon him by his German admirer, who, in other respects, gives a truthful +and happy delineation of the Whig statesman. But the following sketch is +the gem of the parliamentary chapter. + +“‘So that is my Lord Palmerston,’ whispered Dr Keif, parodying his +friend Kappelbaumer—‘that is the “_God-preserve-us_” of all rational +Continental cabinets? He yonder with the white whiskers, the finely-cut +features, the striped neckcloth, and the brown trousers, which he +probably got as a present from Mazzini? Yonder elderly gentleman, lying +rather than sitting upon his bench, and chatting with his neighbour as +he might do in a tavern? Now, by Metternich! this Lord Palmerston looks +so cordial, that, if I had not read the German newspapers for many years +past, I never would have believed all the wickedness there is in him. To +think that yonder people do not scruple to converse with him! with a +convicted partisan of rebels, in whose company no respectable citizen of +Vienna or Berlin would be seen to cross a street! But, as we say, there +is nothing in a man’s looks. He does not look in the least like a rebel +or a conspirator. And yet to think of all the rude notes he has +written!’ + +“‘That is just because he is a great diplomatist,’ remarked Sir John, +with much unction. ‘We like him so much the more because you, across the +water, hate, and fear, and throw stones at him. He has the luck to be as +popular at home as he is abused abroad. When that is not the case with a +minister of foreign affairs, better pension him off at once. He is +appointed for the very purpose of barking and snapping all round the +house, to keep off intruders and thieves. And can you deny that Lord +Palmerston perfectly performed his bull-dog mission? Was he not always +on his legs? Did he not lustily bark like a chained watch-dog, so that +all the neighbours round respected him? And did he ever bite anybody? +No, you cannot say that he ever bit anybody. Only showed his teeth. +Nothing more. That was enough. And that, merely by so doing, he +frightened you all, that, we well know, is what you will never forgive.’ + +“‘I would give anything in the world,’ cried Dr Keif, ‘to hear him make +a little speech. How does he speak?’ + +“‘In a way I well like to hear,’ answered Sir John; ‘out and openly; no +pathos, no emotion—sensibly, intelligibly—and above all, courteously and +politely, as befits an English gentleman. It is not in his nature to be +rude; he cannot be so, except when he takes pen in hand to write abroad. +In the House he is never personal; and yet nobody better knows how to +turn a troublesome questioner into ridicule, often in the most innocent +manner, so that it is impossible to be angry with him. + +“‘I was in the House last summer,’ continued Sir John, ‘when Mr +So-and-so questioned him about the foreign refugees. In such cases +members do not put to a minister the straightforward question, Have you +answered this or that note? but they make an introduction a yard long, +ramble round and round the subject like cats round a plate of porridge, +make a long rhetorical display before coming to the point. Mr So-and-so +made a lengthy discourse—spoke until the sweat broke out upon his brow +from sheer liberalism and sympathy with the refugees; at last he got to +his question, Whether it was true that several Continental governments +had demanded that the British Government should keep watch over the +proceedings of the refugees in London? what governments those were? +whether the Secretary of State for foreign affairs had replied to the +demand? and whether he had any objection to lay before the House the +correspondence concerning it? The question was not a very agreeable one +to a minister in Lord Palmerston’s position. During the speech by which +it was prefaced, he sat with his head bent forward and his legs crossed, +pulling his hat down lower and lower upon his forehead, and frequently +passing his handkerchief across his face. It seemed as if he perspired +even more than his interrogator; he was evidently in the most painful +embarrassment what to reply. Mr So-and-so made an end and sat down. The +House was so silent that one could plainly distinguish the snoring of +some drowsy members on the back benches; Palmerston slowly rose, and +requested the speaker to repeat his question in plainer terms, it not +having been put with sufficient clearness the first time. The fact was, +it had been put so clearly and plainly that in the gallery we lost not a +syllable. Oho! thought I, and many with me—something wrong here; the +noble Lord wants to gain a few minutes to prepare his reply. Mr +So-and-so probably thought the same thing. He got up with the air of a +man who feels confident that he has found a sore place, and repeated his +question in the following simplified form: “I beg to ask the Secretary +of State for foreign affairs,” he said, “which are the foreign +governments that have demanded of the British Cabinet that it should +exercise _surveillance_ over the political refugees in London?” He +paused. There was dead silence. Lord Palmerston rose with solemn +slowness, took off his hat, cleared his throat, as if he were about to +make a long speech, said very quickly, “Not one”—threw his hat upon his +head and himself back upon his seat. You may imagine the stupefied +countenance of the questioner, and the roar of laughter in the House. Do +you suppose Lord Palmerston had not at once understood the question? He +understood it perfectly; but his meditative attitude, his request for +its repetition, his solemn uprising, his clearing of his throat, his +very perspiration—all, everything was diplomatic roguery, intended to +heighten the effect of the two carelessly-spoken monosyllables, “Not +one.” His interrogator looked ridiculous enough, but Lord Palmerston had +said nothing that could offend him. The minister had so far attained his +object that for some time afterwards he was not plagued with questions +about refugees. Such scenes do not bear telling; they must be witnessed. +When Lord Palmerston pleases, the House laughs, and all laugh, and no +man is hit so hard that he cannot laugh with the rest.’” + +Proceeding from a foreign pen, this lively parliamentary sketch must be +admitted to be wonderfully truthful. Mr Schlesinger was particularly +struck, upon his visits to the House of Commons, by two things, and +these were, the longwindedness of the orators, and their ungraceful +gesticulation. An English orator, he says, seems to make up his mind +beforehand to abstain from gestures, and does his best to put his hands +in a place of safety. Some of the attitudes, which are the consequence +of this desire, he justly describes as neither tasteful nor elegant. +“One man thrusts his hands into his breeches’ pockets, another sticks +them into his waistcoat armholes, some hide them inside their +waistcoats, or under their coat tails, others take a Napoleonic +attitude. Thus do they begin their speeches. But, as the Englishman is +wont to linger no short time over the mere exordium of his harangue; as +he is capable of talking much longer about nothing than is commonly +supposed upon the Continent; as he has very good lungs; and as a large +portion of the British public is apt to estimate a speech’s value by its +length, it is quite conceivable that he cannot maintain, during the +whole duration of his discourse, the posture he adopts at its +commencement. Besides this, he may warm as he goes on, and, when this is +the case, he displays the strangest action of his arms and of his whole +body.” In this paragraph, Mr Schlesinger makes one grave mistake. With +the exception of a very limited number of methodical old fogies—slaves +to habit, and the curse of their clubs—who, having nothing else in the +world to do, make it the business of their lives to read the debates +from the first line to the last, we know of no class in the United +Kingdom that would not heartily rejoice if members of Parliament would +cultivate brevity of speech and early hours, as advantageous alike to +their own health and to the business of the country. “What a capital +speech; it took an hour and a half in delivery!” Such, according to Mr +Schlesinger, is the form of praise often heard in England. He blunders +here. People will certainly listen with pleasure for an hour and a half, +or for thrice as long, if they have the chance, to the earnest and fiery +eloquence of a Derby—to the graceful, lucid, and often witty discourse +of a Palmerston—to the polished and scholarly periods of a Macaulay—to +the incisive oratory of a Disraeli. They will even lend their attention +to the somewhat drawling and monotonous, although business-like delivery +of the Whig leader whom Mr Schlesinger has dubbed a great orator, +because Lord John is supposed not to be one of those Englishmen whom his +German admirer has declared to be capable of talking a long while about +nothing at all. But Mr Schlesinger has taken a part for the whole, and +imagines that English willingness to hear and read the long discourses +of a few chosen and gifted men, extends itself to the lame prose of the +first noodle who takes advantage of dinner-time to inflict himself upon +a bare house, a yawning gallery, and reporters with closed note-books. +Let him take the confession of members, public, and reporters, as to the +feelings with which they listen to an infinitesimal economical +calculation, or to a two hours’ blatter about Borneo, from Mr Hume; or +to a monody on Poland, or eulogium of Kossuth, from the lips of that +most wearisome of well-meaning men, Lord Dudley Coutts Stuart. He will +find that in England the value of a speech is not—as Byron says that of +a very different thing should be—“measured by its length.” + +Probably the two things that foreigners, upon a visit to London, are +most curious to see, are the Thames tunnel and Greenwich. Mr +Schlesinger, Dr Keif, and Frolick—who seems an easy-going man-about-town +sort of cockney, delighted to have the pretext of ciceronism to revisit +all manner of queer haunts—take ship at London Bridge, their minds upon +white bait intent. They find much to say upon the way, and are very +pleasant and amusing. In the beginning Mr Schlesinger moralises upon the +crowd of colliers, more precious, he maintains, to Britain than ever +were gold-laden galleons to Spain. “Take from the British Isles their +coals,” he says; “pour gold, silver, and diamonds, into the gloomy +shafts; fill them with all the coins that have been coined, since the +world’s commencement, by good and bad princes, and you will not replace +the inflammable spark that lies dormant in the coal, and which creates +vitality by its own exhaustion.” Then he turns his attention to his +fellow-passengers by the steam-boat, and remarks that the difference of +classes is not so strongly defined by costume in England as in France +and Germany. He misses the linen frocks or blouses worn on the Continent +by men of a class which, in England, is usually clad in broadcloth, +though this be often ragged or threadbare. “In London,” he says, “if you +see, early in the morning, a man hurrying along the street in a black +coat, round hat, and white cravat, do not take him for a professor +hastening to his college, or for an attaché to an embassy conveying +important despatches to his chief. He probably has soap-box, strap, and +razor in his pocket, or at best is shopman to some Regent Street +haberdasher—he may be a waiter, a tailor, a shoemaker, or a +boot-cleaner. Many an omnibus-driver sits white-cravated upon his lofty +box, and drives his horses as gravely as a Methodist preacher leads his +flock. Amongst Englishwomen, also, the difference of rank is not very +easy to be inferred from their dress. Coloured silks, black velvet, and +hats with botanical appurtenances, are worn by the maid as by her +mistress.” This general uniformity of costume in England strikes most +foreigners, and shocks many. Frenchmen, in particular, consider the use +of old and second-hand clothes, common amongst the lower classes of our +countrymen and countrywomen, as a sort of degrading barbarism. An +amusingly impertinent French journalist, in a little book now before us, +states his view of the matter in colours which are certainly vivid, but +can hardly be called exaggerated. “The eternal black coat and white +cravat!” he exclaims. “One might take the people for so many gentlemen +of high degree, condescending, in their leisure moments, or from +eccentric caprice, to weigh sugar and measure calico. Thus it was that I +took the grocer, in whose house I lodge, for a gentleman, and, through +stupid pride, dared not bargain for my apartment, for which I pay twice +its value. The history of an English black coat would fill a volume, at +once comic and philosophical. One must take it up at its birth, when it +quits the premises of a fashionable tailor to grace the shoulders of +Lord ——, who pays seven or eight guineas for it, on account of its +inimitable cut. Thrown, a fortnight later, to the nobleman’s +valet-de-chambre, it passes to the second-hand dandy, then from back to +back, lengthened, shortened, always descending in the social scale, +losing its buttons, gaining holes, and at last devolving to the poor +devil who sweeps a crossing, over which prance the splendid horses of +the lord who was its first possessor. Poor coat! Sold at last for three +shillings; its fragments finally used to polish a table or cleanse a +kitchen floor, until they are bought by the hundredweight and cast into +the mill, to reappear in some new form. The fate of the coat is also +that of the gown. The lady’s gown and hat begin their career in the +drawing-room, and end it in the gutter. We foreigners are always +shocked, on our first arrival in England, to see the servant-maids +washing the door-steps in bonnets, which once were of velvet, and now +are of nothing at all! One sometimes observes upon them certain vestiges +which, plunged into Marsh’s apparatus and analysed by a skilful chemist, +might be recognised as fragments of feathers, shreds of lace, or stalks +of flowers. Does the cook who wears this cast-off covering, who wraps +herself, to go to market, in a tattered shawl, on whose surface holes +and stains vie for the mastery, imagine that she will be taken for her +mistress going to buy her own butter and vegetables, as an agreeable +change from the daily routine of park and opera? What strange vanity is +it that peeps through these ragged garments? Why do these honest +Englishmen prefer a gentleman’s old clothes to the clean blouse or warm +strong jacket they might get for the same price?” There is considerable +truth in these remarks, especially as regards men’s coats and women’s +head-dress, although we do not believe, as does the Frenchman we have +quoted, that the wearing of second-hand clothes proceeds, on the part at +least of English _men_ of the lower classes, from a desire to ape their +superiors. It is one of those habits one can hardly explain, which we +may designate as _cosa de Inglaterra_, just as Spaniards define as _cosa +de España_ any peculiar and eccentric usage of their country. We must +submit the matter, one of these days, to our old friend and contributor, +the author of the “Æsthetics of Dress.” Of one thing we are very sure, +that no one possessing an eye—we will not say for the picturesque, but +for what is neat, appropriate, and convenient—can travel on the +Continent, without drawing between the everyday dress of the English +lower orders and that of the corresponding classes in most foreign +countries, comparisons highly unfavourable to the former. And this is +the more surprising that, in most things, neatness is peculiarly an +English characteristic. Witness the trim gardens, the whitewashed +cottages, the well-swept courts of our villages, the vigorous +application of brush, broom, and soap in the humblest dwellings of +Britain. But a line must be drawn between the country and the towns. In +the latter, the appearance of the lower classes is anything but well +calculated to inspire foreigners with a high opinion of their regard to +the external proprieties. We share our French friend’s horror of greasy, +threadbare coats, and of bonnets requiring chemical decomposition to +ascertain their primitive materials; and, were it possible, we would +gladly see the former replaced by the coarse clean frock or jacket; the +latter by the cheap coloured handkerchief or straw-hat, which looks so +neat and becoming upon the heads of Continental peasant and +servant-women. It is to be feared, however, that to agitate the change +would be but a profitless crusade. The fault—and a fault we think it +must be admitted to be—lies in the total absence of anything like a +national costume. In all the more highly civilised European countries, +this, however graceful, has been abandoned by the upper classes in +favour of a conventional, and certainly, in most respects, a graceless +dress. But in all those countries, except in England, that national +costume has been either retained, to a certain extent, by the people, or +exchanged for one more in harmony with their occupations—not discarded +in favour of such absurdities as long-tailed coats and high-crowned +beavers. + +At the Thames Tunnel the two Germans and their companion pause, and Mr +Schlesinger gives an account of its origin and progress, which will have +novelty and interest even for many Londoners. On reaching Greenwich, the +party admire the hospital—the finest architectural group of modern +England, according to Mr Schlesinger, with whom, notwithstanding the +florid pretensions of the new Houses of Parliament, we quite agree on +this score. Greenwich is unquestionably the only royal palace England +possesses worthy of the name. Windsor Castle ranks in a different +category. “Take the most ingenious architect in the world,” says Mr +Schlesinger, “bind his eyes, and bring him to the platform on which we +now stand; then, removing the bandage, ask him the purpose of this +magnificent pile. If he does not at once say that it is a king’s palace, +he is either the most narrow-minded or the sharpest-witted mortal that +ever drew the plan of a house. Who would suspect that all this splendour +of columns and cupolas is devoted to the service of poor crippled old +sailors? That it nevertheless is so, does honour to the founders and to +the English nation.” And then Mr Schlesinger, who is a bit of a +_frondeur_, and not very indulgent to his own country’s defects and +failings, contrasts the thoughtful care, tender kindness, and splendid +provision which England’s veterans find at Chelsea and Greenwich, with +the deficiencies and discomforts of the analogous institution at Vienna, +and with the absence of any at all at Berlin. Passing the Trafalgar, +which he recommends to all “who are willing to pay more money for a good +dinner than would keep an Irish family for a week,” he moralises his way +through the Park—then full of holiday-makers, for it is Monday, and “the +people indemnify themselves for the rigidity of English +Sabbath-observance.” A dinner at Lovegrove’s, and speculations upon +white bait, conclude a pleasant day and an amusing chapter. + +Mr Tremplin is described as a little elderly gentleman, with hair curled +in a very youthful fashion, rosy cheeks, and a forest of grey whisker +which would make him look quite fierce, but for the expression of +mingled good-humour and vanity that twinkles in his little black eyes. +For twenty years he had been in the habit of paying an occasional week’s +visit to Sir John, and upon each succeeding visit he found London more +and more gloomy and unbearable. Nothing less than his affection for his +old friends could have induced him to exchange his heavenly Paris for +the fogs of Thames. When in England, however, he amiably concealed his +dissatisfaction, ate and drank like an Englishman, laughed and joked +with the ladies from morning till night, and wiped his eyes when he took +his leave. Between him and Dr Keif vehement discussions were of frequent +occurrence. Tremplin was inexhaustible in his laudation of France; and +this the doctor could the less endure, that this adulator of Paris was +himself a German by birth, although he had passed his life in the French +capital, had made his little fortune in the Opera Passage, and, like +most renegades, out-Heroding Herod, was infinitely more French than a +native-born Frenchman. Had he been an undeniable Parisian, Dr Keif might +perhaps, from courtesy, have spared his feelings; but the Austrian +journalist had no consideration for the feelings of a Frenchman who had +first seen the light at Frankfort-on-the-Maine, and he gave his +sarcastic tongue full swing. At dinner, one day, at Sir John’s, we find +them at it, hammer-and-tongs; Monsieur Tremplin holding up Paris as an +example in all respects to the entire universe; Dr Keif, exasperated by +this exorbitant claim, sneering bitterly at the pretension. + +“‘It is inconceivable,’ cried the doctor, ‘that all the world beside +does not sit idle, since Paris is there to think and work for it. What +does one need for universal regeneration beyond the _Journal des +Débats_, which signifies enlightenment—Mademoiselle Rachel, who +represents the æsthetical education of mankind—and the _Chasseurs +d’Afrique_ as the representatives of freedom? Even in the Paris +_cancan_, immoral as it may seem, there is doubtless grace and decency +enough to civilise half a world. Eh? What say you? And if France is +found one morning in the guardhouse, it is merely because she has danced +like mad the whole night through for the good of oppressed humanity, and +her evil case is but a witty trick, suggested by the most profound ideas +of emancipation; for, _enfin_, France can do whatever she wills to do. +She undertakes, in broad daylight and before the eyes of all Europe, to +lie down in the dirtiest gutter, and she succeeds. Woe to the benighted +people who do not forthwith follow her example, who cannot see that a +gutter in which France wallows must lead straight to salvation. The +French are the most conceited and crazy people on the earth’s surface—a +nation of witty fools, of genial ragamuffins, of old _gamins_ and +revolutionary lacqueys, who can neither govern themselves nor be +governed, for any length of time, by God’s grace; they consequently, +after their fourth revolution and third republic, will seek safety at +the feet of an Orleanist or Bourbon prince, whom they will replace, +after a while, by some romantic hairdresser, dancing-master, or cook, +elected by universal suffrage. For my part, I vote for Soyer: he has at +least the merit of having established a good school of cookery at the +Reform Club.’” + +Whilst extracting this tirade of the incorrigible Keif’s, we have taken +no notice of the frequent interruptions attempted by the unfortunate +German-Frenchman. The doctor’s flowers of rhetoric were far from +fragrant to the nostrils of Tremplin, and the vein of truth that ran +through his discourse made its somewhat brutal and exaggerated form yet +harder to bear. “The most audacious blasphemy,” says Mr Schlesinger, +“shouted into the ear of an English bishop’s grandmother, might have an +effect approaching to that which the compliments of the excited Keif had +upon his neighbour’s nerves.” Purple and perspiring, and unable to get +in a word, poor Tremplin received one rattling volley after another, +vainly endeavouring to escape from the iron grip the doctor kept upon +the topmost button of his coat. At last he was released, with a parting +prod from Keif’s barbed tongue. + +“‘Notwithstanding their deeply sunken condition,’ the doctor said, ‘it +is undeniable that the French, like the Spaniards, Italians, and Irish, +are still a witty, diverting, and highly interesting nation.’ + +“‘_Infiniment obligé!_’ screamed Tremplin, breaking from the doctor, +making a low bow, and thrice repeating the words, ‘How said you? +Di-vert-ing! _Infiniment obligé, Monsieur le Docteur!_ Your German +modesty inspires you with charming compliments.’ + +“‘No compliment, Monsieur Tremplin,’ replied Keif: ‘merely my honest +opinion.’ + +“The Frenchman cast an epigrammatical side-glance at the doctor, +buttoned his coat to the chin, as if arming himself for an important +decision, and exclaimed in a loud voice: ‘You are’—(A long pause ensued, +during which all present rose in confusion from their seats.) ‘You are +totally unacquainted with Paris!’ + +“‘And what then?’ said Dr Keif. + +“‘That is enough, I need to know no more. _Enfin_....’ And with a shrug +of the shoulders in which the doctor should have beheld his moral +annihilation, Mr Tremplin turned his back upon his opponent.” + +Some minutes elapsed before the agitation caused by this little scene +completely subsided. In the embrasure of a window, the lady of the house +poured balm into poor Tremplin’s wounds; Keif paced the room, his +complexion green and yellow, visibly struggling with the consciousness +that he had been too hard upon the poor little Frenchman—rather rudely +vehement and sarcastic; Sir John alone remained at table, balancing a +silver dessert-knife, and making a small speech, to which nobody +listened, in praise of the admirable parliamentary order observed at +English public dinners. “‘There, when did it occur to anybody, before +the removal of the cloth, to speak on more serious subjects than the +domestic virtues of turtle and turbot, the tenderness of the lamb and +venison, the age and excellence of the wines, and the qualities of all +those good things of the earth which are so exquisitely adapted to +promote the harmonious intercourse of Whigs and Tories, High Churchmen +and Dissenters, landlords and cotton lords? There is the great point. +That is what foreigners will not learn. They do nothing at the right +time and nothing thoroughly, therefore do they eat gall and brew +poison.’” There may be more than one grain of truth in the baronet’s +words, Mr Schlesinger opines, but he does not stay to discuss the +subject. It was written that the evening should be one of scrutiny and +controversy. The feud between Keif and Tremplin having been easily put +an end to by Sir John’s good-humoured intervention, the conversation +again became general. The doctor must go out at nine o’clock, he said; +he had promised to accompany Frolick to the theatre, and in a stroll +through the theatrical district of London. This brought up Tremplin—not, +indeed, to renew wordy combat with the formidable antagonist by whom he +had been so recently worsted, but to express his astonishment that +anybody could go to a London theatre in the dead season. He had always +understood that the only theatres to which _comme-il-faut_ people went +in London were the Italian operas and the miniature French playhouse in +St James’s, and these were then closed. It was true that the queen +annually honoured the obscure English theatres with a few visits, but +that was merely out of complaisance to English prejudices. The ladies +protested against this depreciation of the English drama; but the +Parisian, who had quite forgotten his late indignation and discomfiture, +did but smile and politely persist—developing his notions on an infinite +variety of subjects with that easy, urbane, superficial dogmatism which +characterises the very numerous class of Frenchmen who combine unbounded +admiration of their own nation and country with slight esteem for, and +considerable ignorance of, all others. + +“‘_Mesdames!_’ he exclaimed, ‘you have no idea of all that you forego by +living in London. It is well for you that you have never been in Paris, +or you would feel like Eve when banished from Paradise, to which she +would so gladly have returned for a chat with the seductive serpent. +_Pardieu_, Paris! There, everyday life is an enchanting drama; every +drawing-room is a stage; every chamber has its wings; and every one, +from the porter to the duke, has perfectly learned his part. The +theatres that open at night do but display and illuminate, with a +magical light, the day’s comedy. Your worthy English people can neither +act nor judge of acting. An English actor is a creature as much out of +nature as a Parisian quaker. Where do you find most passion for the +art—here or with us? Paris has hardly half so many inhabitants as +London, but has many more theatres, and they are always as full as your +churches. The poorest artisan cannot exist without sunning himself in +the radiance of the stage; and will live for two days of the week on +bread and milk, in order to save a few _sous_ for the _Variétés_ or the +_Funambules_ on Sunday evening. Show me the Englishman who will +sacrifice a mouthful of his bloody roast-beef for the sake of a refined +enjoyment. No, no;—you weave and spin, and steam and hammer, and eat and +drink, with God knows how many horses’ power; but as to enjoying life, +you do not understand it. Am I right, _Madame_?’” + +The ladies looked at each other, but were not ready with an answer. Sir +John shook his head as he sat in his arm-chair, and remarked that there +were good grounds for the difference. The Frenchman would not admit +their goodness, and launched into an energetic diatribe against the +strictness of London Sabbath-observance. We take it for granted that, +even if the personages introduced into Mr Schlesinger’s book are not +imaginary, the conversations he gives are chiefly of his own +composition, intended to display the different sides of the various +questions discussed; and that a _juste milieu_ between the rather +extreme views expressed by Keif and Tremplin, and occasionally by Sir +John, may be adopted with tolerable certainty as the measure of the +author’s own opinions. Of this last point we feel the more convinced, by +the moderate and sensible manner in which Mr Schlesinger expresses +himself when speaking in his own person. His delineation of the +representatives of England, Germany, and France, and the manner in which +he puts them through their parts, is really very spirited and clever. +Without, of course, in the slightest degree coinciding in the levity and +irreverence of the profane Parisian, we will give a further specimen of +his views and notions concerning this country, its condition and +institutions; views and notions which, allowing for the tinge (only a +slight one) of humorous caricature thrown in by Mr Schlesinger, are, in +our firm belief—we might almost say, to our certain knowledge—those of a +great number of Monsieur Tremplin’s fellow-citizens. Having taken up the +ball of conversation, the Frenchman ran on with it at a canter, +curvetting and kicking up his heels with huge self-satisfaction, and +highly pleased at having an opportunity of showing himself at once +patriotic, eloquent, and gallant. He proceeded to explain the causes of +the decline of the British drama. + +“In the first place,” he said, “the performance of a play would +desecrate the Sunday evening. The Sabbath must be ended as wearisomely +as it is begun. If one speaks of this to an Englishman, he pulls a long +face, and talks about the morality of the lower orders. How moral the +English lower orders are! One sees that every Monday, when the drunken +cases are brought up at the police offices. One man has bitten off a +constable’s nose by way of a joke; another has knocked down his wife and +danced upon her body; a third has cut open his better-half’s head with +the poker. All morality and liquor; but, thank heaven, they have not +been to the theatre—any more than to church. Don’t tell me, because you +have more churches than there are days in the calendar, that your poor +people go to them; there is no room for them. Your churches are for +respectable citizens, with cash jingling in their pockets. Then again, +there are thousands of quakers, methodists, and other fanatics, who +consider it a deadly sin to visit a theatre even upon working days. And +finally, you are all such smoky fireside people—so given to stick in +your shells like snails—that it is a punishment to you to have to creep +out of your houses; or else you have such a silly passion for green +grass, that you go and live at the end of the world, where you need a +carriage to bring you home from the theatre by daybreak. These terrible +distances ruin the pocket, and cramp civilisation. Your much-be-praised +Englishmen, doctor, have not got a monopoly of wisdom. But I pity them +not. It is for the poor daughters of Albion that I feel sorry. Upon my +honour, ladies, I should not grieve if Napoleon’s glorious dream were to +be realised. Ha, ha! That would be a life! Fancy our _grande armée_ +leaping one day upon the British shores. Before the sun is up the +_braves_ are in the city, say _bonjour_, conquer, and are forthwith +conquered—by the charms of the fair-haired Anglo-Saxons. Our soldiers +ask nothing in the way of acknowledgment. Keep your bank, your religion, +and your lord mayor. The sole glory desired by France is, to annihilate +the dragon of English _ennui_. Hand in hand with the fair sex, the +invincible army achieves that feat. On the first evening there is a +great fraternity-ball at Vauxhall; the next morning appears a manifesto +in the name of the liberating army, by which the erection of at least +one French vaudeville theatre in every parish is decreed, as the sole +reward of the victors; and in a few years, when these new institutions +have taken firm root in the hearts of the English people, the heroic +army returns to sunny France, promising to come back should you relapse +into your puritanical hypochondria. The daughters of Albion stand upon +their chalky cliffs, and wring their white hands in grief at their +deliverers’ departure. What say you to this picture? Is it not +chivalrous? Is it not replete with the most affecting disinterestedness? +And do you doubt that it dwells in the hearts of thousands of +Frenchmen?” + +If Monsieur Tremplin here paused, it was for breath rather than for a +reply. Certainly it was not for want of matter, for he quickly resumed +his satirical commentary on English usages, rattling off a string of +libels on the dress and carriage of Englishwomen, on English musical +taste, &c. &c.—the whole for the special benefit of Keif, whom he had +got into a corner, the ladies being now busy tea-making. In the heap of +flippancy and exaggeration, a few sparkles of sense and truth are +discernible; not all the Frenchman’s arrows fly wide of the mark. He +laughs pitilessly at the medley of colours frequently seen in ladies’ +dresses in England; talks of “a scarlet shawl over an apple-green gown +with yellow flounces, and a cavalry hat with ostrich feathers” (the +judicious assortment of colours is one of the great studies and +occupations of a Parisian woman’s life), and is altogether abominably +disrespectful and scandalous in his remarks upon the fair sex of Great +Britain, although he speaks in raptures of the beauty of “the raw +material”—the beautiful hair, form, complexion, and so forth. Presently +he gets upon the opera, and the dress exacted as a condition of +admission. “Dresscoats and black trousers—why not powder and bagwigs? It +is written in the _Morning Post_ that seven delicate ladies, in the +first row of boxes, once fell into picturesque fainting fits, because a +foreigner with a coloured neckcloth had smuggled himself into the pit. +Be it observed that he had paid his bright Victorias at the door like +anybody else. Dress-coat is indispensable—black trousers ditto; but coat +and trousers may be old, dirty, threadbare. It strikes one as strange, +that, besides paying his money, he is to be tutored by the servants at a +theatre-door.” Keif, listening with smiling indulgence to the petulant +Frenchman, occasionally presumes to differ from him, or at least to +modify his strictures on English tastes and usages. “One meets with very +good musical connoisseurs in this country,” says the doctor; “but I +confess that the British public’s digestive powers, in respect of music, +often astonish me. John Bull sits out two symphonies by Beethoven, an +overture of Weber’s, a couple of fugues by Bach, half-a-score of +Mendelssohn’s songs, and half-a-dozen other airs and variations, and +goes home and sleeps like a marmot. At the theatre he will take in a +tragedy by Shakespeare, a three-act comedy from the French, a ballet, +and a substantial London farce. All that does not spoil his stomach.” +Tremplin was delighted to find the doctor falling into his line. “Yes,” +he said, “nothing satisfies these people but quantity. The Englishman +throws down his piece of gold and asks for a hundredweight of music”—and +he urged the doctor to go to Paris. Sir John was the best creature in +the world, but he was an original—an oddity. The doctor, upon the other +hand, was a man of sense and observation; and before he had worn out a +couple of pair of shoe-soles upon the asphalt of the boulevards, his +eyes would be opened. + +“_Pardieu!_ Paris!” cried the little man, getting very excited. “The +whole civilised world dresses itself out in the cast-off clothes of +Paris. What has Paris not? Do you wish religion? There are Lacordaire, +Lamennais, and the _Univers_. Religion of all sorts. Are you a lover of +philosophy? Go to Proudhon. For my part, to speak candidly, I care +neither for philosophy nor religion; both are _mauvais genre_, and I +should not mind if M. Proudhon were hung; but that does not prevent me, +as a Frenchman, from being proud of him. In a word, you will convince +yourself that the whole world beside is but a bad imitation of Paris. +There you find heaven and the other place, order and freedom, the +romance of orgies and the solitude of the cloister, all combined in the +most beautiful harmony—in the most magnificent and elegant form. Of one +thing especially”—and Tremplin laid his hand, with the earnestness of an +apostle, upon the shoulder of the astounded Keif—“be well assured, and +that is, that nowhere but in Paris can you learn to speak French. +Impossible. You never catch the accent. England’s climate is the most +dangerous of all for the pronunciation. I, an old Parisian, still am +sensible of the pestilential influence the jargon here spoken has upon +my tongue; and whenever I return to Paris from London, I feel ashamed +before my own porter.” + +The hour was come for Keif to bend his steps theatrewards. Sir John +escorted him to the door, and apologised, by the way, for the +provocation Tremplin had given him at dinner. It was some slighting +remark about Germans—an intimated opinion that they would never be +accessory to the combustion of the Thames—that had first roused the ire +of Keif, and provoked his tremendous denunciation of Frenchmen as all +that is frivolous, unstable, and contemptible. + +“‘What can you expect from a Frenchman?’ said Sir John. ‘He is a +harmless soul, but a great oddity; one might make money by exhibiting +him in Piccadilly. When I first knew him I took some trouble with him, +and tried to give him an idea of what England is; but, as the proverb +says, you cannot argue a dog’s hind-leg straight. You will never catch +_me_ arguing with him again.’” + +Keif went his way, chuckling at the notion of this precious pair of +mortals taxing each other with oddity, and totally unconscious that he +himself was as great an oddity as either of them. It was long after +midnight when he returned home. Everybody was gone to bed, the servant +told him, except Sir John and Monsieur. He found them at their +chamber-doors; with candles, burnt low, in their hands. The baronet had +forgotten his resolution;—he was trying to argue the dog’s hind-leg +straight. The pair were in the heat and fervour of a discussion, which +had evidently been of long duration. Shakspeare and Frenchwomen were its +rather strangely assorted subjects. The doctor caught a few sentences as +he passed, wished the disputants good night, and turned into bed. Fully +a quarter of an hour elapsed before they evacuated the lobby to follow +his example. Keif laughed to himself. + +“‘So,’ he said, ‘in Monsieur Tremplin’s eyes, Shakespeare is deficient +in power; and Sir John denies that Frenchwomen are graceful! Was there +ever such a pair of originals?’ And so saying, the third original went +to sleep.” + +We need hardly say that the ramble of Dr Keif (by whom we suspect Mr +Schlesinger himself is meant) through the theatrical purlieus, furnished +abundant materials for a chapter. It was Saturday—the very night to see +the Drury district in its glory; for wages had been paid, and after +twelve no liquor would be sold; so the fortunate recipients of cash were +making the most of the short night. This chapter, like some others in +the book, shows such a thorough familiarity with, and correct perception +of, London low life—is so totally different, in short, from the +blundering and exaggerated pictures one usually meets with in accounts +of London by foreigners—that we are more than once tempted, whilst +reading it, to suspect the writer of unacknowledged obligations to +English authors. But Mr Schlesinger has, we have no doubt, been long +resident in England, and as he, moreover, in one or two instances, +indicates by a note his appropriation of English materials, we dismiss +from our mind the idea of unconfessed plagiarism. Since we do so, we +must not refuse him the praise to which his faithful and striking +sketches fairly entitle him. With him and Frolick, we turn out of the +Strand, through a narrow court, into Drury Lane. + +“In the shops which occupy the ground floor of almost all the houses, +are exposed for sale, at low prices, shabby female apparel, coarse +eatables, low literature with horrible illustrations, strong shoes, old +clothes, abominable cigars, cold and hot meat. But the most prominent +feature in the whole of Drury Lane is the gin palace, whose favourite +station is at corners, where the lane is intersected by cross streets. +The gin palace contrasts with the adjacent buildings pretty much as does +a Catholic church with the cottages of a Slavonian village. From afar it +looms like a lighthouse to the thirsty working man; for it is sumptuous +with plate glass and gilt cornices, and dazzling with a hundred +many-coloured inscriptions. Here, in the window, is the portrait of a +giant from Norfolk, who is employed in the house to draw liquor and +customers; yonder, in green letters upon the pane, we read—‘The Only +Genuine Brandy in London;’ or, in red letters—‘Here is sold the +celebrated strengthening wholesome Gin, recommended by all the +doctors’—‘Cream Gin’—‘Honey Gin’—‘Genuine Porter’—‘Rum that would knock +down the Devil,’ &c. &c. Often the varnished door-posts are painted from +top to bottom with suchlike spirited announcements. It is to be +remarked, that even those gin shops which externally are the most +brilliant, within are utterly comfortless. The landlord intrenches +himself behind the bar, as in a fortress where his customers must not +enter. The walls in this sanctuary are covered with a whole library of +large and small casks, painted of various colours. The place thus +partitioned off is sometimes a picture of cleanliness and comfort, and +within it an arm-chair invites to repose; but in front of the bar, for +the customers, there is nothing but a narrow dirty standing place, +rendered yet more disagreeable by the continual opening and shutting of +the doors, and where the only seat, if there be one at all, is afforded +by an empty cask in a corner. Nevertheless the palace receives a +constant succession of worthy guests, who, standing, reeling, crouching +or lying, muttering, groaning or cursing, drink and—forget. + +“On sober working days, and in tolerable weather, there is nothing +remarkable, to the uninitiated, in the appearance of Drury Lane. Many a +little German capital is worse lighted, and not so well paved. Misery is +less plainly legible upon the physiognomy of this district than upon +that of Spitalfields, St Giles’s, Saffron Hill, and other wretched +corners of London. But at certain times it oozes, like Mississippi +slime, out of every pore. On Saturday evenings, after working-hours, on +the evening of holiday-Monday, and after church on Sunday, Drury Lane is +seen in its glory. On the other hand, Sunday morning in Drury Lane is +enough to give the most cheerful person the spleen. For the poorer +classes of labourers the Lord’s day is a day of penance, without church +to go to or walk to take. The well-dressed throngs that fill parks and +churches scare smock-frock and fustian-jacket into the beer-shops. For +the English proletarian is ashamed of his rags, and knows not how to +drape himself with them picturesquely, like the Spanish or Italian +lazzarone, who holds beggary to be an honourable calling. In the deepest +misery, the Englishman has still pride enough to shun the society of +those even half a grade superior to himself, and to confine himself to +that of his equals, amongst whom he may freely raise his head. And then +church and park have no charm for him. His legs are too weary for a walk +into the country; boat, omnibus, and railway, are too dear. His church, +his park, his club, his theatre, his refuge from the exhalations of the +sewers above which he dwells and sleeps, are the gin palace.” + +This is a gloomy, but we fear, to a certain extent, too true a picture. +In every large city, and particularly in such an overgrown one as +London, a certain-amount of misery of the kind above depicted must +exist; there must be a certain number of human beings living in a state +of almost total deprivation of those blessings which God intended all +his creatures to share—of a pure air, of the sight of fields and +flowers, of opportunities to praise His name in the society of their +fellow-men. But we are pretty sure Mr Schlesinger has lived long enough +in England to discern, and has candour enough to admit, that in no +country in the world are such generous, energetic, and unceasing efforts +made by the more fortunate classes for the moral and physical betterment +of the unfortunates whose degraded condition he graphically and truly +describes. That which in most European countries is left almost entirely +to the charge of government, and which is consequently often left +undone, or at best half done, is effected in England by the cordial +co-operation of the government and the nation, aided by a press which +must in justice be admitted to be ever ready to give publicity to social +grievances, to the sufferings of particular classes, and to practical +suggestions for their alleviation or remedy. Fortunate inhabitants of a +favoured land, we must not allow the difference just pointed out to +inflate our national vanity over-much. In no country is there so much +private wealth as in England, and thus, when we seem to give much, we +may be giving not more than others whose means are less, but their will +as good. Then there is, undeniably, another, and we should perhaps say a +selfish, motive for the energetic, efficient, and liberal manner in +which the opulent and well-to-do classes of Englishmen take up and +prosecute schemes for the amelioration of their poorer countrymen. An +observant people, shrewd in deduction, and setting common sense above +every other mental quality, we take warning by our neighbours. And we +feel that the best safeguard for institutions we all revere and +cherish—the best security against sedition and revolution, and against +the propagation, by designing knaves and misguided enthusiasts, of that +jacobinism whose manœuvres and excesses have proved so fatal in other +lands—is a generous and humane consideration of the wants and sufferings +of the poorer classes, and an earnest endeavour to elevate their +condition. + +And let us acknowledge, with thankfulness, that we have good stuff to +work upon; that if the higher classes show themselves prompt in +sacrifices, a praiseworthy patience is displayed by those they strive to +succour. The Parisian artisan or day-labourer, although probably less of +a bellygod than the Londoner of the same class, quickly gets irate when +he finds bread dear and commons short; and, upon the first suggestion +from any democrat who promises him a big loaf, is ready enough to +“descend into the street,” tear up the pavement, build a barricade, and +shoot his brother from behind it. Contrast this with the fortitude and +long-suffering of the poor gin-and-beer-drinking people whom Mr +Schlesinger qualifies (and the terms, perhaps, may not be justly +gainsaid) as besotted and obtuse of sense. Grant that they be so; they +yet have qualities which constitute them valuable citizens of a free +country. They will toil, when work is to be had; they have an innate +respect for law and order, and a manly pride which makes them shun a +workhouse coat as an abject livery; they loathe the mendicancy in which +the southern lazzarone luxuriates; they are not insensible to the +benevolent efforts constantly making in their behalf; and they take +little heed of the demagogue’s artful incitements. + +“There is hardly any people,” muses Mr Schlesinger, in a very different +part of his book and of London, (when strolling at the Hyde Park end of +Piccadilly), “that loves a green tree and an open lawn so heartily as +the English. They have not less reverence for the noble trees in their +parks than had the Druids for the sacred oaks in their consecrated +groves; and it does one’s heart good to see that the struggle with +Nature, the striving to apply her powers to wool-carding and +spindle-turning, does not destroy the feeling for those of her beauties +which cannot be converted into capital and interest. The English nation +refute, in their own persons, the oft-repeated lie that ‘excessive’ +cultivation (civilisation) estranges men from their primitive childish +feelings. In England, more than in any other part of the world, are fire +and water, earth and air, made use of as bread-winners; in England, the +ploughed field is fattened with manure gathered on barren reefs +thousands of miles distant; in England, nature is forced to produce the +enormous water-lilies of the tropics, and to ripen fruits of unnatural +size; in England, one eats grapes from Oporto, oranges from Malta, +peaches from Provence, pine-apples from Jamaica, bananas from St +Domingo, and nuts from Brazil. That which the native soil produces only +upon compulsion, and at great cost, is borrowed from other zones, but +not on that account are his native trees and meadows, woods and +shrubberies, less dear to the Englishman.” + +Mr Schlesinger will not doubt that this love of rural scenes and +nature’s beauties, which he so happily and gracefully discriminates and +defines, is common to all classes of Englishmen. We believe that it is, +and we recognise in it a propitious sign. The poor people he has seen, +during his Sabbath rambles in London’s “back-slums,” losing sight of the +blessed sunshine, and immuring themselves in a tap-room or gin palace, +would perhaps, but for their ragged garments, weary limbs, and scantily +furnished pockets, have preferred, like their betters, a country ramble, +to the cheap and deleterious excitement provided for them by Booth and +Barclay. But we feel that we are arguing without an opponent. We can +only trust, and we do so trust, seriously and gladly, that the day will +never come when the consciousness that the attainment of perfection is +impossible will deter English legislators and philanthropists from +devoting their utmost energies and abilities to the improvement of the +meanest and most depraved classes of their fellow-countrymen. + +The conviction that Shakespeare is better known, better understood, and, +above all, better acted in Germany than in England, is very prevalent in +the former country, where we have often heard it boldly put forward and +sustained. When in Shakespeare’s native land, Germans may possibly be +more modest in their pretensions; and yet we must not be too confident +of that, when we see a German company selecting Shakespeare’s plays for +performance before a refined and critical London audience. The recent +performances of Emil Devrient and his companions, give especial interest +to some theatrical criticisms put forth by Dr Keif for the benefit of +his friend Frolick, seated by his side in the pit of the Olympic +Theatre. He is of opinion that English actors, when rendering +Shakespeare’s characters, cling too tenaciously to tradition, and aim +too little at originality. After a visit to a penny theatre, of the +proceedings at which he gives a most laughable account, he returns, at +some length, to the subject of the English stage, and highly praises +certain English comic actors as excellent, and superior to any of the +same class in Germany. “I know nothing better,” he says, “than Matthews +at the Lyceum, and Mrs Keeley. There you have natural freshness, vigour, +ease, and finesse, all combined in right proportions. There is less +heartiness about our German comic performances; they always remind me of +the strained vivacity of a bookworm in a drawing-room; now the author, +then his interpreter, is too visibly forced in his condescension.” What +follows is less complimentary. “When I for the first time, at Sadler’s +Wells, saw Romeo and Juliet performed, I bit my lips all to pieces. +Juliet looked as if she came from a ladies’ school at Brompton, instead +of an Italian convent; the orthopedical stays and backboard were +unmistakable: as to Romeo, I would unhesitatingly have confided to him +the charge of an express train, so sober and practical was his air, so +solid and angular each one of his movements. The same impression was +made upon me by Mercutio, Tybalt, Lorenzo. It was not that they +displayed too little vocal and mimic power; on the contrary, it was +because they gesticulated like madmen, and ranged up and down the entire +gamut of human tones, from a whistle to a roar, that I too plainly saw +that no tragic passion was in them. The same company afterwards +delighted me in comic pieces.” In English theatricals Mr Schlesinger’s +taste is strongly for the humorous; the broader the farce and the +thicker the jokes, the better he is pleased. A Christmas pantomime, with +its practical fun and methodical folly, delights him. He is wonderstruck +and enchanted by the mischievous agility of clown, and the only drawback +to his pleasure is the inappropriate introduction of a ballet. “To see +twenty or thirty Englishwomen, of full grenadier stature, perform a +ballet-dance ten minutes in length, is an enjoyment from which one does +but slowly recover. To this day I live in the firm conviction that the +worthy young women had not the least idea that they were called upon for +an artistical performance, but took their long legs for mathematical +instruments, with which to demonstrate problems relating to right +angles, the hypothenuse, and the squaring of the circle.” This sarcasm +elicited a long reply from Frolick, who had once, it seems, been a +_fideler bursch_ in Heidelberg, who knew German well, and had seen +Shakespeare acted in both countries. In some respects he preferred the +German performance of Hamlet and Romeo and Juliet, but Richard III. and +Falstaff were to be seen best in England. The decline of the drama in +this country he attributed to a complication of causes, of which he +cited two—the nation’s preoccupation with matters more practical and +important, and the want of a government support. “In your country,” he +said, “thirty courts cherish, foster, and patronise the theatre; here, +every theatre is a private speculation. When the Queen has taken a box +at the Princess’s Theatre and another at Covent Garden, she has done all +that is expected from her Majesty in the way of patronage of the drama. +Upon the same boards upon which to-day you hear the swanlike notes of +Desdemona, you to-morrow may behold an equestrian troop or a party of +Indian jugglers. If you complain of such desecration of the muse’s +temple, you are simply laughed at. Aubry’s dog, which so excited the +holy indignation of Schiller and Goethe, would be welcomed at any of our +theatres, so long as he filled the house.” Without going the length of +restricting theatrical performances to what is termed the legitimate +drama, there ought to be a limit to illegitimacy, and unquestionably the +introduction upon our stage of tumblers, jugglers, and posture-masters, +circus-clowns, rope-dancers, and wild Indians, has powerfully +contributed to lower its character, and to wean many lovers of the drama +from the habitual frequenting of theatres. But the stage in England has +not the importance and weight it enjoys in some foreign countries; +notably in France, where it is one of the means used to distract from +politics the attention of the restless excitement-loving people; where +ministers of state, and imperial majesty itself, condescend to interfere +in minute dramatic details, and to command the suppression of pieces +whose merits they deem beneath the dignity of the theatre at which they +are produced. There, it is worth a government’s while to subsidise the +theatres; in England such an item would never be tolerated in a +chancellor of the exchequer’s budget. Nor is it needed. Public demand +will always create as large a supply as is really required. + +Pleasantly and intelligently criticising and discoursing, the German +doctor and his companion took their way again through Drury Lane, +witnessing more than one disgusting scene of drunkenness, riot, and +brutality. It was hard upon midnight: the gin palaces and their +frequenters were making the most of their last few minutes; the barrows +of battered fruit and full-flavoured shell-fish were trading at reduced +prices, upon the principle of small profits and quick returns; oysters +as big as a fist were piled up by threes and fours, at a penny a +heap—poverty and oysters, Mr Weller has informed us, invariably walk +hand in hand; here was a girl carried away dead drunk upon a +stretcher—“it was the hunger,” an old Irishwoman, with a glowing pipe in +her mouth, assured the gentleman, “that had done it—oh! only the +hunger—the smallest drop had been too much for poor Sall;” here a brace +of Amazons were indulging in a “mill” in the centre of an admiring ring; +in front of a public-house a half-famished Italian ground out the air of +“There’s a good time coming, boys—wait a little longer,” the organist +looking the while as if he had great need of the “good time,” and very +little power to wait. Suddenly the lights went out in the gin palaces, +ballad-singers and hurdygurdy stopped short in the middle of their +melodies, shouts and curses subsided into a hoarse murmur, and the mob +dispersed and disappeared, to adopt Mr Schlesinger’s severe comparison, +“like dirty rain-water that rolls into gutters and sewers.” The amateur +observers of London’s blackguardism pursued their homeward way. + +“Suddenly, from a side street, a tall figure emerged with long noiseless +steps, and cast a glance right and left—no policeman was in sight. Then +she rapidly approached our two friends and fixed her glassy eyes upon +them. + +“It is no midnight spectre, but neither is it a being of flesh and +blood, it consists but of skin and bone. Upon her arm is an infant, to +which the bony hand affords but a hard dying-bed. For a few seconds she +gazes at the strangers. They put some silver into her hand. Without a +word of thanks, or of surprise at the liberality of the alms, she walks +away. + +“‘The holy Sabbath has commenced,’ said Keif, after they had proceeded +for some distance in silence, ‘the puritanical Sabbath, on which misery +feels itself doubly and trebly forlorn.’ + +“‘My dear friend,’ replied Frolick, ‘five-and-twenty years ago you might +have paved Oxford Street with such unhappy wretches as that we just now +met. Now you must seek them out in a nook of Drury Lane. And the +puritanism of the present day is a rose-coloured full-blooded worldling, +compared to that of the Roundheads; it is nothing but the natural +reaction against the licentious cavalier spirit, created by the gloomy +hypocrisy that prevailed before the Restoration, and handed down even to +the beginning of the present century. It is English nature to cure one +extreme by running into the other. Either wildly jovial or prudishly +refined; drunkards or teetotallers; prize-fighters or peace-society-men. +If the perception of a harmonious happy medium, and the instinct of +beauty of form, were innate in us, either we should no longer be the +tough, hard-working, one-sided, powerful John Bull, or we should ere now +have proved the untruth of your German proverb that in no country under +the sun do trees grow until their branches reach the sky.’” + +After which modest intimation (somewhat Teutonic in style) of his +patriotic and heartfelt conviction that if England were a little better +than she is, she would be too good for this world, Frolick took leave of +his friend. We shall soon follow his example. Before doing so, we +recommend to all English readers of German, the twelfth chapter of Mr +Schlesinger’s second volume, both as very interesting and as containing +many sensible observations and home-truths. No extraordinary acuteness +is necessary to discriminate between the writer’s jest and earnest. + +“The reader acquainted with English domestic arrangements,” says Mr +Schlesinger in a note to his first volume, “will long ago have found out +that the house we live in is that of a plain citizen. So we may as well +confess that Sir John is neither knight nor baronet, but was dubbed by +ourselves, in consideration of his services to the reader, without +licence from the Queen, and with a silver spoon instead of a sword.” Sir +John is not the less—if Mr Schlesinger’s sketch be a portrait—a good +fellow and a worthy simple-hearted Englishman; and we find with +pleasure, at the close of the book, a letter from him, dated from his +cottage in the country, and addressed to the cynical Keif, who was +braving November’s fogs in Guildford Street. The doctor had sent to his +friend and host the proof-sheets of the second volume of the _Wanderings +through London_; Sir John writes back his thanks, his opinion of the +work, and his cordial forgiveness of the jokes at his expense that it +contains. “Never mind,” he says; “we Englishmen can stomach the truth; +and if you will promise me to abjure some portion of your German +stiffneckedness, I willingly pledge myself never again to try to reason +a Frenchman’s hind-leg straight. Between ourselves, that was the +greatest absurdity our friend has exposed. As to all the rest, I will +maintain my words before God, the Queen, and my countrymen. But,” +continues Sir John, quitting personal considerations, “as regards our +friend’s book—which, you tell me, is to be published at Christmas in +Berlin, the most enlightened of German cities—I really fear, my dear +doctor, that it is a bad business. How, in heaven’s name, are Germans to +form an idea of London from those two meagre volumes? Many things are +depicted in them, but how many are neglected, and these the very things +in which you Germans should take a lesson from us! Not a word about our +picture-galleries, which, nevertheless, impartially speaking, are the +first in the world! Not a word about the British Museum, about the +Bridgewater, Vernon, and Hampton Court galleries! Not a word about St +Paul’s, nor a syllable concerning the Colosseum, Madame Tussaud, or +Barclay and Perkins’ Brewery! No mention of our finest streets—Regent +Street, Bond Street, Belgravia, and Westbourne Terrace; of our concerts +at Exeter Hall, our markets, our zoological and botanical gardens, Kew, +Richmond, Windsor, art, literature, benevolent institutions,” &c. &c. +Sir John continues his enumeration of omissions, until it seems to +comprise everything worth notice in London; and we ask ourselves with +what Mr Schlesinger has filled the eight hundred pages we have read with +so much satisfaction and amusement. We perceive that he has given his +attention to men rather than to things, that his vein has been +reflective and philosophical, and that he has not mistaken himself for +the compiler of a London guide. But still Sir John is dissatisfied. +In Berlin, he says, “people will imagine England has no +picture-galleries—ha! ha! and no hospitals—ha! ha! ha! In ten such +volumes, the materials would not be exhausted.” + +“It is delightful here in the country,” concludes Sir John, breaking off +his criticism. “Where do you find such fresh green, and such mild air in +November as in our England? I go out walking without a greatcoat, and +say to myself, ‘Across the water, in Germany, the snow lies deep, and +the wolves walk in and out of Cologne Cathedral.’ Here it is a little +damp of a morning and evening, but then one sits by the fire and reads +the newspaper. Nowhere is one so comfortable as in the country in +England. Come and see us in our cottage; the children are longing to see +you, and so am I.” + +Then comes a postscript, which, like many postscripts, is not the least +important part of the letter. “At this damp time of the year,” says the +spoon-dubbed baronet, “I advise you to take a small glass of cognac of a +morning—there must still be some bottles of the right sort in the +cellar—and every night one of my pills. You will find a boxful on the +chimney-piece in my study. Do not be obstinate: you do not know how +dangerous this season of the year is in England.” + +So kind and hospitable a letter demanded a prompt reply, and accordingly +we get Dr Keif’s by return of post. It is pretty evident, however, that +the motive of his haste is rather anxiety to answer the charge of +incompleteness brought against Max Schlesinger’s book, than generous +impatience to thank Sir John for placing the pill-box at his disposal. +The author of the _Wanderings_, he says, preferred dissecting and +dwelling upon a few subjects to slightly touching upon a large number; +and, in his usual caustic strain, he reminds his friend, that if some +things of which London has a right to be proud have been left unnoticed, +the same has been the case with other things of which she has reason to +be ashamed. He then enumerates the blots, as Sir John had detailed the +glories. Having done so: “it is horrible here in London,” he says. +“Where do you find such fogs and such a pestilential atmosphere, in +November, as in your London? That the wolves now walk in and out of +Cologne Cathedral is a mere creation of your Britannic imagination; and, +since you talk of doing without a greatcoat, why, the English walk about +the whole winter through, in Germany, in black dresscoats, but they are +cunning enough to carry several layers of flannel underneath them. Have +you by chance discarded yours? That you are comfortable in your +country-house I have no doubt. _That_ I never disputed.” + +In his turn, Dr Keif treats himself to a postscript. “Since this +morning,” he says, “I have followed your medical prescription, and will +keep to it—partially, that is to say. I found the cognac, and will take +it regularly. On the other hand, when you return to London, you will +find your pills untouched upon your chimney-piece.” + +And so we come to “Finis.” Mr Schlesinger is a genial and unprejudiced +critic of a foreign capital’s customs and character, and we thank him +for his agreeable, spirited, and impartial volumes. By his own +countrymen they will, or we are greatly mistaken, be highly and +deservedly prized. + + + + + NEW READINGS IN SHAKESPEARE.[3] + + + NO. II. + +If the glory of Shakespeare is a theme for national congratulation, the +purity of his text ought to be an object of national concern. It is not +enough that the general effect of his writings should impress itself +clearly on the hearts and minds of all classes of readers; that the +grander and broader features of his genius should commend themselves to +the admiration of all mankind. This they can never fail to do. The +danger to which Shakespeare is exposed is not such as can ever +materially affect the soul and substance of his compositions. Here he +stands pre-eminent and secure. But he is exposed to a danger of another +kind. As time wears on, his text runs periodically the risk of being +extensively tampered with; whether by the introduction of _new_ +readings, properly so called, or by the insertion of glosses of a +comparatively ancient date. The carelessness with which it is alleged +the earlier editions were printed, is pleaded as an apology for these +conjectural corrections;—one man’s ingenuity sets to work the wits of +another; and thus, unless the _cacoethes emendandi_ be checked betimes, +a distant posterity, instead of receiving our great poet’s works in an +authentic form, may succeed to a very adulterated inheritance. + +This consideration induces us to exert such small power as we may +possess to check the growing evil, and in particular to repress that +deluge of innovations which Mr Collier has lately let loose upon the +gardens of Shakespeare, from the margins of his corrected folio of 1632, +and which, if they do not shake the everlasting landmarks, at any rate +threaten with destruction many a flower of choicest fragrance and most +celestial hue. We believe that when Mr Collier’s volume was first +published, the periodical press was generally very loud in its praises. +“Here we have the genuine Shakespeare at last,” said the journals, with +singular unanimity. But when the new readings have been dispassionately +discussed, and when the excitement of their novelty has subsided, we +believe that Mr Collier’s “Shakespeare restitutus,” so far from being an +acceptable present to the community, will be perceived to be such a book +as very few readers would like to live in the same house with. + +In order, then, to carry out what we conceive to be a good work—the +task, namely, of defending the text of Shakespeare from the impurities +with which Mr Collier wishes to inoculate it—we return to the discussion +(which must necessarily be of a minute and chiefly verbal character) of +the new readings. We shall endeavour to do justice to the old corrector, +by bringing forward every alteration which looks like a real emendation. +Two or three small matters may perhaps escape us, but the reader may be +assured that they are very small matters indeed. It will be seen that +the unwise substitutions constitute an overwhelming majority. The play +that stands next in order is “King John.” + + +KING JOHN—_Act II. Scene 1._—In this play the new readings are of no +great importance. A few of them may equal the original text—one or two +may excel it—but certainly the larger portion fall considerably below it +in point of merit. The best emendation occurs in the lines in which +young Arthur expresses his acknowledgments to Austria— + + “I give you welcome with a powerless hand, + But with a heart full of _unstained_ love.” + +The MS. corrector proposes “_unstrained_ love,” which perhaps is the +better word of the two, though the change is by no means necessary. The +same commendation cannot be extended to the alteration which is proposed +in the lines where Constance is endeavouring to dissuade the French king +from engaging precipitately in battle. She says— + + “My lord Chatillon may from England bring + That right in peace, which here we urge in war; + And then we shall repent each drop of blood, + That hot rash haste so _indirectly_ shed.” + +“Indirectly” is Shakespeare’s word. The MS. corrector suggests +“indiscreetly”—a most unhappy substitution, which we are surprised that +the generally judicious Mr Singer should approve of. “Indiscreetly” +means imprudently, inconsiderately. “Indirectly” means wrongfully, +iniquitously, as may be learnt from these lines in King Henry V., where +the French king is denounced as a usurper, and is told that Henry + + “bids you, then, resign + Your crown and kingdom, _indirectly_ held + From him the native and true challenger.” + +It was certainly the purpose of Constance to condemn the rash shedding +of blood as something worse than indiscreet—as criminal and unjust—and +this she did by employing the term “indirectly” in the Shakespearean +sense of that word. + +In this same Act, _Scene 2_, a new reading—also approved of by Mr +Singer, and pronounced “unquestionably right” by Mr Collier—is proposed +in the lines where the citizen says— + + “That daughter there of Spain, the Lady Blanch + Is _near_ to England.” + +For “near” the MS. correction is _niece_. But the Lady Blanch is +repeatedly, throughout the play, spoken of as niece to King John and the +Queen-mother. Therefore, if for no other reason than that of varying the +expression, we must give our suffrage most decidedly in favour of the +original reading. “_Near_ to England” of course means nearly related to +England; and it seems much more natural, as well as more poetical, that +the citizen should speak in this general way of Lady Blanch, than that +he should condescend on her particular degree of relationship, and style +her the “niece to England.” + +At the end of this Act, in the soliloquy of Faulconbridge, a very +strange perversion on the part of the MS. corrector comes before us. +Faulconbridge is railing against what he calls “commodity”—that is, the +morality of self-interest. He then goes on to represent himself as no +better than his neighbours, in these words— + + “And why rail I on this commodity? + But for because he hath not woo’d me yet; + Not that I have the power to clutch my hand, + When his fair angels would salute my palm.” + +The meaning of these lines is certainly sufficiently obvious. Yet Mr +Collier’s corrector is not satisfied with them. He reads— + + “Not that I have _no_ power to clutch my hand,” &c. + +But unless Mr Collier can prove—what will be difficult—that “power” here +means _inclination_, it is evident that this reading directly reverses +Shakespeare’s meaning. If “power” means _inclination_, the sense would +be this—I rail on this commodity, not because I have no inclination to +clutch my hand on the fair angels that would salute my palm, but because +I have not yet been tempted; when temptation comes, I shall doubtless +yield like my neighbours. But power never means, and cannot mean +inclination; and Mr Collier has not attempted to show that it does; and +therefore the new reading must be to this effect—“I rail on this +commodity, not because I am _unable_ to close my hand against a bribe,” +&c. But Faulconbridge says the very reverse. He says—“I rail on this +commodity, not because I have the power to resist temptation, or am +_able_ to shut my hand against the fair angels that would salute my +palm; for I have no such power: in this respect I am just like other +people, and am as easily bribed as they are.” The new reading, +therefore, must be dismissed as a wanton reversal of the plain meaning +of Shakespeare. + +_Act III. Scene 3._—We approve of the corrector’s change of the word +“race,” the ordinary reading, into _ear_, in the following line about +the midnight bell— + + “Sound one unto the drowsy _ear_ of night.” + +The old copies read _on_ instead of _one_, which was supplied—rightly, +as we think—by Warburton. The MS. corrector makes no change in regard to +_on_. + +_Act III. Scene 4._—The passionate vehemence of Constance’s speech is +much flattened by the corrector’s ill-judged interference. Bewailing the +loss of her son, she says— + + “O, that my tongue were in the thunder’s mouth; + Then with a passion would I shake the world: + And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy, + Which cannot hear a lady’s feeble voice, + Which scorns a _modern_ invocation.” + +For “modern” the MS. corrector would read “widow’s”! And Mr Collier, +defending the new reading, observes that Johnson remarks, “that it is +hard to say what Shakespeare means by _modern_.” Johnson does make this +remark. Nevertheless the meaning of the word “modern” is perfectly +plain. It signifies moderate—not sufficiently impassioned; and we are +called upon to give up this fine expression for the inanity of a +“_widow’s_ invocation”! In the same lines this reckless tamperer with +the language of Shakespeare would change + + “Then with a passion would I shake the world,” + +into + + “Then with _what_ passion would I shake the world.” + +_Act IV. Scene 2._—In the following lines a difficulty occurs which +seems insuperable, and which the MS. corrector has certainly not +explained, although Mr Collier says that his reading makes “the meaning +apparent.” King John, in reply to some of his lords, who have tried to +dissuade him from having a double coronation, says— + + “Some reasons of this double coronation + I have possessed you with, and think them strong: + And more, more strong (_when lesser is my fear_) + I shall endue you with.” + +This is the common reading; but why the king should give them more and +stronger reasons for his double coronation, when his fears were +diminished, is not at all apparent. The strength of his fears should +rather have led him at once to state his reasons explicitly. The MS. +correction is— + + “And more, more strong, _thus lessening_ my fear, + I shall endue you with.” + +But how the _communication_ of his stronger reasons should have the +effect of lessening the king’s fear, is a riddle still darker than the +other. The _possession_ of these reasons might lessen the usurper’s +fears; but surely the mere utterance of them could make no difference. +If the MS. corrector had written, “thus lessening _your_ fears,” there +would have been some sense in the emendation; and, if a new reading be +required, this is the one which we venture to suggest. + +_Act IV. Scene 3._—We confess that we prefer the MS. corrector’s line, + + “Whose private _missive_ of the Dauphin’s love,” + +to the ordinary reading, + + “Whose private _with me_ of the Dauphin’s love.” + +But we are not prepared to say that the latter is unintelligible, or +that it is not in accordance with the diplomatic phraseology of the +time. + +The following new reading has something to recommend it; but much also +may be said in defence of the old text. Salisbury, indignant with the +king, says, as the ordinary copies give it, + + “The King hath dispossessed himself of us; + We will not line his _thin bestained_ cloak + With our pure honours.” + +The margins propose “sin-bestained,” which is plausible. But there is +also a propriety in the use of the word “thin.” The king’s cloak (that +is, his authority) was _thin_, because not lined and strengthened with +the power and honours of his nobles. The text ought not to be altered. + +We conclude our _obiter dicta_ on this play with the remark, that Pope’s +change of “hand” into “head,” which is also proposed by the MS. +corrector in the following lines, (_Act IV. Scene III._) seems to us to +be an improvement, and entitled to admission into the text. Salisbury +vows + + “Never to taste the pleasures of the world, + Never to be infected with delight, + Nor conversant with ease and idleness, + ’Till I have set a glory to this _head_, + By giving it the worship of revenge,” + +—that is, the head of young Arthur, whose dead body had just been +discovered on the ground. + + +KING RICHARD II.—_Act. II. Scene 1._—Ritson’s emendation, as pointed out +by Mr Singer, is unquestionably to be preferred to the MS. corrector’s +in these lines— + + “The King is come; deal mildly with his youth, + For young hot colts, being _rag’d_, do rage the more.” + +“Raged,” the common reading, can scarcely be right. Ritson proposed +“being reined.” The margins suggest “being urg’d.” + +We differ from the MS. corrector, Mr Collier, and Mr Singer, in thinking +that there is no good reason for disturbing the received text in the +lines where the conspirators, Willoughby, Ross, and Northumberland, are +consulting together; but, on the contrary, very good reasons for leaving +it alone. Willoughby says to his brother—conspirator, Northumberland, + + “Nay, let us share thy thoughts as thou dost ours.” + +Ross also presses him to speak: + + “Be confident to speak, Northumberland; + We three are but thyself; and speaking so, + Thy words are but _as_ thoughts, therefore be bold.” + +The change proposed is _our_ for “as.” “Thy words are but _our_ +thoughts.” The difference of meaning in the two readings is but slight; +but the old text seems to us to have the advantage in depth and +fineness. Ross’s argument with Northumberland to speak was not merely +because his words were as _their_ thoughts. That was no doubt true; but +the point of his persuasion lay in the consideration that +Northumberland’s words would be _as good as not spoken_. “We three are +but yourself, and, in these circumstances, your words are but _as_ +thoughts—that is, you are as safe in uttering them as if you uttered +them not, inasmuch as you will be merely speaking to yourself.” The +substitution of “our” for “as” seems to bring out this meaning less +clearly. + +_Act II. Scene 2._—The following lines (part of which, for the sake of +perspicuity, we print within a parenthesis, contrary, we believe, to the +common arrangement) require no emendation. The queen, labouring under +“the involuntary and unaccountable depression of mind which, says +Johnson, every one has some time felt,” remarks— + + “Howe’er it be, + I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad, + As (though, in thinking, on no thought I think) + Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.” + +The MS. corrector reads “unthinking” for “in thinking;” but this is by +no means necessary. The old text is quite as good, indeed rather better +than the new. + +_Scene 3._—Much dissatisfaction has been expressed with the word +_despised_ in the lines in which York severely rates his traitorous +nephew Bolingbroke: + + “Why have those banish’d and forbidden legs + Dared once to touch a dust of English ground? + But more than why,—why have they dared to march + So many miles upon her peaceful bosom, + Frighting her pale-faced villages with war, + And ostentation of _despised_ arms?” + +“But sure,” says Warburton, “the ostentation of despised arms would not +_fright_ any one. We should read ‘disposed arms’—_i.e._, forces in +battle array.” “Despoiling arms” is the reading recommended by the +margins. “Displayed arms” is the right expression, according to Mr +Singer. But surely no emendation is required. The ostentation of +despised arms was quite sufficient to frighten the harmless villagers; +and this is all that Shakespeare says it did. And then it is in the +highest degree appropriate and consistent that York should give his +nephew to understand that his arms or forces were utterly despicable in +the estimation of all loyal subjects, of all honourable and +right-thinking men. Hence his words, + + “Frighting her _pale-faced_ villages with war, + And _ostentation_ of _despised_ arms,” + +mean—alarming with war only pale-faced villagers, who never smelt the +sulphurous breeze of battle, and making a vain parade of arms which all +true soldiers must despise. + +_Act III. Scene 3._—The substitution of _storm_ for “harm,” in the +following lines, is an exceedingly doubtful emendation. York says of +Richard— + + “Yet looks he like a king; behold, his eye, + As bright as is the eagle’s, lightens forth + Controlling majesty. Alack, alack for woe, + That any _harm_ should stain so fair a show!” + +It is true that, in a previous part of the speech, the king is likened +to the setting sun, whose glory “the envious clouds are bent to dim;” +and therefore the word _storm_ has some show of reason to recommend it, +and “harm” may possibly have been a misprint. But we rather think that +it is the right word, and that it is more natural and pathetic than the +word _storm_. Nothing else worthy of note or comment presents itself in +the MS. corrections of King Richard II. + + +THE FIRST PART OF KING HENRY IV.—_Act I. Scene 1._—“No new light,” says +Mr Collier, “is thrown upon the two lines which have produced so many +conjectures: + + ‘No more the thirsty entrance of this soil + Shall daub her lips with her own children’s blood.’” + +The MS. corrector has in this instance shown his sense by not meddling +with these lines; for how any light beyond their own inherent lustre +should ever have been thought necessary to render them luminous, it is +not easy to understand. As a specimen of the way in which the old +commentators occasionally darkened the very simplest matters, their +treatment of these two lines may be adduced. The old quartos, and the +folio 1623, supply the text as given above. By an error of the press, +the folio 1632 reads _damb_ instead of _daub_. This _damb_ the earlier +commentators converted into _damp_. Warburton changed “damp” into +trempe—_i.e._, moisten. Dr Johnson, although very properly dissatisfied +with this Frenchified reading, is as much at fault as the bishop. With +the authentic text of the older editions before him, he says, “the old +reading helps the editor no better than the new” (in other words, _daub_ +is no better than damb, and damp, and trempe); “nor can I satisfactorily +reform the passage. I think that ‘thirsty entrance’ _must be_ wrong, yet +know not what to offer. We may read, but not very elegantly— + + ‘No more the thirsty _entrails_ of this soil + Shall _daubed be_ with her own children’s blood.’” + +Truly this reading is by no means elegant; it is nothing less than +monstrous. To say nothing of the physical impossibility of the blood +penetrating to the “entrails” of the earth, the expression violates the +first principles of poetical word-painting. The interior parts of the +earth are not seen, and therefore to talk of them as daubed with blood, +is to attempt to place before the eye of the mind a picture which cannot +be placed before it. In science, or as a matter of fact, this may be +admissible; but in poetry, where the imagination is addressed, it is +simply an absurdity. Steevens, with some hesitation, proposes— + + “No more the thirsty _entrants_ of this soil + Shall daub her lips with her own children’s blood.” + +“Entrants,” that is, “invaders.” “This,” says Steevens, “may be thought +very far-fetched.” It is worse than far-fetched—it is ludicrously +despicable. Conceive Shakespeare saying that “a parcel of _drouthy_ +Frenchmen shall no more daub the lips of England with the blood of her +own children”! What renders this reading all the more inexcusable is, +that Steevens perceived what the true and obvious meaning was, although +he had not the steadiness to stand to it. He adds—“or Shakespeare _may_ +mean the _thirsty entrance_ of the soil for the _porous surface_ of the +earth through which all moisture enters, and is thirstily drunk or +soaked up.” Shakespeare’s words cannot by any possibility mean anything +except this. “Porous surface,” as must be obvious to all mankind, is the +exact literal prose of the more poetical phrase, “thirsty entrance.” Yet +obvious as this interpretation is, Malone remained blind to it, even +after Steevens had pointed it out. He prefers Steevens’ first +emendation. He says, “Mr Steevens’ conjecture (that is, his suggestion +of _entrants_ for _entrance_) is so likely to be true, that I have no +doubt about the propriety of admitting it into the text.” In spite, +however, of these vagaries, we believe that the right reading, as given +above, has kept its place in the ordinary editions of Shakespeare. This +instance may show that our MS. corrector is not the only person whose +wits have gone a-woolgathering when attempting to mend the language of +Shakespeare. + +Before returning to Mr Collier’s corrector, we wish to make another +digression, in order to propose a new reading—one, at least, which is +new to ourselves, and not to be found in the _variorum_ edition 1785. +The king says, in reference to the rising in the north, which has been +triumphantly put down— + + “Ten thousand bold Scots,—two-and-twenty knights, + _Balked_ in their own blood, did Sir Walter see + On Holmedon’s plains.” + +For “balked” Steevens conjectured either “bathed” or “baked.” Warton +says that _balk_ is a ridge, and that therefore “balked in their own +blood” means “piled up in a ridge, and in their own blood.” Tollet says, +“‘balked in their own blood,’ I believe, means, lay in heaps or hillocks +in their own blood.” We propose— + + “Ten thousand bold Scots,—two-and-twenty knights, + _Bark’d_ in their own blood, did Sir Walter see + On Holmedon’s plains.” + +“Barked,” that is, coated with dry and hardened blood, as a tree is +coated with bark. This is picturesque. To _bark_ or _barken_ is +undoubtedly an old English word; and in Scotland, even at this day, it +is not uncommon to hear the country people talk of blood _barkening_, +that is, hardening, upon a wound. + +_Act I. Scene 3._—The following lines present a difficulty which the +commentators—and among them our anonymous scholiast—have not been very +successful in clearing up. The king, speaking in reference to the +revolted Mortimer and his accomplices, says— + + “Shall we buy treason, and indent _with fears_, + When they have lost and forfeited themselves? + No, on the barren mountains let him starve.” + +There is no difficulty in regard to the word “indent;” it means, to +enter into a compact—to descend, as Johnson says, to a composition. But +what is the meaning of “to indent, or enter into a compact, _with +fears_”? Johnson suggests “with peers”—that is, with the noblemen who +have lost and forfeited themselves. But this is a very unsatisfactory +and improbable reading. The MS. corrector proposes “with foes;” and Mr +Collier remarks, “It seems strange that, in the course of two hundred +and fifty years, nobody should ever have even guessed at _foes_ for +_fears_.” It is much more strange that Mr Collier should be ignorant +that “foes” is the reading of the Oxford editor, Sir Thomas Hanmer—a +reading which was long ago condemned. Mr Singer adheres rightly to the +received text; but he is wrong in his explanation of the word “fears.” +He says that it means “objects of fear.” But surely the king can never +have regarded Mortimer and his associates as objects of fear. He had a +spirit above that. He had no dread of them. Steevens is very nearly +right when he says that the word “fears” here means _terrors_: he would +have been quite right had he said that it signifies _cowardice_, or +rather, by a poetical licence, “cowards”—(_fearers_, if there were such +a word.) The meaning is, shall we buy treason, and enter into a +composition with cowardice, when they (the traitors and cowards) have +lost and forfeited themselves? Treason and cowardice are undoubtedly the +two offences which the king intends to brand with his indignation. +“Foes” is quite inadmissible. + +In _Act II. Scene 1_—Gadshill, talking in a lofty vein of his high +acquaintances, says, “I am joined with no foot land-rakers, no +long-staff, six-penny strikers; none of these mad, mustachio, +purple-hued maltworms; but with nobility and _tranquillity_; +burgomasters and great _oneyers_; such as can hold in; such as can +strike sooner than speak,” &c. The change of “tranquillity” into +_sanguinity_, as proposed by the MS. corrector, we dismiss at once as +unworthy of any consideration. “Oneyers” is the only word about which +there is any difficulty; and it has puzzled the bigwigs. Theobald reads +“moneyers”—that is, officers of the mint—bankers. Sir T. Hanmer reads +“great owners.” Malone reads “onyers,” which, he says, means public +accountants. “To settle accounts is still called at the exchequer _to +ony_, and hence Shakespeare seems to have formed the word _onyers_.” +Johnson has hit upon the right explanation, although he advances it with +considerable hesitation. “I know not,” says he, “whether any change is +necessary; Gadshill tells the chamberlain that he is joined with no mean +wretches, but with burgomasters and great ones, or, as he terms them in +merriment, by a cant termination, great oneyers, or, great one-eers—as +we say privateer, auctioneer, circuiteer. This is, I fancy, the whole of +the matter.” That this is the true explanation, or very near it, and +that no change in the text is necessary, is proved beyond a doubt by the +following extract from the writings of one whose genius, while it +elevates the noblest subjects, can also illustrate the most small. “Do +they often go where glory waits them, and leave you here?” says Mr +Swiveller, alluding to Brass and his charming sister, in Dickens’ _Old +Curiosity Shop_. “‘O, yes, I believe they do,’ returned the marchioness, +_alias_ the small servant; ‘Miss Sally’s such a _one-er_ for that.’ +‘Such a what?’ said Dick, as much puzzled as a Shakespearean +commentator. ‘Such a one-er,’ returned the marchioness. After a moment’s +reflection, Mr Swiveller determined to forego his responsible duty of +setting her right—[why should he have wished to set her right? she _was_ +right; she was speaking the language and illustrating the meaning of +Shakespeare]—and to suffer her to talk on; as it was evident that her +tongue was loosened by the purl, and her opportunities for conversation +were not so frequent as to render a momentary check of little +consequence. ‘They sometimes go to see Mr Quilp,’ said the small +servant, with a shrewd look: ‘they go to a many places, bless you.’ ‘Is +_Mr_ Brass a _wunner_?’ said Dick. ‘Not half what Miss Sally is, he +isn’t,’ replied the small servant.” Here is the very word we want. +Shakespeare’s “oneyer” is Dickens’ _one-er_ or _wunner_—that is, a one +_par excellence_, a one with an emphasis—a top-sawyer—and the difficulty +is resolved. Set a thief to catch a thief; and leave one great +intellectual luminary to throw light upon another. After Mr Dickens’ +lucid commentary, “oneyer” becomes quite a household word, and we +suspect that the MS. corrector’s emendation will scarcely go down. He +reads, “burgomasters and great _ones_,—_yes_ such as can hold in.” “This +will never do,” to quote a favourite aphorism, and literary canon of the +late Lord Jeffrey, when speaking of the Lake School of poetry. + +_Act II. Scene 4._—The complacency with which Mr Collier sets the +authority of his MS. corrector above that of the other commentators on +Shakespeare, is one of the most curious features in his literary +character. The following is an instance of his marginolatry. “Rowe,” +says Mr Collier, “_seems_ to have been right (indeed, the emendation +hardly admits of doubt) in reading _tristful_ for ‘trustful’ in +Falstaff’s speech, as we learn from the alteration introduced in the +folio 1632. ‘For Heaven’s sake, lords, convey my _tristful_ queen.’” As +if the authority of Rowe, or of any other person, was not, to say the +least of it, just as good as that of the anonymous corrector, who, by +the blunders into which he has fallen, has proved himself signally +disqualified for the task of rectifying Shakespeare where his text may +happen to be corrupted. + +_Act III. Scene 1._—Now and then, however, as we have all along +admitted, the old corrector makes a good hit. A very excellent +emendation, about the best which he has proposed, occurs in the scene +where Mortimer says— + + “My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.” + +The lady then speaks to him in Welsh, being at the same time in tears; +whereupon her husband says— + + “I understood thy looks, _that_ pretty Welsh + Which thou pourest down from the swelling heavens.” + +“The swelling heavens”—her eyes might no doubt be swollen; but that is +not a pretty picture. The correction, which is a manifest improvement, +and worthy of a place in the text, is “from these welling heavens.” This +correction is taken from Mr Collier’s appendix, or “notes,” where it +might be easily overlooked. + +_Act V. Scene 1._—The MS. corrector is very fond of eking out imperfect +lines with conjectural interpolations, and of curtailing others which +present a superfluity of syllables. This is a practice which cannot be +permitted even in cases where the alteration improves the verses, as +sometimes happens; much less can it be tolerated in cases, which are +still more frequent, where the verses are manifestly enfeebled by the +change. A conspicuous instance of the latter occurs in these lines. The +rebellious Worcester says to the king, + + ——“I do protest + I have not sought the day of this dislike. + + _K. Henry._—You have not sought it—How comes it then?” + +Here the words, “How comes it then?” are vehement and abrupt, and the +verse is purposely defective. Its impetuosity is destroyed by the +corrector’s stilted and unnatural interpolation— + + “You have not sought it—_say_, how comes it then?” + +That word _say_ takes off the sharp edge of the king’s wrathful +interrogative, and converts him from a flesh and blood monarch into a +mouthing ranter, a mere tragedy-king. + + +THE SECOND PART OF HENRY IV.—_Act I. Scene 2._—We agree with Mr Collier +and Mr Singer that the substitution of _diseases_ for “degrees” in +Falstaff’s speech is a good and legitimate emendation, and we willingly +place it to the credit of the MS. corrector. + +_Act I. Scene 3._—The MS. corrector attempts to amend the following +passage in several places—not very successfully, as we shall endeavour +to show. The rebellious lords are talking about their prospects and +resources. Bardolph counsels delay, and warns his friends against being +over-sanguine. + + “_Hastings._—But, by your leave, it never yet did hurt, + To lay down likelihoods, and forms of hope. + + _Bardolph._—Yes, in this present quality of war; + Indeed, of instant action. A cause on foot + Lives so in hope, as in an early spring + We see the appearing buds; which, to prove fruit, + Hope gives not so much warrant, as despair, + That frosts will bite them. When we mean to build, + We first survey the plot, then draw the model; + And when we see the figure of the house, + Then must we rate the cost of the erection; + Which, if we find outweighs ability, + What do we then, but draw anew the model + In fewer offices; or, at least, desist + To build at all? Much more in this great work + (Which is, almost, to pluck a kingdom down + And set another up), should we survey + The plot of situation and the model; + Consent upon a sure foundation; + Question surveyors; know our own estate, + How able such a work to undergo, + _To weigh against his opposite_; or else + We fortify in paper and in figures, + Using the names of men, instead of men.” + +In this speech of Bardolph’s we shall confine our attention to the two +main points on which the corrector has tried his hand. These are the two +first lines, and the verse printed in italics. The two first lines are +somewhat obscure; but we are of opinion that a much better sense may be +obtained from them than is afforded by the corrector’s emendation, which +we shall presently advert to. “Hope,” says Hastings, “never yet did +harm.” “Yes,” says Bardolph, “in a state of affairs like the present, +where action seems imminent, it _has_ done harm to entertain (unfounded) +hopes.” He then proceeds to press on his friends, as their only chance +of safety, the necessity of making the war _not_ imminent—of postponing +it until they have pondered well their resources, and received farther +supplies. All this is intelligible enough, and may be elicited with +perfect ease from the ordinary text which was adjusted by Dr Johnson—the +original reading of the two lines in question being obviously disfigured +by typographical errors. There is therefore no call whatever for the MS. +corrector’s amendment, which seems to us infinitely more obscure and +perplexing than the received reading. He writes— + + “Yes, in this present quality of war; + Indeed the instant _act and_ cause on foot + Lives so in hope,” &c. + +Mr Collier says that this emendation “clears the sense” of the passage. +We should have thanked him had he shown us how; for, if the old reading +be obscure, the only merit of the new one seems to be that it lends an +additional gloom to darkness. In regard to the other point—the line +printed in italics—the MS. corrector breaks the back of the difficulty +by means of the following interpolated forgery— + + “_A careful leader sums what force he brings_ + To weigh against his opposite.” + +This, and the other similar delinquencies of which the MS. corrector is +frequently guilty, are neither more nor less than swindling—and +swindling, too, without an object. Nothing is gained by the rascality; +for the sense of the passage may be opened without resorting to the use +of such a clumsy crowbar, such a burglarious implement as + + “A careful leader sums what force he brings.” + +It means, before we engage in any great and perilous undertaking, we +should know how able we are to undergo such a work—how able we are to +weigh against the opposite of such a work; that is, to contend +successfully against the forces of the enemy. Mr Singer says that, if +any change is necessary, we should read “_this_ opposite,” instead of +“_his_ opposite.” With submission we beg to say, that, if any change is +necessary, “its” and not “this” is the word which must be substituted +for “his.” But no change is necessary; “his opposite” means the work’s +opposite; and it is no unfrequent idiom with Shakespeare to use “his” +for “its.” + +_Act II. Scene 1._—Hostess Quickly says, according to the old copies— + + “A hundred marks is a long _one_ for a poor lone woman to bear.” + +“One” being obviously a misprint, Theobald substituted “loan;” and this +is the usual reading. The MS. corrector proposes “score;” and this, we +think, ought to go into the text. But it will be long before the MS. +corrector, by means of such small instalments, clears _his_ “score” with +the ghost of Shakespeare. As a help, however, towards that consummation, +we are rather inclined to place to his credit the substitution of _high_ +for _the_ in the line— + + “Under _the_ canopies of costly state.” + —_Act III. Scene 1._ + +Perhaps, also, he ought to get credit for “shrouds” instead of +“clouds”—although the former is now no novelty, having been started long +ago by some of the early commentators. The original reading is “clouds;” +but the epithet “slippery” renders it highly probable that this is a +misprint for _shrouds_—that is, the ship’s upper tackling; and that +“slippery shrouds” is the genuine reading. It seems probable also that +_rags_, the MS. correction, and not _rage_, the ordinary reading, is the +right word in the lines where rebellion is spoken of (_Act IV. Scene 1_) +as + + “Led on by bloody youth, guarded with _rags_, + And countenanced by boys and beggary.” + +The MS. corrector seems to be retrieving his character. We are also +willing to accept at his hands “seal” instead of “zeal” in the line— + + “Under the counterfeited _seal_ of heaven.” + +We cannot, however, admit that there is any ground for emendation in the +following passage (_Act IV. Scene 1_) where the king is spoken of, and +where it is said that he will find much difficulty in punishing his +enemies without compromising his friends:— + + “His foes are so enrooted with his friends, + That, plucking to unfix an enemy, + He doth unfasten so, and shake a friend, + So that this land, like an offensive wife, + That hath enraged _him on_ to offer strokes; + As he is striking, holds his infant up, + And hangs resolved correction in the arm + That was uprear’d to execution.” + +The question is, who is the “him” referred to in the fifth of these +lines? It can be no other than the king. _He_, the husband, being +excited to chastise his wife—that is, the rebellious country—_she_, as +he is striking, holds his infant (that is, certain of his friends) up, +and thus stays his arm, and suspends the execution of his vengeance. The +MS. corrector substitutes “her man” for the words “him on.” Mr Collier +approves, and even Mr Singer says that this “is a very plausible +correction, and is evidently called for.” If these gentlemen will +reconsider the passage, they will find that it cannot be construed with +the new reading, unless several additional words are inserted; thus, “So +that this land (is), like an offensive wife who hath enraged _her man_ +to offer strokes, (and who) as he is striking, holds his infant up, and +hangs resolved correction in the arm that was upreared to execution.” +This is as intelligible as the ordinary text, though not more so; but +the introduction of so many new words—which are absolutely necessary to +complete the grammar and the sense—is quite inadmissible; and therefore +the MS. correction must be abandoned. + + +KING HENRY V.—In this play none of the MS. corrector’s emendations are +entitled to go into the text. First, we shall call attention for a +moment to a very small correction of our own, which perhaps may have +been made in some of the editions, but not in that which we use, the +_variorum_ of 1785. In _Act I. Scene 2_, the Bishop of Ely says— + + “For government, _though_ high, and low, and lower, + Put into parts, doth keep in one consent + Congruing to a full and natural close + Like music.” + +Surely “though” ought to be _through_. “For government, put into parts, +like a piece of music, doth keep in one consent or harmony, _through_ +high, and low, and lower,” &c. In the same Act, same scene, an +emendation is proposed by the MS. corrector, which, though specious, we +cannot bring ourselves to endorse. King Henry, in reply to the dauphin’s +taunting message, says— + + “But tell the Dauphin, I will keep my state, + Be like a king, and show my _sail_ of greatness, + When I do rouse me in my throne of France.” + +The corrector proposes _soul_ for “sail.” But Shakespeare’s is a grand +expression—“I will show my sail _of greatness_,”—will set _all_ my +canvass—will shine, + + “Like a proud ship with all her bravery on.” + +It is a pity that he did not write _hoist_ or _spread_, which would have +removed all doubt as to the word “sail.” “Show,” however, is, on some +accounts, better than _hoist_ or _spread_. Neither do we perceive any +necessity for adopting the MS. correction “_seasonable_ swiftness” +instead of “reasonable swiftness.” Nor is it by any means necessary to +change “now _thrive_ the armourers” into “now _strive_ the armourers:” +In _Act II. Scene 2_, the king says, in reference to a drunkard who had +railed on him— + + “It was excess of wine that set him on, + And on _his_ more advice, we pardon him.” + +The margins read, “on _our_ more advice,” overturning the authentic +language of Shakespeare, who by the words “on _his_ more advice,” means +on his having returned to a more reasonable state of mind, and shown +some sorrow for his offence. + +_Act II. Scene 3._—We now come to one of the most memorable +corrections—we might say to _the_ most memorable correction ever made on +the text of our great dramatist. In Dame Quickly’s description of the +death of Falstaff she says, as the old copies give it, “for after I saw +him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile upon his +fingers’ ends, I knew there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp +as a pen, and _a table of green fields_.” There is evidently something +very wrong here. Theobald gave out as a new reading, “and a’ (he) +babbled of green fields,” the history and character of which emendation +he explained as follows: “I have an edition of Shakespeare by me with +some marginal conjectures by a gentleman some time deceased, and he is +of the mind to correct this passage thus: ‘for his nose was as sharp as +a pen, and a’ _talked_ of green fields.’ It is certainly observable of +people near death, when they are delirious by a fever, that they talk of +moving, as it is of those in a calenture that their heads run on _green +fields_. The variation from _table_ to _talked_ is not of very great +latitude; though we may come still nearer to the traces of the letters +by restoring it thus—‘for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and a’ +_babbled_ of green fields.’”—(_Vide_ Singer’s _Shakespeare Vindicated_, +p. 127.) + +This, then, is now the received reading; and there can be no doubt that +it is highly ingenious—indeed, singularly felicitous. But the MS. +corrector’s emendation is also entitled to a hearing. He reads: “for his +nose was as sharp as a pen _on a table of green frieze_.” This, it must +be admitted, is a lamentable falling off, in point of sentiment, from +the other conjectural amendment. We sympathise most feelingly with the +distress of those who protest vehemently against the new reading, and +who cling almost with tears to the text to which they have been +accustomed. We admit that his babbling of green fields is a touch of +poetry, if not of nature, which fills up the measure of our love for +Falstaff, and affords the finest atonement that can be imagined for the +mixed career—which is now drawing to a close—of the hoary debauchee. It +is with the utmost reluctance that we throw a shade of suspicion over +Theobald’s delightful emendation. Nevertheless, we are possessed with +the persuasion that the MS. corrector’s variation is more likely to have +been what Dame Quickly uttered, and what Shakespeare wrote. Our reasons +are—_first_, the calenture, which causes people to rave about green +fields, is a distemper peculiar to _sailors_ in hot climates; +_secondly_, Falstaff’s mind seems to have been running more on sack than +on green fields, as Dame Quickly admits further on in the dialogue; +_thirdly_, however pleasing the supposition about his babbling of green +fields may be, it is still more natural that Dame Quickly, whose +attention was fixed on the sharpness of his nose set off against a +countenance already darkening with the discoloration of death, should +have likened it to the sharpness of a pen relieved against a table, or +background, of green frieze. These reasons may be very insufficient: we +are not quite satisfied with them ourselves. But, be they good or bad, +we cannot divest ourselves of the impression (as we most willingly +would) that the marginal correction, in this instance, comes nearer to +the genuine language of Shakespeare than does the ordinary text. + +Should, then, the MS. corrector’s emendation be admitted into the text +of the poet? That is a very different question; and we answer +decidedly—No. Its claim is not so absolutely undoubted as to entitle it +to this elevation. It is more probable, we think, than Theobald’s. But +Theobald’s has by this time acquired a prescriptive right to the place +which it enjoys. Although originally it may have been a usurpation, it +is now strong with inveterate occupancy: it is consecrated to the hearts +of all mankind, and it ought on no account to be displaced. It is part +and parcel of our earliest associations with Falstaff, and its removal +would do violence to the feelings of universal Christendom. This +consideration, which shows how difficult, indeed how injudicious, it is +to eradicate anything which has once fairly taken root in the text of +Shakespeare, ought to make us all the more scrupulous in guarding his +writings against such innovations as the MS. corrector usually proposes; +for, however little these may have to recommend them, succeeding +generations may become habituated to their presence, and, on the plea of +prescription, may be indisposed to give them up. + + “_Principiis obsta, sero medicina paratur._” + +_Act III., chorus._ + + “Behold the threaden sails, + _Borne_ with the invisible and creeping wind, + Draw the huge bottoms through the furrowed sea.” + +“Borne” is here a far finer and more expressive word than “blown,” the +MS. corrector’s prosaic substitution. + +_Act IV. Scene 1._—In the fine lines on ceremony, the MS. corrector +proposes a new reading, which at first sight looks specious, but which a +moderate degree of reflection compels us to reject. The common text is +as follows:— + + “And what art thou, thou idol ceremony? + What kind of god art thou, that sufferest more + Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers? + What are thy rents?—what are thy comings in? + + O ceremony, show me but thy worth! + What is thy soul, O, adoration? + Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form, + Creating awe and fear in other men? + Wherein thou art less happy, being feared, + Than they in fearing.” + +The MS. corrector gives us— + + “O, ceremony, show me but thy worth! + What is thy soul _but adulation_?” + +The objection to this reading is that Shakespeare’s lines are equivalent +to—O, ceremony, thou hast _no_ worth; O, adoration, thou hast _no_ +soul—absolutely none. This reading, which denies to ceremony and +adoration _all_ soul and substance—_all_ worth and reality—is more +emphatic than the corrector’s, which declares that adulation is the soul +of ceremony; and we therefore vote for allowing the text to remain as we +found it. + +_Act IV. Scene 3._—In the following lines Shakespeare pays a +compliment—not of the most elegant kind we admit—to the English, whose +valour, he says, is such that even their dead bodies putrefying in the +fields of France will carry death into the ranks of the enemy. + + “Mark, then, abounding valour in the English; + That being dead, like to a bullet’s grazing, + Break out into a second course of mischief, + Killing in relapse of mortality.” + +The similitude of “the bullet’s grazing” has led the MS. corrector into +two execrable errors. By way of carrying out the metaphor, he proposes +to read “_re_bounding valour,” and “killing in _reflex_ of mortality.” +But Shakespeare knew full well what he was about. He has kept his +similitude within becoming bounds, while the corrector has driven it +over the verge of all propriety. Both of his corrections are wretched, +and the latter of them is outrageous. We are surprised that he did not +propose “killing in reflex _off_ mortality,” for this would bring out +his meaning much better than the expression which he has suggested. But +we may rest assured that “killing in relapse of mortality” merely means, +killing in their return to the dust from whence they were taken; and +that this is the right reading. + + +THE FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI.—A difficulty occurs in the last line of +_Act II. Scene 5_, where Plantagenet says— + + “And therefore haste I to the Parliament, + Either to be restored to my blood, + _Or make my ill the advantage of my good_.” + +This is the common reading, and it means, “or make my ill the _occasion_ +of my good.” The earlier copies have “will” for “ill,” The MS. +correction is— + + “Or make my will _th’ advancer_ of my good.” + +But this is no improvement upon the common reading, which ought to +remain unaltered. + +_Act IV. Scene 1._—A small but very significant instance, illustrative +of what we are convinced is the true theory of these new readings, +namely, that they are attempts, not to _restore_, but to _modernise_ +Shakespeare, comes before us in the following lines, where the knights +of the garter are spoken of as + + “Not fearing death, nor shrinking from distress, + But always resolute in _most extremes_.” + +“Most extremes” does not mean (as one ignorant of Shakespeare’s language +might be apt to suppose) “in the greater number of extremes:” it means, +in _extremest_ cases, or dangers. The same idiom occurs in the +“Tempest,” where it is said— + + “Some kinds of baseness + Are nobly undergone, and _most poor_ matters + Point to rich ends;” + +which certainly does not mean that the greater number of poor matters +point to rich ends, but that the poorest matters often do so. It would +be well if the two words were always printed as one—most extremes, and +most poor. Now, surely Mr Collier either cannot know that this +phraseology is peculiarly Shakespearean, or he must be desirous of +blotting out from the English language our great poet’s favourite forms +of speech, when he says, “there is an injurious error of the printer in +the second line;” and when he recommends us to accept the MS. marginal +correction, by which Shakespeare’s archaism is exchanged for this +_modernism_— + + “But always resolute in _worst_ extremes.” + +_Act V. Scene 1._—How much more forcible are Shakespeare’s lines— + + “See where he lies inhersed in the arms + Of the _most bloody_ nurser of his harms,” + +than the MS. substitution— + + “Of the _still bleeding_ nurser of his harms.” + +_Scene 4._—Four competing readings of the following lines present +themselves for adjudication— + + “Ay, beauty’s princely majesty is such, + Confounds the tongue, and makes the senses _rough_.” + +This is the text of the earlier editions, and it evidently requires +amendment. Sir T. Hanmer reads— + + “Ay, beauty’s princely majesty is such, + Confounds the tongue, and makes the senses _crouch_.” + +Our MS. corrector proposes— + + “Ay, beauty’s princely majesty is such, + Confounds the tongue, and _mocks the sense of touch_.” + +Mr Singer, who also, it seems, has a folio with MS. corrections, gives +us, as a gleaning from its margins, + + “Ay, beauty’s princely majesty is such, + Confounds the tongue, and _wakes the sense’s touch_.” + +It may assist us in coming to a decision, if we view this sentiment +through the medium of prose. First, according to Sir T. Hanmer, the +presence of beauty is so commanding that it confounds the tongue, and +_overawes the senses_. Secondly, “The princely majesty of beauty,” says +Mr Collier, expounding his protégé’s version, “confounds the power of +speech, and _mocks all who would attempt to touch it_.” Thirdly, +“Beauty,” says Mr Singer, taking up the cause of _his_ MS. corrector, +“although it confounds the tongue, _awakes desire_. This _must_ have +been the meaning of the poet.” How peremptory a man becomes in behalf of +MS. readings of which he happens to be the sole depositary. We confess +that we prefer Sir T. Hanmer’s to either of the other emendations, as +the most intelligible and dignified of the three. + + +THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI.—_Act I. Scene 3._ (_Enter three or +four petitioners._) + + “_First Petitioner._—My masters, let us stand close, my Lord Protector + will come this way by and by, and then we may deliver our + supplications _in the quill_.” + +“In the quill”—what does that mean? Nobody can tell us. The margins +furnish “in sequel.” Mr Singer advances, “in the quoil, or coil”—“that +is,” says he, “in the bustle or tumult which would arise at the time the +Protector passed.” And this we prefer. + +_Act II. Scene 3._—Anything viler than the following italicised +interpolation, or more out of keeping with the character of the speaker +and the dignity of the scene, it is impossible to conceive. Queen Mary +says to the Duke of Glo’ster— + + “Give up your staff, sir, and the King his realm. + + _Glo’ster._ My staff?—here, noble Henry, is my staff! + _To think I fain would keep it makes me laugh_; + As willingly I do the same resign + As e’er thy father, Henry, made it mine.” + +Yet Mr Collier has the hardihood to place this abominable forgery in the +front of his battle, by introducing it into his preface, where he says, +“Ought we not to welcome it with thanks as a fortunate recovery and a +valuable restoration?” No, indeed, we ought to send it to the right +about _instanter_, and order the apartment to be fumigated from which it +had been expelled. + +_Act III. Scene 2._—The MS. corrector seems to be right in his amendment +of these lines. Suffolk says to the Queen, + + “Live thou to joy in life, + Myself _to_ joy in nought but that thou liv’st.” + +The ordinary reading is “no” for “to.” This ought to go into the text; +and the same honour ought to be extended to “rebel” for “rabble” in +Clifford’s speech, _Act IV. Scene 8_. + + +THE THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI.—In this play two creditable marginal +emendations come before us, one of which it might be safe to admit into +the text. The safe emendation is _ev’n_, in the lines where the father +is lamenting over his slain son, (_Act II. Scene 5_)— + + “And so obsequious will thy father be, + _Ev’n_ for the loss of thee, having no more, + As Priam was for all his valiant sons.” + +The ancient copies have “men,” and the modern ones “sad.” _Ev’n_ was +also proposed by Mr Dyce some little time ago. The other specious +correction is “bitter-flowing” for “water-flowing,” in the lines where +the king says (_Act IV. Scene 8_), + + “My mildness hath allayed their swelling griefs, + My mercy dried their _water-flowing_ tears.” + +But “water-flowing” may simply mean flowing as plentifully as water, and +therefore our opinion is, that the corrector’s substitution ought not to +be accepted. “Soft carriage” (_Act II. Scene 2_), recommended by the +margins, instead of “soft courage,” is not by any means so plausible. +“Soft courage” may be a Shakespeareanism for soft _spirit_. The Germans +have a word, _sanftmuth_—literally soft courage—_i. e._, gentleness; and +therefore Shakespeare’s expression is not what Mr Collier calls it, “a +contradiction in terms.” + +_Act V. Scene 5._—The young prince having been stabbed by Edward, +Clarence, and Glo’ster, Margaret exclaims— + + “O, traitors! murderers! + They that stabb’d Cæsar shed no blood at all, + Did not offend, nor were not worthy blame, + If this foul deed were by to _equal_ it”— + +which, of course, means that Cæsar’s murderers would be pronounced +comparatively innocent, if this foul deed were set alongside their act. +The margins propose, + + “If this foul deed were by to _sequel_ it”— + +than which nothing can be more inept. + + +KING RICHARD III.—_Act I. Scene 3._—Richard is thus agreeably depicted: + + “Thou elvish-marked, abortive, rooting hog, + Thou that wast seal’d in thy nativity, + The slave of nature, and the son of hell!” + +The correction here proposed is— + + “The _stain_ of nature, and the _scorn_ of hell.” + +But the allusion, as Steevens says, is to the ancient custom of masters +branding their profligate slaves; and, therefore, “slave” is +unquestionably the right word. As for the “_scorn_ of hell,” that, in +certain cases, might be a compliment, and is no more than what a good +man would desire to be. + +_Act III. Scene 1._—Buckingham is endeavouring to persuade the Cardinal +to refuse the privilege of sanctuary to the Duke of York. The Cardinal +says— + + “God in heaven forbid + We should infringe the holy privilege + Of blessed sanctuary! not for all this land + Would I be guilty of so deep a crime. + + _Buckingham._ You are too senseless-obstinate, my lord, + Too ceremonious and traditional: + Weigh it but with the _grossness_ of this age, + You break not sanctuary in seizing him.” + +That is, do not go to your traditions, but take into account the +unrefining character and somewhat licentious practice of _this_ age, and +you will perceive that you break not sanctuary in seizing him; for +common sense declares that a youth of his years cannot claim this +privilege. This interpretation renders the MS. corrector’s inept +substitution, “the _goodness_ of _his_ age,” quite unnecessary. _Strict +and abstinent_ for “senseless-obstinate” is still worse. + +_Act III. Scene 7._—To change “his resemblance” into _disresemblance_, +is to substitute a very forced and unnatural reading for a very plain +and obvious one. Glo’ster asks Buckingham, + + “Touched you the bastardy of Edward’s children?” + +“I did,” answers Buckingham, who then goes on to say, “I also touched +upon his own (_i. e._ Edward the Fourth’s) bastardy,” + + “As being got, your father then in France, + And _his resemblance_ not being like the Duke,” + +—that is, I also touched upon his resemblance (which is no resemblance) +to his (reputed) father the Duke. “Disresemblance” has not a shadow of +probability in its favour. + +_Act IV. Scene 3._—Mr Collier seriously advocates the change of “bloody +dogs” into “blooded dogs,” in the lines about the two ruffians. + + “Albeit they were fleshed villains, _bloody_ dogs.” + +“Blooded dogs” means, if it means anything, dogs that have been _let_ +blood, and not dogs that are about to _draw_ blood as _these_ dogs are. +There seems to be nothing in the other corrections of this play which +calls for further notice. + + +KING HENRY VIII.—_Act I. Scene 1._—Speaking of Cardinal Wolsey, +Buckingham says, + + “A beggar’s _book_ + Outworths a noble’s blood.” + +The margins offer— + + “A beggar’s _brood_ + Outworths a noble’s blood.” + +This emendation looks plausible; but read Johnson’s note, and you will +be of a different way of thinking. He says—“that is, the literary +qualifications of a _bookish beggar_ are more prized than the high +descent of hereditary greatness. This is a contemptuous exclamation very +naturally put into the mouth of one of the ancient, unlettered, martial +nobility.” In scene 2, the change of “trembling contribution” into +“_trebling_ contribution,” where the increase of the taxes is spoken of, +is a proper correction, and we set it down to the credit of the MS. +corrector as one which ought to go into the text. + +_Act II. Scene 3._—What a fine poeticism comes before us in the use of +the word _salute_ in the lines where Anne Bullen declares that her +advancement gives her no satisfaction. + + “Would I had no being, + If this _salute_ my blood a jot,” + +—that is, this promotion is not like a peal of bells to my blood; it is +not like the firing of cannon; it is not like the huzzaing of a great +multitude: it rather weighs me down under a load of anxiety and +depression; or, as she herself expresses it— + + “It faints me + To think what follows.” + +The MS. corrector, turning, as is his way, poetry into prose, reads— + + “Would I had no being, + If this _elate_ my blood a jot.” + +This must go to the _debit_ side of the old corrector’s account. + +In _Scene 4_ of the same act, the queen, on her trial, adjures the king, +if she be proved guilty— + + “In God’s name + Turn me away; and let the foul’st contempt + Shut door upon me, and so give me up + To the sharpest _kind_ of justice.” + +The MS. corrector writes—“to the sharpest _knife_ of justice.” But the +queen is here speaking of a _kind_ of justice sharper even than the +knife—to wit, the contempt and ignominy which she imprecates on her own +head if she be a guilty woman; and therefore “kind of justice” is the +proper expression for her to use, and the MS. substitution is +unquestionably out of place. + +_Act III. Scene 2._—Mr Singer says, “‘Now _may all_ joy trace the +conjunction,’ instead of, ‘Now _all my_ joy,’ &c. is a good conjecture, +and may, I think, be safely adopted.” We agree with Mr Singer. + +_Act III. Scene 2._—The following is one of the cases on which Mr +Collier most strongly relies as proving the perspicacity and +trustworthiness of his corrector. He brings it forward in his +introduction (p. xv.), where he says, “When Henry VIII. tells Wolsey— + + ‘You have scarce time + To steal from _spiritual leisure_ a brief span + To keep your earthly audit,’ + +he cannot mean that the cardinal has scarcely time to steal from +‘leisure,’ but from ‘labour’ (the word was misheard by the scribe); and +while ‘leisure’ makes nonsense of the sentence, _labour_ is exactly +adapted to the place. + + ‘You scarce have time + To steal from spiritual _labour_ a brief span.’ + +The substituted word is found in the margin of the folio 1632. This +instance seems indisputable.” Did Mr Collier, we may here ask, never +hear of _learned leisure_, when he thus brands as nonsensical the +expression “spiritual leisure”? Is it nonsense to say that the study of +Shakespeare has been the occupation of Mr Collier’s “learned leisure” +during the last fifty years, and that he has had little time to spare +for any other pursuit? And if that be not nonsense, why should it be +absurd to talk of the “spiritual leisure” of Cardinal Wolsey, as that +which left him little or no time to attend to his temporal concerns? +Spiritual leisure means occupation with religious matters, just as +learned leisure means occupation with literary matters. Leisure does not +necessarily signify idleness, as boys at _school_ (σχολη—leisure) know +full well. It is a polite synonym, perhaps slightly tinged with irony, +for labour of an unmenial and unprofessional character. It stands +opposed, not to every kind of work, but only to the work of “men of +business,” as they are called. And it is used in this place by +Shakespeare with the very finest propriety. In so far, therefore, as +this flower of speech is concerned, we must insist on turning “the +weeder-clips aside” of Mr Collier’s ruthless spoliator, and on rejecting +the vulgar weed which he offers to plant in its place. + +_Act IV. Scene 2._—In the following passage, however, we approve of the +spoliator’s punctuation, which it seems Mr Singer had adopted in his +edition 1826. + + “This Cardinal, + Though from an humble stock undoubtedly, + Was fashioned to much honour from his cradle. + He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one.” + +All the common copies place a full stop after honour, and represent the +cardinal as a scholar “ripe and good from his cradle,” as if he had been +born with a perfect knowledge of Greek and Latin. + +_Act V. Scene 2._—It is very difficult to say what should be made of the +following:— + + “But we all are men, + In our natures frail; _and capable + Of our flesh_; few are angels.” + +Malone proposed— + + “In our natures frail: _incapable_; + Of our flesh few are angels.” + +The margins propose “_culpable_ of our flesh,” which was also +recommended by Mr Monck Mason. We venture to suggest— + + “In our natures frail; incapable + Of our flesh.” + +_i. e._, incontinent of our flesh. But whatever may be done with this +new reading, the next ought certainly to be rigorously excluded from the +text. _Loquitur_ Cranmer— + + “Nor is there living + (I speak it with a single heart, my Lords) + A man that more detests, _more stirs_ against, + Both in his private conscience and his place, + Defacers of a public peace, than I do.” + +“The substitution of _strives_ for ‘stirs,’” as Mr Singer very properly +remarks, “would be high treason against a nervous Shakespearean +expression.” + +_Scene 3._—The MS. emendation in the speech of the porter’s man (_queen_ +for “chine,” and _crown_ for “cow”) is certainly entitled to +consideration; but it is quite possible that his language, being that of +a clown, may be designedly nonsensical. + + +TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.—_Act I. Scene 2._—Cressida says, + + “Achievement is, command—ungained, beseech.” + +This line is probably misprinted. Mr Harness long ago proposed, + + “_Achieved, men us_ command—ungained, beseech,” + +—that is, men _command_ us (women) when we are achieved or gained +over—they _beseech_ us, so long as we are ungained. The MS. corrector’s +emendation falls very far short of the perspicuity of this amendment. He +gives us— + + “_Achieved, men still_ command—ungained, beseech.” + +_Scene 3._—We may notice, in passing, a “new reading” proposed by Mr +Singer, which, though ingenious, we cannot be prevailed upon to accept. +It occurs in the following lines, where Ulysses says— + + “The heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre + Observe degree, priority, and place, + Insisture, course, proportion, season, form, + Office, and custom in all line of order; + And therefore is the glorious planet, Sol, + In noble eminence enthroned and sphered + Amidst the _other_; whose med’cinable eye + Corrects the ill aspects of planets evil, + And posts like the commandment of a king, + Sans check, to good and bad.” + +Instead of “other,” Mr Singer proposes to read “ether.” But “other” is +more in harmony with the context, in which the sun is specially +described as exercising a dominion over the _other_ celestial +luminaries. The parallel passage from Cicero, which Mr Singer quotes, +tells just as much against him as for him. “Medium fere regionem sol +obtinet, dux, et princeps, et moderater luminum _reliquiorum_.” We +therefore protest against the established text being disturbed. + +To return to Mr Collier. He must have very extraordinary notions of +verbal propriety when he can say that “a fine compound epithet appears +to have escaped in the hands of the old printer, and a small manuscript +correction in the margin converts a poor expression into one of great +force and beauty in these lines— + + ‘What the repining enemy commends + That breath fame blows; that praise, _sole pure_, transcends;’” + +—that is, praise from an enemy is praise of the highest quality, and is +the _only pure_ kind of praise. The poor expression here condemned is +“sole pure,” and the fine compound epithet which is supposed to have +escaped the fingers of the old compositor, is _soul-pure_. We venture to +think that Shakespeare used the right words to express his own meaning, +and that the MS. corrector’s fine compound epithet is one of the most +lack-a-daisical of the daisies that peer out upon us from the margins of +the folio 1632. + +_Act III. Scene 1._—The words, “my _disposer_ Cressida,” have been +satisfactorily shown by Mr Singer to mean, my _handmaiden_ Cressida. +Therefore the change of “disposer” into _dispraiser_, as recommended by +the MS. corrector, is quite uncalled for. The speech, however, in which +these words occur must be taken from Paris, and given to Helen. + +_Act III. Scene 2._—In the dialogue between Troilus and Cressida, the +lady says, that she must take leave of him: + + “_Troilus._—What offends you, lady? + + _Cressida._—Sir, mine own company. + + _Troilus._—You cannot shun yourself. + + _Cressida._—Let me go and try. + I have a kind of self resides with you, + But an unkind self that itself will leave + To be another’s fool.” + +This conversation is not very clear; yet sense may be made of it. The +lady says, that she is offended with her own company: the gentleman +rejoins, that she cannot get rid of herself. “Let me try,” says the +lady; “I have a kind of self which resides with you—an unkind self, +because it leaves _me_ to be _your_ fool; of that self I can get rid, +because it will remain with you when I leave you.” The MS. emendation +affords no kind of sense whatsoever. + + “I have a _kind self that_ resides with you, + But an unkind self that itself will leave + To be another’s fool.” + +_Scene 3._—In the following passage, in which it is said that the eye is +unable to see itself except by reflection, these lines occur: + + “For speculation turns not to itself + Till it hath travelled, and is _married_ there, + Where it may see itself.” + +_Mirrored_, for “married,” is certainly a very excellent emendation; but +it may reasonably be doubted whether _mirror_ was used as a verb in +Shakespeare’s time. “To mirror” does not occur even in Johnson’s +Dictionary. This consideration makes us hesitate to recommend it for the +text; for “married,” though, perhaps, not so good, still makes sense. On +further reflection we are satisfied that “married” was Shakespeare’s +word. In this Scene Shakespeare says, “that the providence that’s in a +watchful state” is able to unveil human thoughts “in their dumb +_cradles_,” in their very _incunabula_—a finer expression certainly than +the MS. corrector’s substitution “in their dumb _crudities_.” + +_Act IV. Scene 4._—Between Mr Collier and his corrector the following +passage would be perverted into nonsense, if they were allowed to have +their own way: + + “And sometimes we are devils to ourselves + When we will tempt the frailty of our powers, + Presuming on their _changeful_ potency;” + +—that is, trusting rashly to their potency, which is better than +_im_potency, and yet falls far short of _perfect_ potency. Mr Collier +hazards the opinion, that “unchangeful potency” would be a better +reading. We cannot agree with him except to this extent that it would be +a better reading than the one which the MS. corrector proposes, + + “Presuming on their _chainful_ potency,” + +which we leave to the approbation of those who can understand it. + +_Scene 5._—The lines in which certain ladies of frail virtue, or, in the +stronger language of Johnson, “corrupt wenches,” are spoken of, have +given rise to much comment. + + “Oh! these encounterers so glib of tongue, + That give _a coasting_ welcome ere it comes.” + +This is the ordinary reading. The margins propose, + + “That give _occasion_ welcome ere it comes.” + +We prefer the emendation suggested by Monck Mason and Coleridge, + + “That give _accosting_ welcome ere it comes;” + +—that is, who take the initiative, and address before they are +addressed. + + +CORIOLANUS.—_Act I. Scene 1._—In his first emendation, the MS. corrector +betrays his ignorance of the right meaning of words. The term “object,” +which nowadays is employed rather loosely in several acceptations, is +used by Shakespeare, in the following passage, in its proper and +original signification. One of the Roman citizens, referring to the +poverty of the plebeians as contrasted with the wealth of the +patricians, remarks, “The leanness that afflicts us, the _object_ of our +misery, is an inventory to particularise their abundance; our suffering +is a gain to them.” For “object” we should, nowadays, say _spectacle_. +But the corrector cannot have known that this was the meaning of the +word, otherwise he surely never would have been so misguided as to +propose the term _abjectness_ in its place. “This substitution,” says Mr +Collier, “could hardly have proceeded from the mere taste or discretion +of the old corrector.” No, truly; but it proceeded from his want of +taste, his want of discretion, and his want of knowledge. + +The ink with which these MS. corrections were made, being, as Mr Collier +tells us, of various shades, differing sometimes on the same page, he is +of opinion that they “must have been introduced from time to time +during, perhaps, the course of several years.” We think this a highly +probable supposition; only, instead of _several_ years, we would suggest +_sixty_ or _seventy_ years. So that, supposing the MS. corrector to have +begun his work when he was about thirty, he may have completed it when +he was about ninety or a hundred years of age. At any rate, he must have +been in the last stage of second childhood when he jotted down the +following new reading in the famous fable of the “belly and the +members.” The belly, speaking of the food it receives, says— + + “I send it through the rivers of the blood, + Even to the court, the heart, _to the seat o’ the_ brain, + And through the cranks and offices of man.” + +And so on; upon which one of the citizens asks Menenius, the relator of +the fable, “How apply you this?” + + “_Menenius._ The _senators_ of Rome are this good _belly_, + And you the mutinous members.” + +Yet, with this line staring him in the face, the old corrector proposes +to read, + + “I send it through the rivers of the blood, + Even to the court, the heart, the _senate brain_.” + +The senate brain! when Shakespeare has distinctly told us that the +senate is the belly. This indeed is the very _point_ of the fable. +Surely nothing except the most extreme degree of dotage can account for +such a manifest perversion as that; yet Mr Collier says that “it much +improves the sense.” + +The MS. corrector cannot have been nearly so old when he changed +“almost” into _all most_ in the line, + + “Nay, these are _all most_ thoroughly persuaded;” + +for this is decidedly an improvement, and ought, we think, to get +admission into the text. + +_Scene 3._—Unless we can obtain a better substitute than _contemning_, +we are not disposed to alter the received reading of these lines: + + “The breasts of Hecuba, + When she did suckle Hector, look’d not lovelier + Than Hector’s forehead, when it spit forth blood + At Grecian swords _contending_.” + +_Scene 6._—In the following passage a small word occasions a great +difficulty. Coriolanus, wishing to select a certain number out of a +large body of soldiers who have offered him their services, says— + + “Please you to march, + And _four_ shall quickly draw out my command, + Which men are best inclined.” + +But why “four?” Surely four men would not be sufficient for the attack +which he meditated. The MS. corrector gives us— + + “Please you to march _before_, + And _I_ shall quickly draw out my command, + Which men are best inclined.” + +The second line is unintelligible, and not to be construed on any known +principles of grammar. Mr Singer proposes— + + “Please you to march, + And _some_ shall quickly draw out my command, + Which men are best inclined.” + +We would suggest— + + “Please you to march, + And _those_ shall quickly draw out my command, + Which men are best inclined,” + +—that is: And my command shall quickly draw out, or select, those men +which (men) are best inclined to be of service to me. The construction +here is indeed awkward, but less awkward, we think, than that of the +other emendations. + +_Scene 9._—The punctuation of the following passage requires to be put +right. Coriolanus is declaring how much disgusted he is with the +flatteries, the flourish of trumpets, and other demonstrations of +applause with which he is saluted— + + “May these same instruments which you profane + Never sound more! When drums and trumpets shall + I’ the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be + Made all of false-faced soothing. When steel grows + Soft as the parasite’s silk, let him be made + A coverture for the wars!” + +But what is the sense of saying—let courts and cities be made up of +hypocrisy, _when_ drums and trumpets in the field shall prove +flatterers? This has no meaning. We should punctuate the lines thus— + + “May these same instruments which you profane, + Never sound more, when drums and trumpets shall + I’ the field prove flatterers. Let courts and cities be + Made all of false-faced soothing,” &c. + +The meaning is—When drums and trumpets in the field shall prove +flatterers (as they are doing at present), may they never sound more! +Let _courts_ and _cities_ be as hollow-hearted as they please; but let +the _camp_ enjoy an immunity from these fulsome observances. When steel +grows soft as the parasite’s silk (that is, when the warrior loses his +stubborn and unbending character), let silk be made a coverture for the +wars, for it will then be quite as useful as steel. The only alteration +which the MS. corrector proposes in this passage, is the substitution of +_coverture_ for the original reading “overture”—a change which was long +ago made. + +_Act II. Scene 1._—The margins make an uncommonly good hit in the speech +of Menenius, who says, “I am known to be a humorous patrician, and one +that loves a cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tiber in’t: +said to be something imperfect in favouring the _first_ complaint.” No +sense can be extracted from this by any process of distillation. The old +corrector, brightening up for an instant, writes “_thirst_ complaint;” +on which Mr Singer remarks, “The alteration of ‘first’ into _thirst_ is +not necessary, for it seems that thirst was sometimes provincially +pronounced and spelt _first_ and _furst_.” Come, come, Mr Singer, that +is hardly fair. Let us give the devil his due. What one reader of +Shakespeare out of every million was to know that “first” was a +provincialism for _thirst_? We ourselves, at least, had not a suspicion +of it till the old corrector opened our eyes to the right reading—the +meaning of which is, “I am said to have a failing in yielding rather too +readily to the _thirst_ complaint.” This emendation covers a multitude +of sins, and ought, beyond a doubt, to be promoted into the text. + +We also willingly accept _empirick physic_ for “empirick qutique,” the +ordinary, but unintelligible reading. + +A difficulty occurs in the admirable verses in which the whole city is +described as turning out in order to get a sight of the triumphant +Coriolanus. + + “All tongues speak of him, and the bleared sights + Are spectacled to see him. Your prattling nurse + Into a rapture lets her baby cry + While she _chats_ him. The kitchen malkin pins + Her richest lockram ’bout her reechy neck, + Clambering the walls to eye him.” + +_Cheers_ instead of “chats” is proposed by the old corrector. Mr Singer +says that cheers “savours too much of modern times,” and suggests +_claps_; but a woman with an infant in her arms would find some +difficulty, we fancy, in clapping her hands; though, perhaps, this very +difficulty and her attempt to overcome it may have been the cause of her +baby crying himself “into a rapture.” We are disposed, however, to +adhere to the old lection—“while she chats _him_”—that is, while she +makes Coriolanus the subject of her gabble. For it ought to be borne in +mind that Coriolanus has not, as yet, made his appearance: and, +therefore, both _cheering_ and _clapping_ would be premature. We observe +that, instead of a “rapture”—_i. e._, a fit—one of the wiseacres of the +_variorum_ proposes to read _a rupture_! The nurse lets the baby cry +himself _into a rupture_! This outflanks even the margins. The annotator +subscribes himself “S. W.”—which means, we presume, Something Wanting in +the upper story. + +We accept _touch_ for “reach” in the sentence where it is said, “his +soaring insolence shall _reach_ (the oldest reading is “teach”) the +people. This correction had been already proposed by Mr Knight. But we +cannot approve of the following change (_prest_ for “blest,” _Scene 2_) +which has obtained the sanction of Mr Singer. Sicinius has just remarked +that the senate has assembled to do honour to Coriolanus, on which +Brutus says— + + “Which the rather + We shall be _blest_ to do, if he remember + A kinder value of the people, than + He hath hereto prized them at.” + +Does not this mean—which honour we shall be _most happy_ to do to +Coriolanus, if &c.? Why then change “blest” into _prest?_ a very +unnatural mode of speech. + +_Scene 3._—In the next instance, however, we side most cordially with +the margins and Mr Collier, against Mr Singer and the ordinary text. The +haughty Coriolanus, who is a candidate for the consulship, says— + + “Why in this _wolvish_ gown should I stand here, + To beg of Hob and Dick?” &c. + +Now Shakespeare, in a previous part of the play, has described the +candidate’s toga as “the _napless_ vesture of humility;” and it is well +known that this toga was of a different texture from that usually worn. +Is it not probable, therefore—nay certain—that Coriolanus should speak +of it as _woolless_, the word wolvish being altogether unintelligible? +Accordingly, the MS. corrector reads— + + “Why in this _woolless_ gown should I stand here.” + +Mr Singer, defending the old reading, says, it is sufficient that his +investiture in this gown “was _simulating_ humility not in his nature, +to bring to mind the fable of the _wolf_.” Oh, Mr Singer! but must not +the epithet in that case have been _sheepish_? Surely, if Coriolanus had +felt himself to be a wolf in sheep’s clothing, he never would have said +that he was a sheep in _wolves’_ clothing![4] + +_Act III. Scene 1._—In the following speech of Coriolanus several +corrections are proposed, one of which, and perhaps two, might be +admitted into the text:— + + “O, good but most unwise patricians! why, + You grave but reckless senators, have you thus + Given Hydra _here_ to choose an officer + That with his peremptory ‘shall’ (being but + The horn and noise of the monsters), wants not spirit + To say he’ll turn your current in a ditch, + And make your channel his? If he have power, + Then vail your ignorance: if none, _awake_ + Your dangerous lenity.” + +_Leave_ for “here” is, we think, a good exchange; and _revoke_ for +“awake,” an improvement which can scarcely be resisted. Further on, +Coriolanus asks— + + “Well, what then, + How shall this _bosom multiplied_, digest + The senate’s courtesy?” + +There is, it seems, an old word _bisson_, signifying blind; and +therefore we see no good reason (although such may exist) against +accepting, as entitled to textual advancement, the old corrector’s +substitution of _bisson multitude_ for “bosom multiplied.” The latter, +however, is defended, as we learn from Mr Singer, “by one strenuous +dissentient voice.” Why did he not tell us by whom and where? One +excellent emendation by Mr Singer himself we must here notice. +Coriolanus speaks of those who wish + + “To _jump_ a body with a dangerous physic + That’s sure of death without it.” + +No sense can be made of this. Some copies have _vamp_, which is not a +bad reading; but there is an old word _imp_, which signifies to piece or +patch. Accordingly, Mr Singer reads—“To _imp_ a body,” &c. This is the +word which ought to stand in the text. + +_Scene 2._—Here the old corrector is again at his forging tricks upon a +large scale. Volumnia says to Coriolanus, her son— + + “Pray be counsell’d, + I have a heart as little apt as yours + _To brook control without the use of anger_; + But yet a brain that leads my use of anger + To better vantage.” + +The interpolated line is very unlike the diction of Shakespeare, and is +not at all called for. “Apt” here means pliant, accommodating. “I have a +heart as stubborn and unaccommodating as your own; but yet,” &c. Mr +Singer proposes _soft_ for “apt;” but this seems unnecessary. + +_Act IV. Scene 1._—Although the construction of the latter part of these +lines is somewhat involved, it is far more after the manner of +Shakespeare than the correction which the margins propose. Coriolanus +says to his mother— + + “Nay, mother, + Where is your ancient courage? You were used + To say extremity was the trier of spirits; + That common chances common men could bear, + That when the sea was calm, all boats alike + Show’d mastership in floating; fortune’s blows, + When most struck home, being _gentle wounded_, craves + A noble cunning.” + +_Gentle-minded_ is the new reading; but it is quite uncalled for. The +meaning is—You were used to say that when fortune’s blows were most +struck home, to be gentle, _though_ wounded, craves a noble cunning—that +is, a high degree of self-command. + +_Scene 5._—It is curious to remark how cleverly Shakespeare has +anticipated old Hobbes’ theory of human nature and of society, in the +scene where the serving-men are discussing the merits of peace and war. +“Peace,” says one of them, “makes men _hate_ one another.” “The reason?” +asks another. Answer—“Because they then _less need_ one another.” This, +in a very few words, is exactly the doctrine of the old philosopher of +Malmesbury. + +_Scene 6._—“[_God_] Marcius” for “_good_ Marcius,” is a commendable +emendation; and perhaps, also, it may be proper to read— + + “You have made fair hands, + You and your _handycrafts_ have crafted fair,” + +instead of + + “You and your crafts, you have crafted fair.” + +The following passage (_Scene 7_) has given a good deal of trouble to +the commentators. Aufidius is describing Coriolanus as a man who, with +all his merits, had failed, through some unaccountable perversity of +judgment, in attaining the position which his genius entitled him to +occupy. He then says— + + “So our virtues + Lie in the interpretation of the time; + And power, unto itself most commendable, + Hath not a tomb so evident _as a chair_ + To extol what it hath done. + One fire drives out one fire, one nail one nail, + Right’s by right _fouler_, strengths by strength do fail.” + +Our virtues, says Aufidius, consist in our ability to interpret, and +turn to good account, the signs of the times. “And power, unto itself +most commendable, hath not a tomb so evident as a chair to extol what it +hath done;” that is,—and power, which delights to praise itself, is sure +to have a downfall, so soon as it blazons forth its pretensions from the +_rostrum_. The MS. corrector proposes— + + “Hath not a tomb so evident _as a cheer_,” &c. + +The original text is obscurely enough expressed, but the new reading +seems to be utter nonsense. What _can_ Mr Singer mean by his reading— + + “Hath not a tomb so evident as a _hair_”? + +The old corrector also reads, unnecessarily, as we think, _suffer_ for +“fouler.” “Rights by rights _suffer_.” There seems to be no necessity +for changing the received text. “Right is fouler by right,”—which +Steevens thus explains: “what is already right, and is received as such, +becomes less clear when supported by supernumerary proof.” + +_Act V. Scene 3._—An emendation, good so far as it goes, comes before us +in the speech of Volumnia, the mother of Coriolanus. She, his wife, and +young son, are supplicating the triumphant renegade to spare his native +country. She says that, instead of his presence being a comfort to them, +it is a sight— + + “Making the mother, wife, and child to see + The son, the husband, and the father tearing + His country’s bowels out. And _to_ poor we + Thine _enmity’s_ most capital.” + +This is the reading of the ordinary copies, but it is neither sense nor +grammar. The old corrector removes the full stop after _out_, and reads— + + “His country’s bowels out; and so poor we + Thine enemies most capital.” + +But if this is the right reading, it must be completed by changing “we” +into _us_. The meaning will then be—making thy mother, wife, &c.; and so +(making) poor _us_ (that is, those whom you are bound to love and +protect before all others) thy chief enemies. + +_Scene 5._—Aufidius, speaking of Coriolanus, says, I + + “Served his designments + In mine own person, holp to _reap_ the fame + Which he did _end_ all his.” + +The word “end” has been a stumbling-block to the commentators. The old +corrector reads— + + “Holp to reap the fame + Which he did _ear_ all his.” + +On which Mr Singer remarks, with a good deal of pertinency, “The +substitution of _ear_ for ‘end’ is a good emendation of an evident +misprint; but the correctors have only half done their work: _ear_—_i. +e._ plough—and _reap_ should change places; or Aufidius is made to say +that he had a share in the harvest, while Coriolanus had all the labour +of ploughing, contrary to what is intended to be said. The passage will +then run thus— + + ‘Served his designments + In mine own person; holp to _ear_ the fame + Which he did _reap_ all his.’ + +“This,” adds Mr Singer, “is the suggestion of a correspondent of _Notes +and Queries_, vol. vii. p. 378.” + +Ten plays, as revised by the old corrector, still remain to be +overhauled. These shall be disposed of in our next Number, when it will +appear that the MS. emendations offer no symptoms of improvement, but +come out worse and worse the more fully and attentively they are +considered. + + + + + THE DUKE’S DILEMMA. + A CHRONICLE OF NIESENSTEIN. + + +The close of the theatrical year, which in France occurs in early +spring, annually brings to Paris a throng of actors and actresses, the +disorganised elements of provincial companies, who repair to the capital +to contract engagements for the new season. Paris is the grand centre to +which all dramatic stars converge—the great bazaar where managers +recruit their troops for the summer campaign. In bad weather the mart +for this human merchandise is at an obscure coffeehouse near the Rue St +Honoré; when the sun shines, the place of meeting is in the garden of +the Palais Royal. There, pacing to and fro beneath the lime-trees, the +high contracting parties pursue their negotiations and make their +bargains. It is the theatrical Exchange, the histrionic _Bourse_. There +the conversation and the company are alike curious. Many are the strange +discussions and original anecdotes that there are heard; many the odd +figures there paraded. Tragedians, comedians, singers, men and women, +young and old, flock thither in quest of fortune and a good engagement. +The threadbare coats of some say little in favour of recent success or +present prosperity; but only hear them speak, and you are at once +convinced that _they_ have no need of broadcloth who are so amply +covered with laurels. It is delightful to hear them talk of their +triumphs, of the storms of applause, the rapturous bravos, the boundless +enthusiasm, of the audiences they lately delighted. Their brows are +oppressed with the weight of their bays. The south mourns their loss; if +they go west, the north will be envious and inconsolable. As to +themselves—north, south, east, or west—they care little to which point +of the compass the breeze of their destiny may waft them. Thorough +gypsies in their habits, accustomed to make the best of the passing +hour, and to take small care for the future so long as the present is +provided for, like soldiers they heed not the name of the town so long +as the quarters be good. + +It was a fine morning in April. The sun shone brightly, and, amongst the +numerous loungers in the garden of the Palais Royal were several groups +of actors. The season was already far advanced; all the companies were +formed, and those players who had not secured an engagement had but a +poor chance of finding one. Their anxiety was legible upon their +countenances. A man of about fifty years of age walked to and fro, a +newspaper in his hand, and to him, when he passed near them, the actors +bowed—respectfully and hopefully. A quick glance was his acknowledgment +of their salutation, and then his eyes reverted to his paper, as if it +deeply interested him. When he was out of hearing, the actors, who had +assumed their most picturesque attitudes to attract his attention, and +who beheld their labour lost, vented their ill-humour. + +“Balthasar is mighty proud,” said one; “he has not a word to say to us.” + +“Perhaps he does not want anybody,” remarked another; “I think he has no +theatre this year.” + +“That would be odd. They say he is a clever manager.” + +“He may best prove his cleverness by keeping aloof. It is so difficult +nowadays to do good in the provinces. The public is so fastidious! the +authorities are so shabby, so unwilling to put their hands in their +pockets. Ah, my dear fellow, our art is sadly fallen!” + +Whilst the discontented actors bemoaned themselves, Balthasar eagerly +accosted a young man who just then entered the garden by the passage of +the Perron. The coffeehouse-keepers had already begun to put out tables +under the tender foliage. The two men sat down at one of them. + +“Well, Florival,” said the manager, “does my offer suit you? Will you +make one of us? I was glad to hear you had broken off with Ricardin. +With your qualifications you ought to have an engagement in Paris, or at +least at a first-rate provincial theatre. But you are young, and, as you +know, managers prefer actors of greater experience and established +reputation. Your parts are generally taken by youths of five-and-forty, +with wrinkles and grey hairs, but well versed in the traditions of the +stage—with damaged voices but an excellent style. My brother managers +are greedy of great names; yours still has to become known—as yet, you +have but your talent to recommend you. I will content myself with that; +content yourself with what I offer you. Times are bad, the season is +advanced, engagements are hard to find. Many of your comrades have gone +to try their luck beyond seas. We have not so far to go; we shall +scarcely overstep the boundary of our ungrateful country. Germany +invites us; it is a pleasant land, and Rhine wine is not to be +disdained. I will tell you how the thing came about. For many years past +I have managed theatres in the eastern departments, in Alsatia and +Lorraine. Last summer, having a little leisure, I made an excursion to +Baden-Baden. As usual, it was crowded with fashionables. One rubbed +shoulders with princes and trod upon highnesses’ toes; one could not +walk twenty yards without meeting a sovereign. All these crowned heads, +kings, grand dukes, electors, mingled easily and affably with the throng +of visitors. Etiquette is banished from the baths of Baden, where, +without laying aside their titles, great personages enjoy the liberty +and advantages of an incognito. At the time of my visit, a company of +very indifferent German actors were playing, two or three times a-week, +in the little theatre. They played to empty benches, and must have +starved but for the assistance afforded them by the directors of the +gambling-tables. I often went to their performances, and, amongst the +scanty spectators, I soon remarked one who was as assiduous as myself. A +gentleman, very plainly dressed, but of agreeable countenance and +aristocratic appearance, invariably occupied the same stall, and seemed +to enjoy the performance, which proved that he was easily pleased. One +night he addressed to me some remark with respect to the play then +acting; we got into conversation on the subject of dramatic art; he saw +that I was specially competent on that topic, and after the theatre he +asked me to take refreshment with him. I accepted. At midnight we +parted, and, as I was going home, I met a gambler whom I slightly knew. +‘I congratulate you,’ he said; ‘you have friends in high places!’ He +alluded to the gentleman with whom I had passed the evening, and whom I +now learned was no less a personage than his Serene Highness Prince +Leopold, sovereign ruler of the Grand Duchy of Niesenstein. I had had +the honour of passing a whole evening in familiar intercourse with a +crowned head. Next day, walking in the park, I met his Highness. I made +a low bow and kept at a respectful distance, but the Grand Duke came up +to me and asked me to walk with him. Before accepting, I thought it +right to inform him who I was. ‘I guessed as much,’ said the Prince. +‘From one or two things that last night escaped you, I made no doubt you +were a theatrical manager.’ And by a gesture he renewed his invitation +to accompany him. In a long conversation he informed me of his intention +to establish a French theatre in his capital, for the performance of +comedy, drama, vaudeville, and comic operas. He was then building a +large theatre, which would be ready by the end of the winter, and he +offered me its management on very advantageous terms. I had no plans in +France for the present year, and the offer was too good to be refused. +The Grand Duke guaranteed my expenses and a gratuity, and there was a +chance of very large profits. I hesitated not a moment; we exchanged +promises, and the affair was concluded. + +“According to our agreement, I am to be at Karlstadt, the capital of the +Grand Duchy of Niesenstein, in the first week in May. There is no time +to lose. My company is almost complete, but there are still some +important gaps to fill. Amongst others, I want a lover, a light +comedian, and a first singer. I reckon upon you to fill these important +posts.” + +“I am quite willing,” replied the actor, “but there is still an +obstacle. You must know, my dear Balthasar, that I am deeply in +love—seriously, this time—and I broke off with Ricardin solely because +he would not engage her to whom I am attached.” + +“Oho! she is an actress?” + +“Two years upon the stage; a lovely girl, full of grace and talent, and +with a charming voice. The Opera Comique has not a singer to compare +with her.” + +“And she is disengaged?” + +“Yes, my dear fellow; strange though it seems, and by a combination of +circumstances which it were tedious to detail, the fascinating Delia is +still without an engagement. And I give you notice that henceforward I +attach myself to her steps: where she goes, I go; I will perform upon no +boards which she does not tread. I am determined to win her heart, and +make her my wife.” + +“Very good!” cried Balthasar, rising from his seat; “tell me the address +of this prodigy: I run, I fly, I make every sacrifice; and we will start +to-morrow.” + +People were quite right in saying that Balthasar was a clever manager. +None better knew how to deal with actors, often capricious and difficult +to guide. He possessed skill, taste, and tact. One hour after the +conversation in the garden of the Palais Royal, he had obtained the +signatures of Delia and Florival, two excellent acquisitions, destined +to do him infinite honour in Germany. That night his little company was +complete, and the next day, after a good dinner, it started for +Strasburg. It was composed as follows: + +Balthasar, manager, was to play the old men, and take the heavy +business. + +Florival was the leading man, the lover, and the first singer. + +Rigolet was the low comedian, and took the parts usually played by Arnal +and Bouffé. + +Similor was to perform the valets in Molière’s comedies, and eccentric +low comedy characters. + +Anselmo was the walking gentleman. + +Lebel led the band. + +Miss Delia was to display her charms and talents as prima donna, and in +genteel comedy. + +Miss Foligny was the singing chambermaid. + +Miss Alice was the walking lady, and made herself generally useful. + +Finally, Madame Pastorale, the duenna of the company, was to perform the +old women, and look after the young ones. + +Although so few, the company trusted to atone by zeal and industry for +numerical deficiency. It would be easy to find, in the capital of the +Grand Duchy, persons capable of filling mute parts, and, in most plays, +a few unimportant characters might be suppressed. + +The travellers reached Strasburg without adventure worthy of note. There +Balthasar allowed them six-and-thirty hours’ repose, and took advantage +of the halt to write to the Grand Duke Leopold, and inform him of his +approaching arrival; then they again started, crossed the Rhine at Kehl, +and in thirty days, after traversing several small German states, +reached the frontier of the Grand Duchy of Niesenstein, and stopped at a +little village called Krusthal. From this village to the capital the +distance was only four leagues, but means of conveyance were wanting. +There was but a single stage-coach on that line of road; it would not +leave Krusthal for two days, and it held but six persons. No other +vehicles were to be had; it was necessary to wait, and the necessity was +anything but pleasant. The actors made wry faces at the prospect of +passing forty-eight hours in a wretched village. The only persons who +easily made up their minds to the wearisome delay were Delia and +Florival. The first singer was desperately in love, and the prima donna +was not insensible to his delicate attentions and tender discourse. + +Balthasar, the most impatient and persevering of all, went out to +explore the village. In an hour’s time he returned in triumph to his +friends, in a light cart drawn by a strong horse. Unfortunately the cart +held but two persons. + +“I will set out alone,” said Balthasar. “On reaching Karlstadt, I will +go to the Grand Duke, explain our position, and I have no doubt he will +immediately send carriages to convey you to his capital.” + +These consolatory words were received with loud cheers by the actors. +The driver, a peasant lad, cracked his whip, and the stout Mecklenburg +horse set out at a small trot. Upon the way, Balthasar questioned his +guide as to the extent, resources, and prosperity of the Grand Duchy, +but could obtain no satisfactory reply: the young peasant was profoundly +ignorant upon all these subjects. The four leagues were got over in +something less than three hours, which is rather rapid travelling for +Germany. It was nearly dark when Balthasar entered Karlstadt. The shops +were shut, and there were few persons in the streets: people are early +in their habits in the happy lands on the Rhine’s right bank. Presently +the cart stopped before a good-sized house. + +“You told me to take you to our prince’s palace,” said the driver, “and +here it is.” Balthasar alighted and entered the dwelling, unchallenged +and unimpeded by the sentry who passed lazily up and down in its front. +In the entrance hall the manager met a porter, who bowed gravely to him +as he passed; he walked on and passed through an empty anteroom. In the +first apartment, appropriated to gentlemen-in-waiting, aides-de-camp, +equerries, and other dignitaries of various degree, he found nobody; in +a second saloon, lighted by a dim and smoky lamp, was an old gentleman, +dressed in black, with powdered hair, who rose slowly at his entrance, +looked at him with surprise, and inquired his pleasure. + +“I wish to see his Serene Highness, the Grand Duke Leopold,” replied +Balthasar. + +“The prince does not grant audiences at this hour,” the old gentleman +drily answered. + +“His Highness expects me,” was the confident reply of Balthasar. + +“That is another thing. I will inquire if it be his Highness’s pleasure +to receive you. Whom shall I announce?” + +“The manager of the Court theatre.” + +The gentleman bowed, and left Balthasar alone. The pertinacious manager +already began to doubt the success of his audacity, when he heard the +Grand Duke’s voice, saying, “Show him in.” + +He entered. The sovereign of Niesenstein was alone, seated in a large +arm-chair, at a table covered with a green cloth, upon which were a +confused medley of letters and newspapers, an inkstand, a tobacco-bag, +two wax-lights, a sugar-basin, a sword, a plate, gloves, a bottle, +books, and a goblet of Bohemian glass, artistically engraved. His +Highness was engrossed in a thoroughly national occupation; he was +smoking one of those long pipes which Germans rarely lay aside except to +eat or to sleep. + +The manager of the Court theatre bowed thrice, as if he had been +advancing to the foot-lights to address the public; then he stood still +and silent, awaiting the prince’s pleasure. But, although he said +nothing, his countenance was so expressive that the Grand Duke answered +him. + +“Yes,” he said, “here you are. I recollect you perfectly, and I have not +forgotten our agreement. But you come at a very unfortunate moment, my +dear sir!” + +“I crave your Highness’s pardon if I have chosen an improper hour to +seek an audience,” replied Balthasar with another bow. + +“It is not the hour that I am thinking of,” answered the prince quickly. +“Would that were all! See, here is your letter; I was just now reading +it, and regretting that, instead of writing to me only three days ago, +when you were half-way here, you had not done so two or three weeks +before starting.” + +“I did wrong.” + +“More so than you think, for, had you sooner warned me, I would have +spared you a useless journey.” + +“Useless!” exclaimed Balthasar aghast. “Has your Highness changed your +mind?” + +“Not at all; I am still passionately fond of the drama, and should be +delighted to have a French theatre here. As far as that goes, my ideas +and tastes are in no way altered since last summer; but, unfortunately, +I am unable to satisfy them. Look here,” continued the prince, rising +from his arm-chair. He took Balthasar’s arm and led him to a window: “I +told you, last year, that I was building a magnificent theatre in my +capital.” + +“Your Highness did tell me so.” + +“Well, look yonder, on the other side of the square; there the theatre +is!” + +“Your Highness, I see nothing but an open space; a building commenced, +and as yet scarcely risen above the foundation.” + +“Precisely so; that is the theatre.” + +“Your Highness told me it would be completed before the end of winter.” + +“I did not then foresee that I should have to stop the works for want of +cash to pay the workmen. Such is my present position. If I have no +theatre ready to receive you, and if I cannot take you and your company +into my pay, it is because I have not the means. The coffers of the +State and my privy purse are alike empty. You are astounded!—Adversity +respects nobody—not even Grand Dukes. But I support its assaults with +philosophy: try to follow my example; and, by way of a beginning, take a +chair and a pipe, fill yourself a glass of wine, and drink to the return +of my prosperity. Since you suffer for my misfortunes, I owe you an +explanation. Although I never had much order in my expenditure, I had +every reason, at the time I first met with you, to believe my finances +in a flourishing condition. It was not until the commencement of the +present year that I discovered the contrary to be the case. Last year +was a bad one; hail ruined our crops and money was hard to get in. The +salaries of my household were in arrear, and my officers murmured. For +the first time I ordered a statement of my affairs to be laid before me, +and I found that ever since my accession I had been exceeding my +revenue. My first act of sovereignty had been a considerable diminution +of the taxes paid to my predecessors. Hence the evil, which had annually +augmented, and now I am ruined, loaded with debts, and without means of +repairing the disaster. My privy-councillors certainly proposed a way; +it was to double the taxes, raise extraordinary contributions—to squeeze +my subjects, in short. A fine plan, indeed! to make the poor pay for my +improvidence and disorder! Such things may occur in other States, but +they shall not occur in mine. Justice before everything. I prefer +enduring my difficulties to making my subjects suffer.” + +“Excellent prince!” exclaimed Balthasar, touched by these generous +sentiments. The Grand Duke smiled. + +“Do you turn flatterer?” he said. “Beware! it is an arduous post, and +you will have none to help you. I have no longer wherewith to pay +flatterers; my courtiers have fled. You have seen the emptiness of my +anterooms; you met neither chamberlain nor equerry upon your entrance. +All those gentlemen have given in their resignations. The civil and +military officers of my house, secretaries, aides-de-camp, and others, +left me, because I could no longer pay them their wages. I am alone; a +few faithful and patient servants are all that remain, and the most +important personage of my court is now honest Sigismund, my old +valet-de-chambre.” + +These last words were spoken in a melancholy tone, which pained +Balthasar. The eyes of the honest manager glistened. The Grand Duke +detected his sympathy. + +“Do not pity me,” he said with a smile. “It is no sorrow to me to have +got rid of a wearisome etiquette, and, at the same time, of a pack of +spies and hypocrites, by whom I was formerly from morning till night +beset.” + +The cheerful frankness of the Grand Duke’s manner forbade doubt of his +sincerity. Balthasar congratulated him on his courage. + +“I need it more than you think!” replied Leopold, “and I cannot answer +for having enough to support the blows that threaten me. The desertion +of my courtiers would be nothing, did I owe it only to the bad state of +my finances: as soon as I found myself in funds again I could buy others +or take back the old ones, and amuse myself by putting my foot upon +their servile necks. Then they would be as humble as now they are +insolent. But their defection is an omen of other dangers. As the +diplomatists say clouds are at the political horizon. Poverty alone +would not have sufficed to clear my palace of men who are as greedy of +honours as they are of money; they would have waited for better days; +their vanity would have consoled their avarice. If they fled, it was +because they felt the ground shake beneath their feet, and because they +are in league with my enemies. I cannot shut my eyes to impending +dangers. I am on bad terms with Austria; Metternich looks askance at me; +at Vienna I am considered too liberal, too popular: they say that I set +a bad example; they reproach me with cheap government, and with not +making my subjects sufficiently feel the yoke. Thus do they accumulate +pretexts for playing me a scurvy trick. One of my cousins, a colonel in +the Austrian service, covets my Grand Duchy. Although I say _grand_, it +is but ten leagues long and eight leagues broad; but, such as it is, it +suits me; I am accustomed to it, I have the habit of ruling it, and I +should miss it were I deprived of it. My cousin has the audacity to +dispute my incontestible rights; this is a mere pretext for litigation, +but he has carried the case before the Aulic Council, and +notwithstanding the excellence of my right I still may lose my cause, +for I have no money wherewith to enlighten my judges. My enemies are +powerful, treason surrounds me; they try to take advantage of my +financial embarrassments, first to make me bankrupt and then to depose +me. In this critical conjuncture, I should be only too delighted to have +a company of players to divert my thoughts from my troubles—but I have +neither theatre nor money. So it is impossible for me to keep you, my +dear manager, and, believe me, I am as grieved at it as you can be. All +I can do is to give you, out of the little I have left, a small +indemnity to cover your travelling expenses and take you back to France. +Come and see me to-morrow morning; we will settle this matter, and you +shall take your leave.” + +Balthasar’s attention and sympathy had been so completely engrossed by +the Grand Duke’s misfortunes, and by his revelations of his political +and financial difficulties, that his own troubles had quite gone out of +his thoughts. When he quitted the palace they came back upon him like a +thunder-cloud. How was he to satisfy the actors, whom he had brought two +hundred leagues away from Paris? What could he say to them, how appease +them? The unhappy manager passed a miserable night. At daybreak he rose +and went out into the open air, to calm his agitation and seek a mode of +extrication from his difficulties. During a two hours’ walk he had +abundant time to visit every corner of Karlstadt, and to admire the +beauties of that celebrated capital. He found it an elegant town, with +wide straight streets cutting completely across it, so that he could see +through it at a glance. The houses were pretty and uniform, and the +windows were provided with small indiscreet mirrors, which reflected the +passers-by and transported the street into the drawing-room, so that the +worthy Karlstadters could satisfy their curiosity without quitting their +easy chairs. An innocent recreation, much affected by German burghers. +As regarded trade and manufactures, the capital of the Grand Duchy of +Niesenstein did not seem to be very much occupied with either. It was +anything but a bustling city; luxury had made but little progress there; +and its prosperity was due chiefly to the moderate desires and +phlegmatic philosophy of its inhabitants. + +In such a country a company of actors had no chance of a livelihood. +There is nothing for it but to return to France, thought Balthasar, +after making the circuit of the city: then he looked at his watch, and, +deeming the hour suitable, he took the road to the palace, which he +entered with as little ceremony as upon the preceding evening. The +faithful Sigismund, doing duty as gentleman-in-waiting, received him as +an old acquaintance, and forthwith ushered him into the Grand Duke’s +presence. His Highness seemed more depressed than upon the previous day. +He was pacing the room with long strides, his eyes cast down, his arms +folded. In his hand he held papers, whose perusal it apparently was that +had thus discomposed him. For some moments he said nothing; then he +suddenly stopped before Balthasar. + +“You find me less calm,” he said, “than I was last night. I have just +received unpleasant news. I am heartily sick of these perpetual +vexations, and gladly would I resign this poor sovereignty, this crown +of thorns they seek to snatch from me, did not honour command me to +maintain to the last my legitimate rights. Yes,” vehemently exclaimed +the Grand Duke, “at this moment a tranquil existence is all I covet, and +I would willingly give up my Grand Duchy, my title, my crown, to live +quietly at Paris, as a private gentleman, upon thirty thousand francs +a-year.” + +“I believe so, indeed!” cried Balthasar, who, in his wildest dreams of +fortune, had never dared aspire so high. His artless exclamation made +the prince smile. It needed but a trifle to dissipate his vexation, and +to restore that upper current of easy good temper which habitually +floated upon the surface of his character. + +“You think,” he gaily cried, “that some, in my place, would be satisfied +with less, and that thirty thousand francs a-year, with independence and +the pleasures of Paris, compose a lot more enviable than the government +of all the Grand Duchies in the world. My own experience tells me that +you are right; for, ten years ago, when I was but hereditary prince, I +passed six months at Paris, rich, independent, careless; and memory +declares those to have been the happiest days of my life.” + +“Well! if you were to sell all you have, could you not realise that +fortune? Besides, the cousin, of whom you did me the honour to speak to +me yesterday, would probably gladly insure you an income if you yielded +him your place here. But will your Highness permit me to speak plainly?” + +“By all means.” + +“The tranquil existence of a private gentleman would doubtless have many +charms for you, and you say so in all sincerity of heart; but, upon the +other hand, you set store by your crown, though you may not admit it to +yourself. In a moment of annoyance it is easy to exaggerate the charms +of tranquillity, and the pleasures of private life; but a throne, +however rickety, is a seat which none willingly quit. That is my +opinion, formed at the dramatic school: it is perhaps a reminiscence of +some old part, but truth is sometimes found upon the stage. Since, +therefore, all things considered, to stay where you are is that which +best becomes you, you ought——But I crave your Highness’s pardon, I am +perhaps speaking too freely—— + +“Speak on, my dear manager, freely and fearlessly; I listen to you with +pleasure. I ought—you were about to say?——” + +“Instead of abandoning yourself to despair and poetry, instead of +contenting yourself with succumbing nobly, like some ancient Roman, you +ought boldly to combat the peril. Circumstances are favourable; you have +neither ministers nor state-councillors to mislead you, and embarrass +your plans. Strong in your good right, and in your subjects’ love, it is +impossible you should not find means of retrieving your finances and +strengthening your position.” + +“There is but one means, and that is—a good marriage.” + +“Excellent! I had not thought of it. You are a bachelor! A good marriage +is salvation. It is thus that great houses, menaced with ruin, regain +their former splendour. You must marry an heiress, the only daughter of +some rich banker.” + +“You forget—it would be derogatory. _I_ am free from such prejudices, +but what would Austria say if I thus condescended? It would be another +charge to bring against me. And then a banker’s millions would not +suffice; I must ally myself with a powerful family, whose influence will +strengthen mine. Only a few days ago, I thought such an alliance within +my grasp. A neighbouring prince, Maximilian of Hanau, who is in high +favour at Vienna, has a sister to marry. The Princess Wilhelmina is +young, handsome, amiable, and rich; I have already entered upon the +preliminaries of a matrimonial negotiation, but two despatches, received +this morning, destroy all my hopes. Hence the low spirits in which you +find me.” + +“Perhaps,” said Balthasar, “your Highness too easily gives way to +discouragement.” + +“Judge for yourself. I have a rival, the Elector of Saxe-Tolpelhausen; +his territories are less considerable than mine, but he is more solidly +established in his little electorate than I am in my grand duchy.” + +“Pardon me, your Highness; I saw the Elector of Saxe-Tolpelhausen last +year at Baden-Baden, and, without flattery, he cannot for an instant be +compared with your Highness. You are hardly thirty, and he is more than +forty; you have a good figure, he is heavy, clumsy, and ill-made; your +countenance is noble and agreeable, his common and displeasing; your +hair is light brown, his bright red. The Princess Wilhelmina is sure to +prefer you.” + +“Perhaps so, if she were asked; but she is in the power of her august +brother, who will marry her to whom he pleases.” + +“That must be prevented.” + +“How?” + +“By winning the young lady’s affections. Love has so many resources. +Every day one sees marriages for money broken off, and replaced by +marriages for love.” + +“Yes, one sees that in plays——” + +“Which afford excellent lessons.” + +“For people of a certain class, but not for princes.” + +“Why not make the attempt? If I dared advise you, it would be to set out +to-morrow, and pay a visit to the Prince of Hanau.” + +“Unnecessary. To see the prince and his sister, I need not stir hence. +One of these despatches announces their early arrival at Karlstadt. They +are on their way hither. On their return from a journey into Prussia, +they pass through my territories and pause in my capital, inviting +themselves as my guests for two or three days. Their visit is my ruin. +What will they think of me when they find me alone, deserted, in my +empty palace? Do you suppose the Princess will be tempted to share my +dismal solitude? Last year she went to Saxe-Tolpelhausen. The Elector +entertained her well, and made his court agreeable. _He_ could place +chamberlains and aides-de-camp at her orders, could give concerts, +balls, and festivals. But I—what can _I_ do? What a humiliation! And, +that no affront may be spared to me, my rival proposes negotiating his +marriage at my own court! Nothing less, it seems, will satisfy him! He +has just sent me an ambassador, Baron Pippinstir, deputed, he writes, to +conclude a commercial treaty which will be extremely advantageous to me. +The treaty is but a pretext. The Baron’s true mission is to the Prince +of Hanau. The meeting is skilfully contrived, for the secret and +unostentatious conclusion of the matrimonial treaty. This is what I am +condemned to witness! I must endure this outrage and mortification, and +display, before the prince and his sister, my misery and poverty. I +would do anything to avoid such shame!” + +“Means might, perhaps, be found,” said Balthasar, after a moment’s +reflection. + +“Means? Speak, and whatever they be, I adopt them.” + +“The plan is a bold one!” continued Balthasar, speaking half to the +Grand Duke and half to himself, as if pondering and weighing a project. + +“No matter! I will risk everything.” + +“You would like to conceal your real position, to re-people this palace, +to have a court?” + +“Yes.” + +“Do you think the courtiers who have deserted you would return?” + +“Never. Did I not tell you they are sold to my enemies.” + +“Could you not select others from the higher class of your subjects?” + +“Impossible! There are very few gentlemen amongst my subjects. Ah! if a +court could be got up at a day’s notice! though it were to be composed +of the humblest citizens of Karlstadt——” + +“I have better than that to offer you.” + +“_You_ have? And whom do you offer?” cried Duke Leopold, greatly +astonished. + +“My actors.” + +“What! you would have me make up a court of your actors?” + +“Yes, your Highness, and you could not do better. Observe that my actors +are accustomed to play all manner of parts, and that they will be +perfectly at their ease when performing those of noblemen and high +officials. I answer for their talent, discretion, and probity. As soon +as your illustrious guests have departed, and you no longer need their +services, they shall resign their posts. Bear in mind that you have no +other alternative. Time is short, danger at your door, hesitation is +destruction.” + +“But, if such a trick were discovered!——” + +“A mere supposition, a chimerical fear. On the other hand, if you do not +run the risk I propose, your ruin is certain.” + +The Grand Duke was easily persuaded. Careless and easy-going, he yet was +not wanting in determination, nor in a certain love of hazardous +enterprises. He remembered that fortune is said to favour the bold, and +his desperate position increased his courage. With joyful intrepidity he +accepted and adopted Balthasar’s scheme. + +“Bravo!” cried the manager; “you shall have no cause to repent. You +behold in me a sample of your future courtiers; and since honours and +dignities are to be distributed, it is with me, if you please, that we +will begin. In this request I act up to the spirit of my part. A +courtier should always be asking for something, should lose no +opportunity, and should profit by his rivals’ absence to obtain the best +place. I entreat your Highness to have the goodness to name me prime +minister.” + +“Granted!” gaily replied the prince. “Your Excellency may immediately +enter upon your functions.” + +“My Excellency will not fail to do so, and begins by requesting your +signature to a few decrees I am about to draw up. But in the first +place, your Highness must be so good as to answer two or three +questions, that I may understand the position of affairs. A new-comer in +a country, and a novice in a minister’s office, has need of instruction. +If it became necessary to enforce your commands, have you the means of +so doing?” + +“Undoubtedly.” + +“Your Highness has soldiers?” + +“A regiment.” + +“How many men?” + +“One hundred and twenty, besides the musicians.” + +“Are they obedient, devoted?” + +“Passive obedience, unbounded devotion; soldiers and officers would die +for me to the last man.” + +“It is their duty. Another question: Have you a prison in your +dominions?” + +“Certainly.” + +“I mean a good prison, strong and well-guarded, with thick walls, solid +bars, stern and incorruptible jailors?” + +“I have every reason to believe that the Castle of Zwingenberg combines +all those requisites. The fact is, I have made very little use of it; +but it was built by a man who understood such matters—by my father’s +great-grandfather, Rudolph the Inflexible.” + +“A fine surname for a sovereign! Your Inflexible ancestor, I am very +sure, never lacked either cash or courtiers. Your Highness has perhaps +done wrong to leave the state-prison untenanted. A prison requires to be +inhabited, like any other building; and the first act of the authority +with which you have been pleased to invest me, will be a salutary +measure of incarceration. I presume the Castle of Zwingenberg will +accommodate a score of prisoners?” + +“What! you are going to imprison twenty persons?” + +“More or less. I do not yet know the exact number of the persons who +composed your late court. They it is whom I propose lodging within the +lofty walls constructed by the Inflexible Rudolph. The measure is +indispensable.” + +“But it is illegal!” + +“I crave your Highness’s pardon; you use a word I do not understand. It +seems to me that, in every good German government, that which is +absolutely necessary is necessarily legal. That is my policy. Moreover, +as prime minister, I am responsible. What would you have more? It is +plain that, if we leave your courtiers their liberty, it will be +impossible to perform our comedy; they will betray us. Therefore the +welfare of the state imperatively demands their imprisonment. Besides, +you yourself have said that they are traitors, and therefore they +deserve punishment. For your own safety’s sake, for the success of your +project—which will insure the happiness of your subjects—write the +names, sign the order, and inflict upon the deserters the lenient +chastisement of a week’s captivity.” + +The Grand Duke wrote the names and signed several orders, which were +forthwith intrusted to the most active and determined officers of the +regiment, with instructions to make the arrests at once, and to take +their prisoners to the Castle of Zwingenberg, at three quarters of a +league from Karlstadt. + +“All that now remains to be done is to send for your new court,” said +Balthasar. “Has your Highness carriages?” + +“Certainly! a berlin, a barouche, and a cabriolet.” + +“And horses?” + +“Six draught and two saddle.” + +“I take the barouche, the berlin, and four horses; I go to Krusthal, put +my actors up to their parts, and bring them here this evening. We instal +ourselves in the palace, and shall be at once at your Highness’s +orders.” + +“Very good; but, before going, write an answer to Baron Pippinstir, who +asks an audience.” + +“Two lines, very dry and official, putting him off till to-morrow. We +must be under arms to receive him.... Here is the note written, but how +shall I sign it? The name of Balthasar is not very suitable to a German +Excellency.” + +“True, you must have another name, and a title; I create you Count +Lipandorf.” + +“Thanks, your Highness. I will bear the title nobly, and restore it to +you faithfully, with my seals of office, when the comedy is played out.” + +Count Lipandorf signed the letter, which Sigismund was ordered to take +to Baron Pippinstir; then he started for Krusthal. + +Next morning, the Grand Duke Leopold held a levee, which was attended by +all the officers of his new court. And as soon as he was dressed he +received the ladies, with infinite grace and affability. + +Ladies and officers were attired in their most elegant theatrical +costumes; the Grand Duke appeared greatly satisfied with their bearing +and manners. The first compliments over, there came a general +distribution of titles and offices. + +The lover, Florival, was appointed aide-de-camp to the Grand Duke, +colonel of hussars, and Count Reinsberg. + +Rigolet, the low comedian, was named grand chamberlain, and Baron +Fidibus. + +Similor, who performed the valets, was master of the horse and Baron +Kockemburg. + +Anselmo, walking gentleman, was promoted to be gentleman-in-waiting and +Chevalier Grillenfanger. + +The leader of the band, Lebel, was appointed superintendant of the music +and amusements of the court, with the title of Chevalier Arpeggio. + +The prima donna, Miss Delia, was created Countess of Rosenthal, an +interesting orphan, whose dowry was to be the hereditary office of first +lady of honour to the future Grand Duchess. + +Miss Foligny, the singing chambermaid, was appointed widow of a general +and Baroness Allenzau. + +Miss Alice, walking lady, became Miss Fidibus, daughter of the +chamberlain, and a rich heiress. + +Finally, the duenna, Madame Pastorale, was called to the responsible +station of mistress of the robes and governess of the maids of honour, +under the imposing title of Baroness Schicklick. + +The new dignitaries received decorations in proportion to their rank. +Count Balthasar von Lipandorf, prime minister, had two stars and three +grand crosses. The aide-de-camp, Florival von Reinsberg, fastened five +crosses upon the breast of his hussar jacket. + +The parts duly distributed and learned, there was a rehearsal, which +went off excellently well. The Grand Duke deigned to superintend the +getting up of the piece, and to give the actors a few useful hints. + +Prince Maximilian of Hanau and his august sister were expected that +evening. Time was precious. Pending their arrival, and by way of +practising his court, the Grand Duke gave audience to the ambassador +from Saxe-Tolpelhausen. + +Baron Pippinstir was ushered into the Hall of the Throne. He had asked +permission to present his wife at the same time as his credentials, and +that favour had been granted him. + +At sight of the diplomatist, the new courtiers, as yet unaccustomed to +rigid decorum, had difficulty in keeping their countenances. The Baron +was a man of fifty, prodigiously tall, singularly thin, abundantly +powdered, with legs like hop-poles, clad in knee breeches and white silk +stockings. A long slender pigtail danced upon his flexible back. He had +a face like a bird of prey—little round eyes, a receding chin, and an +enormous hooked nose. It was scarcely possible to look at him without +laughing, especially when one saw him for the first time. His +apple-green coat glittered with a profusion of embroidery. His chest +being too narrow to admit of a horizontal development of his +decorations, he wore them in two columns, extending from his collar to +his waist. When he approached the Grand Duke, with a self-satisfied +simper and a jaunty air, his sword by his side, his cocked hat under his +arm, nothing was wanting to complete the caricature. + +The Baroness Pippinstir was a total contrast to her husband. She was a +pretty little woman of five-and-twenty, as plump as a partridge, with a +lively eye, a nice figure, and an engaging smile. There was mischief in +her glance, seduction in her dimples and the rose’s tint upon her +cheeks. Her dress was the only ridiculous thing about her. To come to +court, the little Baroness had put on all the finery she could muster; +she sailed into the hall under a cloud of ribbons, sparkling with jewels +and fluttering with plumes—the loftiest of which, however, scarcely +reached to the shoulder of her lanky spouse. + +Completely identifying himself with his part of prime minister, +Balthasar, as soon as this oddly-assorted pair appeared, decided upon +his plan of campaign. His natural penetration told him the diplomatist’s +weak point. He felt that the Baron, who was old and ugly, must be +jealous of his wife, who was young and pretty. He was not mistaken. +Pippinstir was as jealous as a tiger-cat. Recently married, the meagre +diplomatist had not dared to leave his wife at Saxe-Tolpelhausen, for +fear of accidents; he would not lose sight of her, and had brought her +to Karlstadt in the arrogant belief that danger vanished in his +presence. + +After exchanging a few diplomatic phrases with the ambassador, Balthasar +took Colonel Florival aside and gave him secret instructions. The +dashing officer passed his hand through his richly-curling locks, +adjusted his splendid pelisse, and approached Baroness Pippinstir. The +ambassadress received him graciously; the handsome colonel had already +attracted her attention, and soon she was delighted with his wit and +gallant speeches. Florival did not lack imagination, and his memory was +stored with well-turned phrases and sentimental tirades, borrowed from +stage-plays. He spoke half from inspiration, half from memory, and he +was listened to with favour. + +The conversation was carried on in French—for the best of reasons. + +“It is the custom here,” said the Grand Duke to the ambassador; “French +is the only language spoken in this palace; it is a regulation I had +some difficulty in enforcing, and I was at last obliged to decree that a +heavy penalty should be paid for every German word spoken by a person +attached to my court. That proved effectual, and you will not easily +catch any of these ladies and gentlemen tripping. My prime minister, +Count Balthasar von Lipandorf, is the only one who is permitted +occasionally to speak his native language.” + +Balthasar, who had long managed theatres in Alsace and Lorraine, spoke +German like a Frankfort brewer. + +Meanwhile, Baron Pippinstir’s uneasiness was extreme. Whilst his wife +conversed in a low voice with the young and fascinating aide-de-camp, +the pitiless prime minister held his arm tight, and explained at great +length his views with respect to the famous commercial treaty. Caught in +his own snare, the unlucky diplomatist was in agony; he fidgeted to get +away, his countenance expressed grievous uneasiness, his lean legs were +convulsively agitated. But in vain did he endeavour to abridge his +torments; the remorseless Balthasar relinquished not his prey. + +Sigismund, promoted to be steward of the household, announced dinner. +The ambassador and his lady had been invited to dine, as well as all the +courtiers. The aide-de-camp was placed next to the Baroness, the Baron +at the other end of the table. The torture was prolonged. Florival +continued to whisper soft nonsense to the fair and well-pleased +Pippinstir. The diplomatist could not eat. + +There was another person present whom Florival’s flirtation annoyed, and +that person was Delia, Countess of Rosenthal. After dinner, Balthasar, +whom nothing escaped, took her aside. + +“You know very well,” said the minister, “that he is only acting a part +in a comedy. Should you feel hurt if he declared his love upon the +stage, to one of your comrades? Here it is the same thing; all this is +but a play; when the curtain falls, he will return to you.” + +A courier announced that the Prince of Hanau and his sister were within +a league of Karlstadt. The Grand Duke, attended by Count Reinsberg and +some officers, went to meet them. It was dark when the illustrious +guests reached the palace; they passed through the great saloon, where +the whole court was assembled to receive them, and retired at once to +their apartments. + +“The game is fairly begun,” said the Grand Duke to his prime minister; +“and now, may Heaven help us!” + +“Fear nothing,” replied Balthasar. “The glimpse I caught of Prince +Maximilian’s physiognomy satisfied me that everything will pass off +perfectly well, and without exciting the least suspicion. As to Baron +Pippinstir, he is already blind with jealousy, and Florival will give +him so much to do, that he will have no time to attend to his master’s +business. Things look well.” + +Next morning, the Prince and Princess of Hanau were welcomed, on +awakening, by a serenade from the regimental band. The weather was +beautiful; the Grand Duke proposed an excursion out of town; he was glad +of an opportunity to show his guests the best features of his duchy—a +delightful country, and many picturesque points of view, much prized and +sketched by German landscape-painters. The proposal agreed to, the party +set out, in carriages and on horseback, for the old Castle of +Rauberzell—magnificent ruins, dating from the middle ages, and famous +far and wide. At a short distance from the castle, which lifted its grey +turrets upon the summit of a wooded hill, the Princess Wilhelmina +expressed a wish to walk the remainder of the way. Everybody followed +her example. The Grand Duke offered her his arm; the Prince gave his to +the Countess Delia von Rosenthal; and, at a sign from Balthasar, +Baroness Pastorale von Schicklick took possession of Baron Pippinstir; +whilst the smiling Baroness accepted Florival’s escort. The young people +walked at a brisk pace. The unfortunate Baron would gladly have availed +of his long legs to keep up with his coquettish wife; but the duenna, +portly and ponderous, hung upon his arm, checked his ardour, and +detained him in the rear. Respect for the mistress of the robes forbade +rebellion or complaint. + +Amidst the ruins of the venerable castle, the distinguished party found +a table spread with an elegant collation. It was an agreeable surprise, +and the Grand Duke had all the credit of an idea suggested to him by his +prime minister. + +The whole day was passed in rambling through the beautiful forest of +Rauberzell. The Princess was charming; nothing could exceed the high +breeding of the courtiers, or the fascination and elegance of the +ladies; and Prince Maximilian warmly congratulated the Grand Duke on +having a court composed of such agreeable and accomplished persons. +Baroness Pippinstir declared, in a moment of enthusiasm, that the court +of Saxe-Tolpelhausen was not to compare with that of Niesenstein. She +could hardly have said anything more completely at variance with the +object of her husband’s mission. The Baron was near fainting. + +Like not a few of her countrywomen, the Princess Wilhelmina had a strong +predilection for Parisian fashions. She admired everything that came +from France; she spoke French perfectly, and greatly approved the Grand +Duke’s decree, forbidding any other language to be spoken at his court. +Moreover, there was nothing extraordinary in such a regulation; French +is the language of all the northern courts. But she was greatly tickled +at the notion of a fine being inflicted for a single German word. She +amused herself by trying to catch some of the Grand Duke’s courtiers +transgressing in this respect. Her labour was completely lost. + +That evening, at the palace, when conversation began to languish, the +Chevalier Arpeggio sat down to the piano, and the Countess Delia von +Rosenthal sang an air out of the last new opera. The guests were +enchanted with her performance. Prince Maximilian had been extremely +attentive to the Countess during their excursion; the young actress’s +grace and beauty had captivated him, and the charm of her voice +completed his subjugation. Passionately fond of music, every note she +sang went to his very heart. When she had finished one song, he +petitioned for another. The amiable prima donna sang a duet with the +aide-de-camp Florival von Reinsberg, and then, being further entreated, +a trio, in which Similor—master of the horse, barytone, and Baron von +Kockemburg—took a part. + +Here our actors were at home, and their success was complete. Deviating +from his usual reserve, Prince Maximilian did not disguise his delight; +and the imprudent little Baroness Pippinstir declared that, with such a +beautiful tenor voice, an aide-de-camp might aspire to anything. A +cemetery on a wet day is a cheerful sight, compared to the Baron’s +countenance when he heard these words. + +Upon the morrow, a hunting party was the order of the day. In the +evening there was a dance. It had been proposed to invite the principal +families of the metropolis of Niesenstein, but the Prince and Princess +begged that the circle might not be increased. + +“We are four ladies,” said the Princess, glancing at the prima donna, +the singing chambermaid, and the walking lady, “it is enough for a +quadrille.” + +There was no lack of gentlemen. There was the Grand Duke, the +aide-de-camp, the grand chamberlain, the master of the horse, the +gentleman-in-waiting, and Prince Maximilian’s aide-de-camp, Count Darius +von Sturmhaube, who appeared greatly smitten by the charms of the +widowed Baroness Allenzau. + +“I am sorry my court is not more numerous,” said the Grand Duke, “but, +within the last three days, I have been compelled to diminish it by one +half.” + +“How so?” inquired Prince Maximilian. + +“A dozen courtiers,” replied the Grand Duke Leopold, “whom I had loaded +with favours, dared conspire against me, in favour of a certain cousin +of mine at Vienna. I discovered the plot, and the plotters are now in +the dungeons of my good fortress of Zwingenberg.” + +“Well done!” cried the Prince; “I like such energy and vigour. And to +think that people taxed you with weakness of character! How we princes +are deceived and calumniated.” + +The Grand Duke cast a grateful glance at Balthasar. That able minister +by this time felt himself as much at his ease in his new office as if he +had held it all his life; he even began to suspect that the government +of a grand duchy is a much easier matter than the management of a +company of actors. Incessantly engrossed by his master’s interests, he +manœuvred to bring about the marriage which was to give the Grand Duke +happiness, wealth, and safety; but, notwithstanding his skill, +notwithstanding the torments with which he had filled the jealous soul +of Pippinstir, the ambassador devoted the scanty moments of repose his +wife left him to furthering the object of his mission. The alliance with +the Saxe-Tolpelhausen was pleasing to Prince Maximilian; it offered him +various advantages: the extinction of an old lawsuit between the two +states, the cession of a large extent of territory, and, finally, the +commercial treaty, which the perfidious Baron had brought to the court +of Niesenstein, with a view of concluding it in favour of the +principality of Hanau. Invested with unlimited powers, the diplomatist +was ready to insert in the contract almost any conditions Prince +Maximilian chose to dictate to him. + +It is necessary here to remark that the Elector of Saxe-Tolpelhausen was +desperately in love with the Princess Wilhelmina. + +It was evident that the Baron would carry the day, if the prime minister +did not hit upon some scheme to destroy his credit or force him to +retreat. Balthasar, fertile in expedients, was teaching Florival his +part in the palace garden, when Prince Maximilian met him, and requested +a moment’s private conversation. + +“I am at your Highness’s orders,” respectfully replied the minister. + +“I will go straight to the point, Count Lipandorf,” the Prince began. “I +married my late wife, a princess of Hesse-Darmstadt, from political +motives. She has left me three sons. I now intend to marry again; but +this time I need not sacrifice myself to state considerations, and I am +determined to consult my heart alone.” + +“If your Highness does me the honour to consult _me_, I have merely to +say that you are perfectly justified in acting as you propose. After +once sacrificing himself to his people’s happiness, a prince has surely +a right to think a little of his own.” + +“Exactly my opinion! Count, I will tell you a secret. I am in love with +Miss von Rosenthal.” + +“Miss Delia?” + +“Yes, sir; with Miss Delia, Countess of Rosenthal; and, what is more, I +will tell you that _I know everything_.” + +“What may it be that your Highness knows?” + +“I know who she is.” + +“Ha!” + +“It was a great secret!” + +“And how came your Highness to discover it?” + +“The Grand Duke revealed it to me.” + +“I might have guessed as much!” + +“He alone could do so, and I rejoice that I addressed myself directly to +him. At first, when I questioned him concerning the young Countess’s +family, he ill concealed his embarrassment: her position struck me as +strange; young, beautiful, and alone in the world, without relatives or +guardians—all that seemed to me singular, if not suspicious. I trembled, +as the possibility of an intrigue flashed upon me; but the Grand Duke, +to dissipate my unfounded suspicion, told me all.” + +“And what is your Highness’s decision?... After such a revelation”— + +“It in no way changes my intentions. I shall marry the lady.” + +“Marry her?... But no; your Highness jests.” + +“Count Lipandorf, I never jest. What is there, then, so strange in my +determination. The Grand Duke’s father was romantic, and of a roving +disposition; in the course of his life he contracted several left-handed +alliances—Miss von Rosenthal is the issue of one of those unions. I care +not for the illegitimacy of her birth; she is of noble blood, of a +princely race—that is all I require.” + +“Yes,” replied Balthasar, who had concealed his surprise and kept his +countenance, as became an experienced statesman and consummate comedian. +“Yes, I now understand; and I think as you do. Your Highness has the +talent of bringing everybody over to your way of thinking.” + +“The greatest piece of good fortune,” continued the Prince, “is that the +mother remained unknown: she is dead, and there is no trace of family on +that side.” + +“As your Highness says, it is very fortunate. And doubtless the Grand +Duke is informed of your august intentions with respect to the proposed +marriage?” + +“No; I have as yet said nothing either to him or to the Countess. I +reckon upon you, my dear Count, to make my offer, to whose acceptance I +trust there will not be the slightest obstacle. I give you the rest of +the day to arrange everything. I will write to Miss von Rosenthal; I +hope to receive from her own lips the assurance of my happiness, and I +will beg her to bring me her answer herself, this evening, in the +summerhouse in the park. Lover-like, you see—a rendezvous, a mysterious +interview! But come, Count Lipandorf, lose no time; a double tie shall +bind me to your sovereign. We will sign, at one and the same time, my +marriage-contract and his. On that condition alone will I grant him my +sister’s hand; otherwise I treat, this very evening, with the envoy from +Saxe-Tolpelhausen.” + +A quarter of an hour after Prince Maximilian had made this overture, +Balthasar and Delia were closeted with the Grand Duke. + +What was to be done? The Prince of Hanau was noted for his obstinacy. He +would have excellent reasons to oppose to all objections. To confess the +deception that had been practised upon him was equivalent to a total and +eternal rupture. But, upon the other hand, to leave him in his error, to +suffer him to marry an actress! it was a serious matter. If ever he +discovered the truth, it would be enough to raise the entire German +Confederation against the Grand Duke of Niesenstein. + +“What is my prime minister’s opinion?” asked the Grand Duke. + +“A prompt retreat. Delia must instantly quit the town; we will devise an +explanation of her sudden departure.” + +“Yes; and this evening Prince Maximilian will sign his sister’s +marriage-contract with the Elector of Saxe-Tolpelhausen. My opinion is, +that we have advanced too far to retreat. If the prince ever discovers +the truth, he will be the person most interested to conceal it. Besides, +Miss Delia is an orphan—she has neither parents nor family. I adopt +her—I acknowledge her as my sister.” + +“Your Highness’s goodness and condescension——” lisped the pretty prima +donna. + +“You agree with me, do you not, Miss Delia?” continued the Grand Duke. +“You are resolved to seize the good fortune thus offered, and to risk +the consequences?” + +“Yes, your Highness.” + +The ladies will make allowance for Delia’s faithlessness to Florival. +How few female heads would not be turned by the prospect of wearing a +crown! The heart’s voice is sometimes mute in presence of such brilliant +temptations. Besides, was not Florival faithless? Who could say whither +he might be led in the course of the tender scenes he acted with the +Baroness Pippinstir? Prince Maximilian was neither young nor handsome, +but he offered a throne. Not only an actress, but many a high-born dame, +might possibly, in such circumstances, forget her love, and think only +of her ambition. + +To her credit be it said, Delia did not yield without some reluctance to +the Grand Duke’s arguments, which Balthasar backed with all his +eloquence; but she ended by agreeing to the interview with Prince +Maximilian. + +“I accept,” she resolutely exclaimed; “I shall be Sovereign Princess of +Hanau.” + +“And I,” cried the Grand Duke, “shall marry Princess Wilhelmina, and, +this very evening, poor Pippinstir, disconcerted and defeated, will go +back to Saxe-Tolpelhausen.” + +“He would have done that in any case,” said Balthasar; “for, this +evening, Florival was to have run away with his wife.” + +“That is carrying things rather far,” Delia remarked. + +“Such a scandal is unnecessary,” added the Grand Duke. + +Whilst awaiting the hour of her rendezvous with the prince, Delia, +pensive and agitated, was walking in the park, when she came suddenly +upon Florival, who seemed as much discomposed as herself. In spite of +her newly-born ideas of grandeur, she felt a pain at her heart. With a +forced smile, and in a tone of reproach and irony, she greeted her +former lover. + +“A pleasant journey to you, Colonel Florival,” she said. + +“I may wish you the same,” replied Florival; “for doubtless you will +soon set out for the principality of Hanau!” + +“Before long, no doubt.” + +“You admit it, then?” + +“Where is the harm? The wife must follow her husband—a princess must +reign in her dominions.” + +“Princess! What do you mean? Wife! In what ridiculous promises have they +induced you to confide?” + +Florival’s offensive doubts were dissipated by the formal explanation +which Delia took malicious pleasure in giving him. A touching scene +ensued; the lovers, who had both gone astray for a moment, felt their +former flame burn all the more ardently for its partial and temporary +extinction. Pardon was mutually asked and granted, and ambitious dreams +fled before a burst of affection. + +“You shall see whether I love you or not,” said Florival to Delia. +“Yonder comes Baron Pippinstir; I will take him into the summerhouse; a +closet is there, where you can hide yourself to hear what passes, and +then you shall decide my fate.” + +Delia went into the summerhouse, and hid herself in the closet. There +she overheard the following conversation:— + +“What have you to say to me, Colonel?” asked the Baron. + +“I wish to speak to your Excellency of an affair that deeply concerns +you.” + +“I am all attention; but I beg you to be brief; I am expected +elsewhere.” + +“So am I.” + +“I must go to the prime minister, to return him this draught of a +commercial treaty, which I cannot accept.” + +“And I must go to the rendezvous given me in this letter.” + +“The Baroness’s writing!” + +“Yes, Baron. Your wife has done me the honour to write to me. We set out +together to-night; the Baroness is waiting for me in a post-chaise.” + +“And it is to me you dare acknowledge this abominable project?” + +“I am less generous than you think. You cannot but be aware that, owing +to an irregularity in your marriage-contract, nothing would be easier +than to get it annulled. This we will have done; we then obtain a +divorce, and I marry the Baroness. You will, of course, have to hand me +over her dowry—a million of florins—composing, if I do not mistake, your +entire fortune.” + +The Baron, more dead than alive, sank into an arm-chair. He was struck +speechless. + +“We might, perhaps, make some arrangement, Baron,” continued Florival. +“I am not particularly bent upon becoming your wife’s second husband.” + +“Ah, sir!” cried the ambassador, “you restore me to life!” + +“Yes, but I will not restore you the Baroness, except on certain +conditions.” + +“Speak! What do you demand?” + +“First, that treaty of commerce, which you must sign just as Count +Lipandorf has drawn it up.” + +“I consent to do so.” + +“That is not all: you shall take my place at the rendezvous, get into +the post-chaise, and run away with your wife; but first you must sit +down at this table and write a letter, in due diplomatic form, to Prince +Maximilian, informing him that, finding it impossible to accept his +stipulations, you are compelled to decline, in your sovereign’s name, +the honour of his august alliance.” + +“But, Colonel, remember that my instructions——” + +“Very well, fulfil them exactly; be a dutiful ambassador and a miserable +husband, ruined, without wife and without dowry. You will never have +such another chance, Baron! A pretty wife and a million of florins do +not fall to a man’s lot twice in his life. But I must take my leave of +you. I am keeping the Baroness waiting.” + +“I will go to her.... Give me paper, a pen, and be so good as to +dictate. I am so agitated——” + +The Baron really was in a dreadful fluster. The letter written, and the +treaty signed, Florival told his Excellency where he would find the +post-chaise. + +“One thing more you must promise me,” said the young man, “and that is, +that you will behave like a gentleman to your wife, and not scold her +over-much. Remember the flaw in the contract. She may find somebody else +in whose favour to cancel the document. Suitors will not be wanting.” + +“What need of a promise?” replied the poor Baron. “You know very well +that my wife does what she likes with me? I shall have to explain my +conduct, and ask her pardon.” + +Pippinstir departed. Delia left her hiding-place, and held out her hand +to Florival. + +“You have behaved well,” she said. + +“That is more than the Baroness will say.” + +“She deserves the lesson. It is your turn to go into the closet and +listen; the Prince will be here directly.” + +“I hear his footsteps.” And Florival was quickly concealed. + +“Charming Countess!” said the prince on entering, “I come to know my +fate.” + +“What does your Highness mean?” said Delia, pretending not to understand +him. + +“How can you ask? Has not the Grand Duke spoken to you?” + +“No, your Highness.” + +“Nor the prime minister?” + +“Not a word. When I received your letter, I was on the point of asking +you for a private interview. I have a favour—a service—to implore of +your Highness.” + +“It is granted before it is asked. I place my whole influence and power +at your feet, charming Countess!” + +“A thousand thanks, illustrious prince. You have already shown me so +much kindness, that I venture to ask you to make a communication to my +brother, the Grand Duke, which I dare not make myself. I want you to +inform him that I have been for three months privately married to Count +Reinsberg.” + +“Good heavens!” cried Maximilian, falling into the arm-chair in which +Pippinstir had recently reclined. On recovering from the shock, the +prince rose again to his feet. + +“’Tis well, madam,” he said, in a faint voice. “’Tis well!” + +And he left the summerhouse. + +After reading Baron Pippinstir’s letter, Prince Maximilian fell +a-thinking. It was not the Grand Duke’s fault if the Countess of +Rosenthal did not ascend the throne of Hanau. There was an +insurmountable obstacle. Then the precipitate departure of the +ambassador of Saxe-Tolpelhausen was an affront which demanded instant +vengeance. And the Grand Duke Leopold was a most estimable sovereign, +skilful, energetic, and blessed with wise councillors; the Princess +Wilhelmina liked him, and thought nothing could compare, for +pleasantness, with his lively court, where all the men were amiable, and +all the women charming. These various motives duly weighed, the Prince +made up his mind, and next day was signed the marriage-contract of the +Grand Duke of Niesenstein and the Princess Wilhelmina of Hanau. + +Three days later the marriage itself was celebrated. + +The play was played out. + +The actors had performed their parts with wit, intelligence, and a noble +disinterestedness. They took their leave of the Grand Duke, leaving him +with a rich and pretty wife, a powerful brother-in-law, a serviceable +alliance, and a commercial treaty which could not fail to replenish his +treasury. + +Embassies, special missions, banishment, were alleged to the Grand +Duchess as the causes of their departure. Then an amnesty was published +on the occasion of the marriage; the gates of the fortress of +Zwingenberg opened, and the former courtiers resumed their respective +posts. + +The reviving fortunes of the Grand Duke were a sure guarantee of their +fidelity. + + + + + LADY LEE’S WIDOWHOOD. + + + PART IX.—CHAP. XLIII. + +A short time after the loss of poor Julius, Bagot had gone to town +without seeing Lady Lee in the interval. The night of his arrival he +wrote a note to Seager, desiring that gentleman to come to him in the +morning. + +Seager came about ten o’clock to the lodgings occupied by Bagot, +expecting to find him up and dressed. As he was not in the sitting-room, +Seager proceeded up-stairs to his bedroom. He was met at the head of the +stairs by Wilson, the Colonel’s servant, who told him he feared his +master was ill. “He had been talking queer,” Wilson said,—“very queer.” + +Seager entered the bedroom. The Colonel was in bed, and did not look +ill, but his friend observed that he cast a peculiar hurried anxious +glance at the door as he entered. He went up to him, shook hands, +congratulated him on the late event, and then seated himself on the side +of the bed. + +“What makes you so late in bed?” asked Seager; “keeping it up late last +night, eh?” + +“No,” said Bagot, “no. I want to get up—but how can I, you know, with +these people in the room?” (casting a quick nervous glance towards a +corner of the apartment.) + +“Very odd,” thought Seager, following the direction of the Colonel’s +eyes, and seeing no one. “He hasn’t lost his wits, I hope. A little +feverish, perhaps. I’m afraid you’re out of sorts, Lee,” he said. “You +don’t look well.” + +“Quite well,” said Bagot; “never better. I’ll get up in a minute, my +good fellow, as soon as they’re gone. Couldn’t you”—(in an under +tone),—“couldn’t you get ’em to go?” + +“Who?” inquired Seager, again following the glance the Colonel cast +towards the same part of the room. + +“Who!” cried Bagot; “why, that tea-party there. They’ve been drinking +tea the whole morning—two women and a man.” + +“By Jove, he’s mad,” thought Seager to himself—“mad as a March hare.” + +“I’ve asked ’em as civilly as I could to go away,” said Bagot, “but they +don’t mind that. It’s very curious, too, where they got the tea, for I +don’t take much of it. Fancy them coming to me for tea, eh?” said Bagot. +“Absurd, you know.” + +“Why, ’tis rather a good joke,” said Seager, affecting to laugh, but in +great consternation. Since reading the accident to the poor little +Baronet in the papers, he had counted on Bagot as the source from whence +all the funds required for the conduct of the coming trial (without +mentioning other more immediate wants) were to be supplied. And here was +the Colonel evidently out of his mind—unfit, perhaps, to transact even +so simple a business as drawing money. + +“Have you got much money in the house, Lee?” asked Seager presently. + +“Money,” said Bagot, who seemed to answer some questions rationally +enough; “no, I don’t think I have; I’m going to draw some as soon as +I’ve seen my lawyer.” + +“Just so,” said Seager, “and the sooner the better. Where’s your +check-book? Just sign your name, and I’ll fill it up. We must have some +funds to carry on the war. The trial comes on the beginning of next +month, and there’s a great deal to be done beforehand.” + +“Ah, that cursed trial!” said the Colonel, grinding his teeth; “but I’ve +been thinking it over, Seager, and it’s my belief that, if we bribe the +Crown lawyers high enough, we may get ’em to lay the indictment for +_manslaughter_.” + +“Manslaughter!” repeated Seager to himself, as he took the check-book +from Bagot’s writing-desk. “Oh, by Jove, he’s stark staring! Now, old +fellow,” he continued, coming to the bedside with the inkstand and +check-book, “here you are. Just take the pen and write your name here. +I’ll fill it up afterwards.” + +Bagot took the pen, and tried to write his name as Seager directed; but +his hand shook so that he could not, and after an attempt or two, he +threw the pen from him. + +“Come, try once more, and I’ll guide your hand,” said Seager. But Bagot +refused so testily that he did not press him. + +“Do you know,” said Seager presently, puzzled at Bagot’s extraordinary +demeanour, “I don’t think you’re half awake yet, Lee. You’ve been +dreaming, haven’t you?” + +“Not a bit,” said Bagot; “I didn’t sleep a wink all night.” + +“I wonder if that’s true?” thought Seager. “You don’t see the tea-party +now, do you?” + +Bagot, as if suddenly recollecting them, looked quickly towards the +corner where he had fancied them seated. “No,” said he, with a kind of +doubtful pleasure; “they’re gone—gone, by Jove!” Then, raising himself +on his elbow, he cast a searching glance all round the room, and at last +behind his bed, when he started, and, falling back aghast on his pillow, +muttered, “There they are behind the curtains, drinking tea as hard as +ever, _and they’ve got a little boy with ’em now_.” + +“Ah,” said Seager, humouring him, “what’s the boy like?” + +“I could only see his back,” answered Bagot, in a whisper, “but I +wouldn’t look again for the world,” (shuddering, and turning his face +away.) + +Seager now went to the door, and, calling Wilson, desired him to fetch a +physician who lived in the street, to see his master. + +The physician, a brisk man, of few years, considering his eminence, and +who piqued himself on suiting his tone to that of his patients and their +friends, soon arrived. He came in jauntily, asked Bagot how he was, +heard all about the intrusive tea-party, felt his pulse, looked at him +attentively, and then took Seager aside. + +“The Colonel, now, isn’t the most abstemious man in the world, is he?” +he inquired, with a jocular air. + +“No, by Gad,” said Mr Seager; “he’s a pretty hard liver.” + +“Drinks pretty freely, eh? Wine?—brandy?” + +“More than I should like to,” replied Seager. “I’ve often told him he’d +have to pull up some day.” + +“Ah, yes, he’ll have to”—said the other nodding. “He’s got delirium +tremens.” + +“Has he, by Jove!” exclaimed Seager—adding, with an oath, “what a fool I +was, that it never occurred to me, knowing him as I do.” + +“The attack’s just beginning now, and promises to be violent,” said the +doctor. + +“What—you think ’twill go hard with him, eh?” + +The physician said, “Perhaps it might; ’twas impossible to say; +however,” he added, “you won’t be long in suspense—a few days will +settle the matter.” + +“Come, that’s a comfort,” said Seager, remembering how important it was +that Bagot should be able to exert himself before the trial. “Poor +devil,” he added, “what a pity—just come into a fine property!” + +“Well, well, we’ll try to keep him in possession,” said the doctor. +“I’ll leave a prescription, and look in again shortly.” + +“By the by,” said Seager, detaining him, “people who’ve got this +complaint sometimes talk confounded stuff, don’t they?” The doctor said +they did. + +“And let out secrets about their own affairs, and other people’s?” + +“Possibly they might,” the doctor said—“their delusions were various, +and often mixed strangely with truth. I’ve heard patients,” he added, +“in this state talk about private matters, and therefore it may be as +well to let no strangers come about him, if you can avoid it.” + +Seager thought the advice good, and assured the doctor that he would +look after him himself. Accordingly, he sent to his own lodgings for a +supply of necessaries, and established himself as Bagot’s attendant. + +In this capacity Mr Seager’s energy and vigilant habits enabled him to +act with great effect; in fact, if he had been the poor Colonel’s +warmly-attached brother, he could not have taken better care of him. He +administered his medicine, which there was no difficulty in getting him +to take, as it consisted principally of large doses of brandy: he held +him down, with Wilson’s assistance, in his violent fits, and humoured +the strange hallucinations which now began to crowd upon him thick and +fast. + +Some of these Mr Seager found rather diverting, especially an attendant +imp which Bagot conceived was perpetually hovering about the bed, and in +whose motions he took vast interest. + +“Take care,” said Bagot, starting up in bed on one occasion as Seager +approached him; “mind, mind! you’ll tread on him.” + +“Tread on what?” said Seager, looking down, deceived by the earnestness +of the appeal. + +“Why the little devil—poor little fellow, don’t hurt him. You’ve no idea +how lively he is. I wouldn’t have him injured,” added Bagot tenderly, +“on any account.” + +“Certainly not,” said Seager; “not while he behaves himself. What’s he +like, eh?” + +“He’s about the size,” returned Bagot, “of a printer’s devil, or perhaps +a little smaller; and, considering his inches, he’s uncommonly active. +He was half-way up the bedpost this morning at one spring.” + +All this nonsense, delivered with perfect earnestness and gravity, +contrasted so oddly with the Colonel’s red nose and bristly unshaven +face, that it greatly amused Mr Seager, and helped him to pass the time. +By and by, however, both the tea-party and the imp disappeared, and +their place was taken by spectres of more formidable stamp. In +particular, there was a demon disguised as a bailiff in top-boots, who +was come, as Bagot firmly believed, to take his soul in execution, he +having unfortunately lost it at chicken hazard to the enemy of mankind, +which latter personage he paid Mr Seager the compliment of taking him +for. + +It was now that Seager began to appreciate the soundness of the doctor’s +advice with respect to excluding strangers from the hearing of Bagot’s +delusions. He began to talk, sometimes pertinently, sometimes wildly, of +the approaching trial, generally ending in absurd ravings; sometimes +charging Seager with dreadful crimes, sometimes imagining himself the +culprit. On the third day of his attack, Seager remarked that a showman +figured largely in his discourse, and, finding the patient in a +tractable mood, he questioned him as to who this showman might be. + +“I know,” said the Colonel, still taking Mr Seager for the distinguished +personage aforesaid—“I know it’s of no use to try to keep anything a +secret from _you_. But suppose now I tell you all about Holmes, will you +let me off what—what I lost, you know?” + +“What was that?” asked Seager, forgetting the imaginary forfeit. + +“Why the—the soul,” said Bagot. “It’s of no use to you, you know.” + +“Oh, ah, I’d forgotten that,” said Seager. “Pray, don’t mention it; +’tisn’t of the least consequence. Yes, we’ll cry quits about that.” + +Then, to his hearer’s surprise, Bagot, apparently satisfied with the +conditions, related all the particulars of his nocturnal interview with +Mr Holmes, comprising what had passed between them inside the caravan. + +Seager listened in breathless astonishment. The delusion, if delusion +there was in this instance, was the most plausible and coherent of any +that had yet haunted Bagot. It had touched, too, on some previous +suspicions in Seager’s own mind, and he resolved, if Bagot recovered, to +sound him on the subject. + +Meantime he tried to lead him to talk more freely on the subject. But +Bagot now began to wander, talked all kinds of nonsense, and ended, as +usual, in violent ravings. + +All this time the demon in top-boots and his brethren were in constant +attendance. Never for a moment was Bagot free from the horror of their +presence; and if all the frightful spectres of romance and superstition +had been actually crowded round his bed, the poor Colonel could not have +suffered more than from the horrible phantasms that his imagination +summoned to attend him. + +It was beginning to be doubtful if he could hold out much longer under +the disease; but on the third night he fell asleep, and woke the next +morning in his right mind. + +“Ah, he’s pulled through this time,” said the doctor, when he saw him. +“All right, now; but he mustn’t resume his hard drinking, or he’ll have +another attack.” + +“I’ll look after him myself,” said Mr Seager. “I’ll lock up the brandy +bottle, and put him on short allowance.” + +“Well, he ought to be very grateful to you, I’m sure,” said the doctor, +“for all your attention. Really, I never saw greater kindness, even +among near relations.” And the doctor having been paid, departed, +perfectly convinced that Mr Seager was one of the best fellows that ever +breathed, and the sort of person to make any sacrifice to serve his +friends. + +“Now I’ll tell you what it is, Lee,” said Seager, when Bagot was on his +legs again, and manifested a desire for his customary drams. “You +mustn’t go on in your old way yet awhile. If you do, you’ll go to the +devil in no time.” + +“Never you mind, sir,” said Bagot with dignity. “I presume I’m the best +judge of what’s good for me.” + +“You never made a greater mistake,” returned Mr Seager. “Just go and +look in the glass, and see what your judgment of what’s good for you has +brought you to, you unfortunate old beggar. You look like a cocktail +screw after the third heat, all puffing and trembling. I’ll lay you a +five-pound note you don’t look me straight in the face for a minute +together. Here’s a sovereign, now—well, I’ll put it between your lips, +and if you can hold it there for fifty seconds, you shall have it, and +if not, you shall give me one. What d’ye say to that?” + +“Sir,” said Bagot, with his lips trembling, and his eyes rolling more +than ever at these delicate allusions to his infirmities—“sir, you are +disagreeably personal.” + +“Personal!” sneered Mr Seager. “I wish you could hear the confounded +rubbish you talked while in bed. I only wished I’d had a short-hand +writer to take it down—all about the bailiffs, and devils, and so forth. +And the showman, too—one Holmes. He struck me as a real character; and +if all you said was true, you must have had some queer dealings +together.” + +As he spoke he fixed his green eye on Bagot, who started, cast one +nervous glance at him, and then, in great agitation, rose and walked to +the window, where Seager saw him wipe his forehead with his +handkerchief. + +Presently he looked stealthily over his shoulder, and, perceiving that +Seager still eyed him, he affected to laugh. “Cursed nonsense I must +have talked, I daresay,” said he huskily. “Oh, cursed, you know, ha, +ha.” + +“But that about the showman Holmes didn’t sound so absurd as the rest,” +said Seager. “It struck me as more like some real circumstances you were +recollecting. Come, suppose you tell me all about it sensibly, now.” + +“No more of this, sir,” said Bagot, waving the handkerchief he had been +wiping his forehead with. “The subject is unpleasant. No man, I presume, +likes to be reminded that he has been talking like a fool. We won’t +resume the subject now, or at any other time, if you please.” + +“Ah,” said Seager to himself, on observing Bagot’s agitation, “I was +right—there was some truth in that. I must consider how to turn it to +account.” + + + CHAPTER XLIV. + +In his new circumstances Bagot was, of course, a very different +personage from the Colonel Lee known to tradesmen and money-lenders of +old. There was no talk now of arresting him for small debts, no +hesitation in complying with his orders. The Jews, bill-brokers, and +other accommodating persons who had lately been open-mouthed against +him, now offered him unlimited credit, of which he did not fail to avail +himself. His creditor, Mr Dubbley, seeing the very different position +the Colonel would now occupy at the Heronry, and alive to the impolicy +of offending so important a neighbour, stopt all proceedings against +him, and, with the most abject apologies and assurances of regard, +entreated him to take his own leisure for the payment of the debt. +Apparently satisfied with these advantages, the Colonel showed no +eagerness to take upon him either the dignity or the emoluments that had +now devolved on him in the succession of inheritance. + +The first lawyers in the kingdom were retained for him and Seager. A +considerable sum was placed at the disposal of the latter, who was to +employ it either in bribing that very important witness, Jim the groom, +who had charge of Goshawk, to perjure himself, or in getting him to +abscond. As he proved tractable, however, and agreed, for a sum which he +named, to swear anything that the gentlemen might wish, it was resolved +to produce him; and Seager was very sanguine of a favourable result. + +In the mean time Bagot, anxious and gloomy, kept almost entirely in his +lodgings, and seldom spoke to anybody except on business. He did not +know what reports might be abroad about the coming trial; he did not +know how his associates would look upon him; and he feared at present to +put the matter to proof by going among them. This line of conduct Seager +thought highly impolitic, and told him so. “Put a good face on the +matter,” he said. “Go down to the club—play billiards—go to the opera. +If you go sneaking about with a hangdog face, as if you didn’t dare show +yourself, people will bring you in guilty before the trial, and the +legal acquittal will hardly serve to set you right again.” + +So Bagot suffered himself to be persuaded, and went down to his club. +Here he had been, in days of yore, a prominent character, and had +enjoyed an extensive popularity among the members. He formed a sort of +connecting link between the fogies and the youngsters; his experience +allying him with the one class, his tastes and habits with the other. +Here he might formerly often have been seen entertaining a knot of +immoral old gentlemen with jokes improper for publication, or the centre +of an admiring circle of fledglings of the sporting world, who +reverenced him as an old bird of great experience and sagacity. + +With doubtful and anxious feelings, he now revisited the scene of his +former glory. Putting on as composed a face as possible, he went +up-stairs and entered the library. There were several people in it whom +he knew. One well-known man-about-town, with whom the Colonel was rather +intimate, was seated opposite the door reading a newspaper, and, as +Bagot could have sworn, fixed his eye on him as he entered, but it was +instantaneously dropt on the paper. Another member—an old gentleman who +was strongly suspected of a happy knack of turning up honours at +critical movements of the game of whist—looked round at his entrance, +and the Colonel advanced to greet him, in perfect confidence that he, at +any rate, was not a likely person to cast the first stone at him; but +Bagot was mistaken. The old gentleman shifted his chair so as to place +his back towards Bagot, with a loud snort of virtuous indignation, and, +leaning forward, whispered to a neighbour some hurried words, of which +Bagot could distinguish—“Deuced bad taste!—don’t you think so?” + +Crimson with rage and shame, Bagot bent down over a newspaper to recover +himself, and fumbled with trembling hands at his eye-glasses. He heard a +step behind him presently, but he dared not look up. + +“Lee, my boy, how are you?” said a stout hearty man about fifty, +slapping the Colonel on the shoulder. “I’ve just come back from a tour, +and the first thing I saw in the paper was about you—about your”—the +stout gentleman stopt to sneeze, which he did four times, with terrible +convulsions of face and figure, during which Bagot was in horrible +suspense, while every ear in the room was pricked up—“about your good +fortune,” said the stout gentleman, after he had blown and wiped his +sonorous nose as carefully as if it were some delicate musical +instrument that he was going to put by in its case. “I congratulate you +with all my heart. Fine property, I’m told. Just wait while I ring the +bell, and we’ll have a chat together.” + +He went to the bell and rung it; but, on his way back to Bagot, he was +stopped by a friend who had entered the library with him, and who now +drew him aside. Bagot stole a glance over his paper at them. He felt +they were talking about him. He heard his stout friend say—“God bless +me, who would have thought it!” and he perceived that, instead of +rejoining him, according to promise, he took a chair at the farther end +of the room. + +Bagot still kept his own seat a little while, but he could not long +endure his position. He fancied every one was looking at him, though, +when, with this impression strong on him, he glared defiance around, +every eye was averted. He wished—he only wished—that some one would +offer him some gross tangible insult, that he might relieve himself by +an outburst—that he might hurl his scorn and defiance at them and the +whole world. + +No one, however, seemed likely to oblige him with an opportunity of this +kind, and, after a minute or two, Bagot rose, and, with as much +composure as he could command, quitted the room and the house. As he +walked—in no happy frame of mind with himself, with the world, or with +Seager, whose advice had entailed upon him this mortification—towards +his lodgings, along one of the small streets near St James’s, he saw +some one wave his hand to him, in a friendly manner, from the opposite +side of the way. Bagot was too short-sighted to recognise this +acquaintance; but, seeing him prepare to cross the road to him, and +reflecting that he could not afford to drop any acquaintances just then, +when all seemed deserting him, he stopped to see who it was. + +Mr Jack Sharpe, the person who now drew near, had been intended for the +Church, but happening to be fast in everything except in his progress in +the different branches of university learning, in which he was +particularly slow, he never arrived at the dignity of orders. He had +formerly moved in the same circle as Bagot, but had lost his footing +there, in consequence of strong suspicions of dishonourable conduct on +the turf. These seemed the more likely to be just, as he had never +sought to rebut the charge against him; and it was rumoured that, since +the occurrence, he had allied himself—taking, at the same time, no great +precautions for secresy—with a certain swindling confederacy. Therefore +Bagot had, when last in town, in all the might and majesty of conscious +integrity, avoided Mr Jack Sharpe, sternly repelled all his attempts to +renew their acquaintance, and returned his greetings, when they chanced +to meet, with the most chilling and formal bows. Sharpe appeared to +think that late circumstances had bridged over the gulf between them, +for he not only saluted Bagot with unwonted familiarity, but took his +hand. The Colonel disengaged it, and, intrenching himself behind his +dignity, endeavoured to pass on. Jack Sharpe, nothing daunted, walked +cheerfully beside him. + +“Well, Colonel, how goes the trial?” asked Mr Sharpe, who had managed, +notwithstanding his downfall, to preserve the appearance and manners of +a gentleman. “You’ll get a verdict, I hope.” + +The Colonel inclined his head stiffly. + +“Well, I hope so,” said Jack Sharpe. “It was a deuced clever thing, from +what I hear of it, and deserves success; and my opinion of the +cleverness of the thing will be exactly the same, whether you and Seager +get an acquittal or not.” And Mr Sharpe looked as if he expected to find +Bagot highly gratified by his approbation. + +“Do you presume, for a moment, to insinuate a doubt of my innocence of +the charge?” asked Bagot sternly. + +“Oh, certainly not,” returned Jack Sharpe, with a laugh. “Quite right to +carry it high, Colonel. Nothing like putting a good face on it.” + +“Sir,” said Bagot, increasing his pace, “your remarks are offensive.” + +“I didn’t mean them to be so,” answered the other. “But you’re quite +right to carry it off this way. You’ve come into a good property, I +hear, and that will keep you fair with the world, however this trial, or +a dozen other such, might go. Some people have the devil’s own luck. +Yes, Colonel, you’ll pull through it—you’ll never fall among thieves. +It’s only the _poor_ devils,” added Jack Sharpe bitterly, “that get +pitched into and kicked into outer darkness.” + +Bagot was perfectly livid. By this time they had reached a corner of the +street, and, stopping short, the Colonel said— + +“Oblige me by saying which way your road lies.” + +“Well, well, good morning, Colonel. I’m not offended, for, I daresay, I +should do the same myself in your place. Politic, Colonel, politic! I +wish you good luck and good morning.” And Mr Jack Sharpe took himself +off. + +This encounter grated on Bagot’s feelings more than any other incident +that had occurred to him. To be hailed familiarly as a comrade by a +swindler—to be prejudged as one who had forfeited his position in +society, and was to retain it only on new and accidental grounds—this +sunk deep, and shook that confidence of success which he had hitherto +never permitted himself to question. + +Just afterwards he met Seager, who came gaily up to ask him how he had +got on at the club. Bagot told him something of the unpleasant treatment +he had met with, and the disgust and annoyance it had caused him to +feel. Seager grinned. + +“You’re not hard enough, Lee—you think too much of these things. Now, +I’m as hard as a nail. I meet with exactly the same treatment as you do, +but what do I care for it? It doesn’t hurt me—they can’t put _me_ down,” +and Seager smiled at the thought of his own superiority. “What would you +do, I wonder, if a thing which just now happened to me were to happen to +you? I was looking on at a billiard match, and Crossley, (you know +Crossley?) who had been, like the rest of ’em, deuced distant and cool +to me, offered to bet on the game. I took him up—he declined. ‘Oh, you +back out, do you?’ says I. ‘Not at all,’ says Crossley; ‘but I don’t bet +with everybody.’ Now, what would you have done?” + +“I should have desired him to apologise instantly,” said the Colonel. + +“He’d have refused.” + +“I’d have kicked him,” said the Colonel. + +“’Twould have caused a row, and we’re quite conspicuous enough already,” +said Seager. “No; I turned coolly to him, and says I, ‘Very good; as +we’re going to close our accounts, I’ll thank you for that ten-pound +note I won from you on the Phœbe match.’ Crossley, you know, is poor and +proud, and he looked cursedly disgusted and cut up at this exposure of +his shortcomings. I’ll bet, he wishes he’d been civil now. You must take +these things coolly. Never mind how they look at you: go back to the +club, now, and brave it out—show ’em you don’t care for ’em.” + +“No,” muttered Bagot, “I’d die first. I’ll go out no more till ’tis +over.” + +In this resolution he shut himself up in his lodgings, only going out in +the dusk to walk in such thoroughfares as were not likely to be +frequented by any of his acquaintances. Never had a week passed so +dismally with him as this. His nerves were yet unstrung by his late +attack, and his anxiety was augmented as the day of the trial +approached, until he wondered how he could endure it. In spite of his +efforts, his thoughts were impelled into tracks the most repugnant to +him. The remembrance of his reception by the members of his club haunted +him incessantly, though it was what most of all he wished to forget; for +Bagot, being, as we have seen him, a weak-principled man of social +habits, though he had found no difficulty in quieting his own +conscience, was keenly alive to the horrors of disgrace. + +He felt as he remembered to have often felt when a great race was +approaching, which was to make or mar him—only the interest now was more +painfully strong than ever before. There was an event of some sort in +store—why could he not divine it?—ah, if he were only as wise now as he +would be this day week, what anxiety would be saved him! He only dared +contemplate the possibility of one result—an acquittal. That would lift +the weight from his breast and reopen life to him. But a +conviction!—that he dared not think of—for that contingency he made no +provision. + +During this week Harry Noble had come up from the Heronry on some +business connected with the stable there, in which the Colonel had been +interested; and Bagot, conceiving he might be useful in matters in which +he did not choose to trust his own servant Wilson, had desired him to +remain in town for the present. This Seager was glad of, for he knew +Harry was to be trusted, and he told him in a few words the nature of +the predicament the Colonel was in. + +“You must have an eye to him,” said Seager; “don’t let him drink much, +if you can help it; and if it should be necessary for him to make a trip +to France for a time, you must go with him.” + +“I’ll go with him to the world’s end, Mr Seager,” said Harry. He was +much attached to the Colonel, having known him since the time when +Noble, as a boy, entered the Heronry stables; and though he had then, +like the other stable-boys, found Bagot very severe and exacting, yet, +having once proved himself a careful and trustworthy servant and +excellent groom, the Colonel had honoured him since with a good deal of +his confidence. + +Harry had the more readily agreed to this since, when leaving the +Heronry, he had parted in great wrath from Miss Fillett, who had found +time in the midst of her religious zeal to harrow up Noble’s soul with +fresh jealousies, and to flirt demurely, but effectually, with many +brethren who frequented the same chapel. + +The day before the trial Seager came, and Bagot prevailed on him to stay +and dine, and play écarte. Seager was sanguine of the result of the +trial, which was to commence on the morrow, in the Court of Queen’s +Bench—spoke in assured terms of the excellence of their case, their +counsel, and their witnesses; and telling him to keep up his spirits, +wished him good night, promising to bring him back the earliest +intelligence of how the day had gone. + +The Colonel’s eagerness for, and terror of, the result had now worked +him into a state of agitation little short of frenzy. The trial was +expected to last two days, but the first would probably show him how the +case was likely to terminate. Both Bagot and Seager preferred forfeiting +their recognisances to surrendering to take their trial, which would +have shut out all hope of escape in the event of an adverse verdict. + +Finding it impossible to sit still while in this state, the Colonel +started for a long walk, resolving to return at the hour at which Seager +might be expected. Arriving a few minutes later than he intended, he +went up-stairs to his sitting-room, but started back on seeing a person +whom he did not recognise there. His first impression was, that it was a +man come to arrest him. + +His visitor, on seeing his consternation, gave a loud laugh. It was Mr +Seager. + +“Gad, Lee,” said that worthy, “it _must_ be well done, if it takes you +in. I was in court all day, and sat next a couple of our set, but they +hadn’t an idea who I was.” + +Mr Seager was certainly well disguised, and it was no wonder the Colonel +had not recognised him. Low on his forehead came a black wig, and +whiskers of the same met under his chin. He had a mustache also; his +coat was blue, his waistcoat gorgeous, with two or three chains, +evidently plated, meandering over it, and his trousers were of a large +and brilliant check. In his elaborate shirt-front appeared several +studs, like little watches, and his neck was enveloped in a black satin +stock with gold flowers and a great pin. + +“What d’ye think, Lee—don’t I look the nobby Israelite, eh?” + +Bagot shortly admitted the excellence of his disguise, and then asked, +“What news?—is it over?” + +“Only the prosecution—that’s finished,” returned the metamorphosed +Seager. + +“Well,” said Bagot breathlessly, “and how—how did it go?” + +“Sit down,” said Seager; “give me a cigar, and I’ll tell you all about +it.” + +Nothing could be more strongly contrasted than the anxiety of Bagot with +the composure of Seager. No one would have imagined them to be both +equally concerned in the proceedings that the latter now proceeded to +relate; while Bagot glared at him, gnawing his nails and breathing hard. + +“The court,” said Seager, throwing himself back in the chair after he +had lit his cigar, with his hands in his trousers’ pockets, and his feet +stretched to the fire—“the court was crowded. Sloperton’s counsel opened +the ball by giving a sketch of the whole affair—little personal +histories of you and me and Sloperton, the sort of things that might be +prefixed to our poetical works after we’re dead—you know the style of +thing, Lee, birth, parentage, breeding, so forth. Then came out +Sloperton’s meeting with us at the Bush at Doddington—the adjournment to +Oates’s room—the broiled bones, cards, and betting, and the terms of the +wager with Sloperton. + +“Our friend Sloper was the first witness, and had got himself up a most +awful swell, as you may suppose, on such a grand occasion, and there +wasn’t a young lady in court who didn’t sympathise with him. I could see +by his way of giving evidence he was as vindictive as the devil. Our +fellows went at him, but they didn’t damage his evidence much. He told +about the bet—how, by your advice, he had sent to me to offer to +compromise it—and how he had perfectly depended all was fair till he +heard the mare was lame. Oates followed, and corroborated the whole +story. Then came one of the vets who attended the mare, and he swore, in +his opinion, she’d got navicular disease. Then came a new actor” (Bagot +listened more eagerly than ever), “one Mr Chick, who saw us return to +the stable that morning we gave Goshawk the trial; and he swore the mare +was lame then.” + +Bagot drew a long breath, and fell back in his chair. + +“Against all this,” Seager went on, “we’ve got to-morrow the evidence of +Jim, who’ll swear the mare never was lame while in his charge, and of +the other vet, who’ll swear she was and is sound. So cheer up, old boy; +it may go all right yet. Never say die.” + +Seager paused, and looked at Bagot, who had covered his face with his +hands. Both were silent for a space. + +“By the by,” said Seager presently, in an indifferent tone, yet eyeing +Bagot with a keenness that showed his interest in the question—“by the +by, where’s Lady Lee now?” + +Bagot did not answer, and Seager repeated the question. + +“What’s Lady Lee to you, sir?” said Bagot, removing his hands from his +face, the colour of which was very livid. + +“O, nothing particular; but she might be something to you, you know, in +case of the business going against us to-morrow. You said she had left +the Heronry, didn’t you?” + +Bagot did not reply. + +“It’s no use blinking the matter,” said Seager testily. “Things may go +against us to-morrow, in which case I’m off, and so are you, I suppose. +I’ve made all my arrangements; but I think we had better take different +roads, and appoint a place to meet on the Continent. But I’m short of +money for a long trip, and, of course, you’ll accommodate me. We row in +the same boat, you know. Come, what will you come down with?” + +“Not a penny,” said Bagot in a low thick voice. + +“Eh! what?” said Seager, looking up at him. + +“Not a penny,” said Bagot, raising his voice. “You devil,” he cried, +starting from his chair, “don’t you know you’ve ruined me?” and, seizing +the astonished Seager by the throat, he shook him violently. + +“You cursed old lunatic!” cried Seager, as soon as he had struggled +himself free from Bagot’s grasp. “You’re mad, you old fool. Only raise a +finger again, and I’ll brain you with the poker. What d’ye mean, ha? We +must talk about this, and you shall apologise, or give me satisfaction.” + +“What, an affair of _honour_, eh?” sneered Bagot between his ground +teeth. “Between two _gentlemen_! That sounds better than convicted +swindlers. Curse you,” he added, in a hoarse whisper, “you’ve been my +destruction.” + +“He’s dangerous,” thought Seager, as he looked at him. “Come, Lee,” said +he, “listen to reason; lend me a supply, and we’ll say no more about +this queer behaviour. I know you’ve been drinking.” + +“You have my answer, sir,” said Bagot. “Not a penny, I repeat. I wish +you may starve—rot in a jail.” + +Seager looked at him keenly for a minute. “He’s been at the brandy +bottle,” he thought. “Well, let him drink himself mad or dead, if he +likes. But, no!—that won’t do either—he may be useful yet. The old +fool!” he muttered as he departed, “he doesn’t know how far he has let +me into his secrets. Well, he’ll change his note, perhaps;” so saying, +he left the room and the house. + + + CHAPTER XLV. + +Disguised as before, Seager went to Westminster next day, to hear the +conclusion of the trial. The court was, as on the previous day, crowded +to excess, and Seager recognised a great number of his and Bagot’s +acquaintances among the spectators. + +The counsel for the defendants made an able address to the jury. The +prosecutor, he said, had tried to win Seager’s money, as Seager had +tried to win his; and, nettled at finding he had made a rash bet, he now +brought the action. The defendants were men of reputation, who had been +engaged in many betting transactions before, and always without blemish +or suspicion. There was no proof that the mare was unfit for the feat +she had been backed to perform; and, if she had attempted it, she could +have done it with ease. + +After calling several witnesses to speak to minor points, the other +veterinary surgeon who had attended the mare was put in the box. He +swore the mare’s lameness was trifling and temporary; that he had seen +her trot, and believed her certain to win such a match as the one in +question; and that he had not detected in her any trace of navicular +disease. + +This witness having sustained a severe cross-examination unshaken, Mr +Seager began to breathe more freely. The last witness was Jim the groom. +Jim, though very compliant in respect of any evidence he might be +required to give, had obstinately insisted on payment beforehand. It was +to no purpose Seager had promised him the money the instant he should +come out of court; the cautious Jim was inflexible till the stipulated +sum was put in his hands. + +Seager watched him as he was being sworn with the greatest attention; +but Jim’s was not an expressive countenance, and nothing was to be read +there. But Mr Seager detected treachery in his manner the moment the +examination began. Without attempting to repeat the lesson he had been +taught, he prevaricated so much that the counsel for the defendants, +finding he was more likely to damage than to assist his clients, +abruptly sat down. In the cross-examination he suffered (though with +some appearance of unwillingness) the whole truth to be elicited; +admitted the mare’s lameness—remembered the Colonel and his master +trying her, and finding her lame—(an incident he had been especially +desired to erase from his memory)—and also remembered to have heard them +talk about “navicular.” He also recollected that Seager cautioned him to +keep the circumstance very quiet. + +Seager sat grinding his teeth with rage. He had forgotten the incident +of the horse-whipping which he had administered to Jim, though the +latter had not, and was therefore at a loss to account for his +treachery. Jim’s revenge happening to coincide with his duty, he had no +sooner pocketed the reward for his intended perjury, than he resolved to +pursue the paths of rectitude, and to speak the truth. + +Just at this time Seager caught sight of one he knew standing very near +him, and listening as eagerly as himself. This was Harry Noble, who had +been there also on the previous day, and who, firmly convinced that his +master was wrongfully accused, had heard the evidence of the groom Jim +with high indignation, and was now burning to defy that perjured +slanderer to abide the ordeal of single combat. Seager, writing a few +words on a slip of paper, made his way up to Harry, and pulled his +sleeve. Noble turned round and stared at him, without any sign of +recognition. + +“Look another way,” said Seager, “and listen. ’Tis me—and I want you to +run with this note to the Colonel.” + +“What! are you Mr Sea——?” began Harry; but Seager squeezed his arm. + +“Hush!” he said. “I don’t want to be known; and don’t mention to anybody +but the Colonel that you’ve seen me. Take this note to him; he’ll start +for France as soon as he gets it, and you must get him away with all the +speed you can. Don’t delay a minute.” + +Noble nodded and quitted the court. He got a cab, and went with all +speed to Bagot’s lodgings, and, telling the cabman to wait, immediately +ran up-stairs with the note. The Colonel, who was pacing the room, +snatched it eagerly, read it, and let it fall, sinking back into a chair +quite collapsed. “It’s all over,” he muttered. + +Noble stood near, looking at him in respectful silence for a minute or +two. At length he ventured to say, “Shall I begin to pack up, sir? Mr +Seager said we must be quick.” + +“Don’t name him!” thundered Bagot, starting from his chair. “Curse him! +I could tear him!” + +“I’ll never believe ’twas you as did the trick, sir,” said Noble. “No +more won’t anybody else; though, as for Mr Seager, I couldn’t say. Shall +I begin to pack up, sir?” he repeated. + +“Do what you please,” returned his master in fierce abstraction. + +Noble, thus empowered, entered the bedroom, and began to stow Bagot’s +clothes away in his portmanteau. Presently he came to the door of the +apartment, where the Colonel had again sunk down in his chair. Bagot was +now face to face with the event he had so dreaded; no subterfuge could +keep it off any longer—no side look rid him of its presence. He would, +in a few hours, be a convicted, as he was already a disgraced, man. The +averted looks—the whispers—the cold stares of former friends, that had +lately driven him almost mad, were now to be his for life. Life! would +he bear it? It had no further hope, promise, or charm for him, and he +was resolved to be rid of it and dishonour together. + +“Beg pardon, sir,” said Noble at length, seeing that Bagot took no +notice of him. “Perhaps you’d wish to let my lady know where we’re gone, +sir?” + +Bagot started, and seemed to think for a minute. As soon as Noble, after +delivering his suggestion, had vanished, the Colonel drew his chair to +the table, and began to write, while Harry, in the next room, went on +with the packing. + +He finished his letter, directed and sealed it, and laid it down, +muttering, “Thank God there’s one act of justice done.” Then he went to +a cupboard in the apartment, filled a large glass of brandy, and drank +it off. “Now,” he muttered, “one moment’s firmness! no delay! Leave that +room,” he called out to Noble, as he went towards the bedroom—“there’s +something I wish to pack up myself.” + +Noble accordingly came out. As he passed the Colonel, he noticed a +wildness in his expression. Before entering the bedroom the Colonel +turned and said, “Let that letter be sent to-day,” pointing to the one +he had just written, “and you can go down stairs for the present,” he +added. + +Noble’s suspicions were aroused. Having got as far as the door, he +pretended to shut himself out, and came softly back. Listening for a +moment, he heard Bagot open some sort of case that creaked. Presently he +peeped in—Bagot was in the very act of fumbling, with trembling hands, +at the lock of a pistol. He was just raising it towards his head when +Noble, with a shout, rushed in and caught his arm. + +“Don’t ye, sir, don’t ye, for God’s sake!” he said, as Bagot turned his +face with a bewildered stare towards him. “Give it to me, sir.” + +“Leave me, sir,” said Bagot, still looking wildly at him—“leave me to +wipe out my dishonour.” He struggled for a moment to retain the pistol, +but Noble wrested it from him, took off the cap, and returned it to its +case. The Colonel sunk down moaning on the bed, and covered his face +with his hands. + +Noble hastily fastened the portmanteau and carpet-bag, and called to +Wilson to help to take them down to the cab in which he had come, and +which waited at the door. + +“Now, sir,” he whispered to Bagot, “don’t take on so—we shall be safe +to-night. You won’t think of doing yourself a mischief, sir, will you? +don’t ye, sir!” + +He took him gently by the arm. The poor Colonel, with his nerves all +unstrung, rose mechanically, and stood like a child while Noble put on +his hat and wiped his face, which was moist with sweat and tears; then +he followed him down stairs unresistingly. Noble whispered to Wilson at +the door, that he and the Colonel were going away for a time, and that +there was a letter on the table to be sent that night to the post. Then +he put the Colonel and the luggage into the cab, mounted himself to the +box, and they drove off, Harry frequently turning to look at his master +through the front glass. + +Meantime Seager sat hearing the close of the defence. The judge summed +up, leaving it to the jury to say whether the defendants knew of the +mare’s unfitness to perform her engagement at the time they persuaded +the plaintiff to pay a sum in compromise. The jury, after a short +deliberation, found them both guilty of fraud and conspiracy. + +There was some technical objection put in by the defendants’ counsel; +but this being overruled, the judge proceeded to pass sentence. He was +grieved to find men of the defendants’ position in society in such a +discreditable situation. No one who had heard the evidence could doubt +they had conspired to defraud the prosecutor of his money. He did not +know whether he was justified in refraining from inflicting the highest +punishment allotted to their offence, but, perhaps, the ends of justice +might be answered by the lesser penalty. The sentence was, that the +defendants should be imprisoned for two years. + +Seager, seeing how the case was latterly going, was quite prepared for +this. Just waiting to hear the close of the judge’s address, he got out +of court with all possible speed. + +He went to his lodgings, changed his dress, and hurried to Bagot’s. +There he met Wilson with a letter in his hand which he was about to take +to the post. Seager glanced at the direction, and then averting his eye, +“That’s for Lady Lee,” he said—“from the Colonel, is it not?” Wilson +said it was. + +“Ah,” said Seager, “I just met him, and he asked me to call for it—he +wants to add something he forgot, before ’tis posted. Give it me.” + +Wilson, supposing it was all right, gave it to him. Mr Seager, chuckling +over the dexterity with which he had obtained the letter, and thus more +than accomplished the design of his visit to Bagot’s lodgings, which was +to get Lady Lee’s address, drove off to his own lodgings, reassumed his +disguise, and went straight to the station. + +Entering the railway office, he shrunk aside into a corner till the +train should be ready to start—he wished to leave as few traces as +possible behind him. He was quite unencumbered with baggage, having +taken the precaution to send that on to Dover to await him there under a +feigned name. As he stood aside in the shade a man passed and looked +narrowly at him. Seager thought he recognised his face: again he passed, +and Seager this time knew him for a police sergeant in plain clothes. He +was rather alarmed, yet he was a little reassured by considering that +his disguise was a safe one. But he reflected that it might have caused +him to be taken for some other culprit, and it would be as awkward to be +arrested as the wrong man, as in his own character. + +The last moment before the starting of the train was at hand, and +Seager, as the police sergeant turned upon his walk, darted stealthily +to the check-taker’s box and demanded a ticket, not for Frewenham, but +for the station beyond it—for his habitual craft did not fail him. +Having secured it, he hastened on to the platform and took his place. + +At the moment he took his ticket, the sergeant, missing him, turned and +saw him. Instantly he went to the box and asked where that last +gentleman took his ticket for, and, on being told, took one for the same +place. The bell had rung, and he hastened out, but he was too late. The +train was already in motion; the last object he caught sight of was +Seager’s head thrust out of one of the carriages; and the baffled +policeman turned back to wait for the next train. + + + CHAPTER XLVI. + +Fane had spent some time in diligent pursuit of Onslow; at first with no +great promise of success, but latterly with some certainty of being upon +his track. Just, however, as his hopes of securing him were strongest, +he had received a letter which had been following him for some time from +town to town, summoning him to attend the sick-bed of his uncle, who had +been attacked with sudden and dangerous illness. + +Of course he set off at once, as in duty bound; but he was surprised and +ashamed, knowing the obligations he lay under to his relative, to notice +how little anxiety and pain the news occasioned him. Fane was very +honest in analysing his own emotions, and on the present occasion laid +more blame to the account of his own nature, which he accused of +unsympathising callousness, than it by any means deserved. He would have +done as much to serve a friend, and was capable of as warm attachment, +as most people, but his feelings required a congenial nature to call +them forth. He was not one of those who wear their hearts on their +sleeve for any daw to peck at, and had none of that incontinence of +affability which insures a man so many acquaintances and so few friends. +Had he been Lear’s eldest son, he would, to a certainty, have been +disinherited, along with Cordelia, in favour of those gay deceivers, +Goneril and Regan. + +Now, Mr Levitt his uncle, though naturally amiable, was an +undemonstrative character, full of good impulses which terribly +embarrassed him. He would read a poem or romance with the keenest +enjoyment, yet with affected contempt, turning up his nose and screwing +down the corners of his mouth, while his eyes were watering and his +heart beating. He would offer two fingers to a parting friend, nod +good-by to him slightly, and turn away, feeling as if a shadow had come +upon his world. He had been used to write to his nephews in the spirit +of a Roman or Spartan uncle, giving them stern advice, and sending them +the most liberal remittances, in the most ungracious manner—throwing +checks at their heads, as it were—while all the time he was yearning for +their presence. In fact, he was so ashamed of his best points, and so +anxious to conceal them, that the rigid mask wherewith he hid his +virtues had become habitual, and he was a very sheep in wolf’s clothing. + +Those, however, who had known him long, rated him at his true value. +Fane found the household in great grief. Miss Betsey, an ancient +housekeeper, distinguished principally by strong fidelity to the family +interests, a passion for gin-and-water, and a most extraordinary cap, +wrung her hands with great decorum; and Mr Payne the banker, Orelia’s +father, at the first news of his old friend’s illness, had left a great +money transaction unfinished to rush to his bedside, where Fane found +him on his arrival. Indeed, it was from him he had received intelligence +of his uncle’s illness. + +Mr Payne’s temperament had suffered foul wrong when they made him a +banker. He had naturally an intense dislike to matters of calculation, +his bent being towards _belles lettres_, foreign travel, and the like +pleasant paths. Somehow or other he had got rich, and flourished in +spite of his want of talent for money-making. His worldly pursuits, +perhaps, made his tastes keener, for he fell upon all manner of light +reading with wonderful zest after a busy day at the bank. As for his +taste for travelling, it was whispered among his acquaintances that its +development was not so much owing to an erratic and inquiring spirit, as +to the fact that in the second Mrs Payne he had caught a Tartar, and +availed himself of any plausible excuse to escape from her domestic +tyranny. Orelia, coming home from school one vacation, and finding her +stepmother in full exercise of authority, not only, as a matter of +course, rebelled herself, but tried to stir up her father to join in the +mutiny. Finding him averse to open war, she proclaimed her intention +forthwith of quitting the paternal mansion, and living in the house +which had become hers by the death of her godmother, as before related; +and Mr Payne, coming down on Saturdays after the bank was closed, would +spend one-half of his weekly visit in lamenting the ill-temper of his +spouse, and the other in his favourite studies. + +Fane found his uncle slowly recovering from the effects of the attack +which had prostrated him, and by no means secure from a relapse. Mr +Levitt caught the sound of his step on the stair, and recognised it; and +Mr Payne, seated by the bedside, saw the invalid glance eagerly at the +door. Nevertheless, he received his nephew almost coldly, though the +latter testified warm interest in his state. + +“You’ve been some time finding me out, Durham,” said his uncle, after +shortly answering his inquiries. “I’m afraid you’ve been summoned to +this uninteresting scene from some more agreeable pursuit.” + +“It was an important one, at any rate, sir,” returned Fane; “yet even +that did not prevent me hastening hither the moment Mr Payne’s letter +reached me. I only got it this morning.” + +“An important one, hey, Durham!” said Mr Levitt, with the cynical air +under which he was accustomed to veil his interest in his nephew’s +proceedings. “We may judge of its importance, Payne, by his hurrying +away from it to look after the ailments of a stupid old fellow like me. +Some nonsense, I’ll be bound.” + +Mr Payne, a bald benevolent man of fifty, in spectacles, came round the +bed to shake Fane’s hand. + +“Without the pleasure of knowing the Captain, I’ll answer for his +holding you in due consideration,” said Mr Payne. “And your uncle knows +that, too; he’s only joking,” he said to Fane. + +“Well, but the important business, Durham?” said the invalid, as Fane +seated himself beside his pillow. + +Fane, remembering that his cousin’s was a prohibited name, and fearing +the effect it might produce, attempted to laugh off the inquiry. + +“Love!” said Mr Levitt, with another cynical glance at Mr Payne, who had +resumed his station at the other side of the bed. “A charmer for fifty +pounds; why, I grow quite curious—don’t you, Payne? It’s exactly what +you suggested as the cause of his delay. Come, let’s hear about +her—begin with the eyes—that’s the rule, isn’t it?” + +“Wrong, sir, quite wrong,” said Fane, with another disclaiming laugh. + +“Poor, bashful fellow!” persisted his uncle. “But we won’t spare his +blushes, Payne. And how far did you pursue the nymph, Durham?—and why +did she fly you? Is she at length propitious? I hope so!—you know my +wishes.” + +“There’s no lady in the case, sir, I assure you,” said Fane earnestly. + +“Ah! it’s always the way with your sensitive lovers,” pursued his +questioner, addressing Mr Payne. “They’re as shy of the subject which +occupies their thoughts as if they didn’t like it. Come, if you’re +afraid to speak out before my friend Payne (though I’m sure you needn’t +be—he’s discretion itself), he’ll go away, I daresay. What is she like? +and when is it to be?” + +“When is what to be, sir?” asked Fane, trying to humour the old +gentleman, but getting impatient, nevertheless. + +“Why, the wedding, of course. Seriously, Durham, I’m all impatience. +Your last letter seemed to point at something of the kind; and it was +written long enough ago to have settled half-a-dozen love affairs since. +I’m more earnest than ever on the subject, now that my admonitions seem +likely to be cut short; and this matrimony question may affect the +dispositions of my will, Durham.” + +“Consider it settled, then, I beg, sir,” said Fane seriously. “I shall +never marry.” + +“I shall be sorry to find you serious, Durham. A bachelor’s life is but +a dreary one. Just look at the difference between me and my friend +Payne—he is rosy and happy, and, if he were lying here, he would have +quite a family meeting assembled round him—while I should be alone, but +for a nephew who has no great reason to care about me, and a friend +whose good-nature brings him to see what may, perhaps, be the last of an +old acquaintance. My opinions on the subject I’ve so often spoken to you +of, haven’t changed, you see, in the least—and perhaps I shall act upon +them.” + +“As you please, sir,” said Fane. “I speak my deliberate thought when I +say I don’t intend to marry.” + +Here Miss Betsey tapt at the door, to say that Mr Durham’s supper was +ready. + +“Go down with him, Payne,” said Mr Levitt. “I’ll go on with this story +here—a silly thing; but sick people mustn’t be too critical.” + +“An excellent novel!” exclaimed Mr Payne—“full of feeling.” + +“Ay, ay, well enough for that kind of trumpery,” said the invalid, who +was secretly burning to know how the hero and heroine were to be brought +together through such a sea of difficulties; and his friend and his +nephew, after making a few arrangements for his comfort, went down +stairs together. + +Fane dismissed the servant who waited at table. He wished to open what +he intended to be, and what proved, a very interesting conversation. + +“You’re a very old friend of my uncle’s, Mr Payne,” he said. “I’ve so +often heard him speak of you, that I seem almost familiar with you, +though this is our first meeting.” + +“A school friendship,” said Mr Payne; “and it has continued unbroken +ever since.” + +“I will tell you,” said Fane, “what the pursuit was I was really engaged +in, and you will perceive I could not mention it to my uncle. The fact +is, I believe I was on the point of discovering my cousin Langley.” + +Mr Payne dropt his knife and fork, and leant back in his chair. “You +don’t say so!” cried he. “Poor Langley—poor, poor Langley!” + +Fane told the grounds he had for suspecting Langley and the ex-dragoon +Onslow to be one and the same person. + +“Following some faint traces,” said Fane, “I reached a town where, +exposed for sale in a shop window, I saw some drawings which I +recognised for his. You know his gift that way.” + +“Ay, a first-rate draughtsman, poor fellow,” said Mr Payne. + +“He had sold these for a trifle far below their value, and, as I found, +had left the town only the day before. I therefore felt secure of him +when your letter diverted me from the pursuit.” + +“Poor Langley!” repeated the sympathetic Mr Payne. “Such a clever +fellow! Draw, sir! he had the making of half-a-dozen academicians in +him—and ride!—but you’ve seen him ride, of course. And such an +actor!—nothing like him off the London boards, and not many on them +equal to him, in my opinion. And to end that way, I don’t know if I +should like to see him again.” + +“You can perhaps enlighten me on a point I’ve long been curious about,” +said Fane. “I mean the real cause of my uncle’s displeasure towards +him—the extravagance attributed to Langley doesn’t sufficiently account +for it.” + +“No,” said Mr Payne, “your uncle would have forgiven that readily +enough. He pretended, as his way is, to be angrier at it than he was. +But the real cause of estrangement was more serious. + +“Your uncle finding, by his frequent applications for money, that +accounts which had reached him of Langley’s gambling were but too true, +at length replied to a request for a hundred pounds by enclosing a check +to that amount, at the same time saying it was the last he must expect, +and expressing his displeasure very harshly. The check was brought to +our bank the next day, and it was not till after it had been cashed that +it was suspected that the original amount, both in words and figures, +had been altered. Four hundred pounds it now stood, and that sum had +been paid on it. The 1 had easily been made into a 4, and the words +altered to correspond—neatly enough, but not so like your uncle’s as to +pass with a close scrutiny. While we were examining it, your uncle came +in, his anxiety on Langley’s account having brought him to town. He took +the check, looked at it, and then drew me aside. ‘’Tis forged,’ said he; +‘mine was for a hundred: but not a word of this, Payne—let it pass as +regular—tell the clerks ’tis all right.’ This was a terrible blow to +him. From that day to this we have heard nothing of Langley, nor does +your uncle ever mention his name; and no one but an intimate friend like +me would guess how much he felt the dishonour.” + +“But Langley must have known ’twould be discovered immediately,” said +Fane, who listened with deep attention. + +“Ay—but meantime his end was answered. The money was paid, and he +doubtless calculated that your uncle would rather lose the sum than +suffer the disgrace of exposure—and he was right.” + +“I can’t believe him guilty,” said Fane. + +“He must have been severely tempted, poor boy,” said Mr Payne—“always so +open and upright; but there can, I’m afraid, be no doubt of his guilt. +Consider, he has never showed his face since.” + +Fane thought for a minute or two. “No,” he said—“no, not guilty, I hope +and believe. No guilty man could have borne himself as he has done +since. But there is now more reason than ever for resuming my search for +him. Yes, yes—I must see and question him myself.” + +“Where do you believe him to be?” asked Mr Payne. + +“I traced him to Frewenham, in ——shire,” answered Fane. + +“Frewenham! God bless me! Why, my daughter’s place, Larches, is close to +that. I’m going down there in a day or two to see Orelia.” + +“Orelia!” exclaimed Fane; “then Miss Payne is your daughter.” + +“Oh, you have met, then, perhaps?” said Mr Payne, with interest; “where +and when?” + +“At the Heronry,” said Fane. “My troop is at Doddington, the town +nearest to where Miss Payne was staying.” + +“Oh, ho! this is fortunate,” said Mr Payne. “As soon as your uncle gets +better, we will go down together to Frewenham. My friend Levitt,” he +resumed presently, “is, I see, much disappointed to find his surmises as +to your matrimonial prospects incorrect. He had set his heart on their +fulfilment; and some expressions of admiration for some lady, in a late +letter of yours, prepared him to expect something of the kind.” + +Fane coloured deeply. He remembered, indeed, that, writing to his uncle +one evening, after a delightful afternoon passed with Lady Lee, he had +suffered his admiration to overflow in expressions which, though they +seemed to him slight compared with the merits of the subject, were yet, +perhaps, sufficiently warm to warrant his uncle’s inferences. It was +some comfort to remember that he had not mentioned her name in this +premature effusion. + +“My uncle seems to have quite a monomania on the subject of my becoming +a Benedict,” he said presently, by way of breaking an awkward silence. +“His doctrine would have seemed more consistent had he inculcated it by +example as well as by precept. One doesn’t often see a more determined +bachelor.” + +“A love affair was the turning-point of your uncle’s life,” said Mr +Payne. “He knows and feels that a different, and how much happier man he +might have been, but for an early disappointment, and that makes him so +desirous to see you comfortably established.” + +“Now, do you know,” said Fane, “I can’t, by any effort of imagination, +fancy my uncle in love. His proposals, if he ever reached that point, +must have been conveyed in an epigram.” + +“Your uncle is a good deal changed, in every respect, within the last +few years, especially since that sad business of poor Langley,” said Mr +Payne; “but I scarcely recognise in him now my old (or rather, I should +say, my young) friend Levitt. However, you may take my word for it, +Captain Durham, that your uncle knew what it was, some five-and-twenty +years ago, to be desperately in love. He seemed, too, to be progressing +favourably with the object of his affections, till a gay young captain +in the Guards turned her head with his attentions—Captain, afterwards +Colonel Lee.” + +“What! Bagot!” said Fane. + +“Ah, you know him, then,” said Mr Payne; “then you also know it was no +great alleviation to your uncle’s disappointment to find a man like +Colonel Lee preferred to him. Lee, it seems, had no serious intentions, +and jilted her—and your uncle disdained to renew his suit.” + +This account seemed to Fane to throw a good deal of light upon parts of +his uncle’s character which he had hitherto been unable to fathom. + +“Yes,” resumed Mr Payne, “yes; your uncle is a great advocate for +marriage, and certainly ’tis all very well in its way, though, perhaps,” +he added dubiously, in an under tone, to himself—“perhaps it may be done +once too often.” + +Here Mr Payne left Durham while he went up-stairs to visit his sick +friend, and presently returned to say he had found him asleep, and +thought he had better not be disturbed again. Shortly afterwards, +finding Durham more disposed to ruminate over what he had heard than to +converse, he bid him good night, and went to bed. + +Fane’s meditations were interrupted by Miss Betsey, who came in, not +altogether free from an odour of gin-and-water, to express her +gratification at seeing him well. Miss Betsey was a thin old lady, with +an unsteady eye, and a nose streaked with little veins, like a +schoolboy’s marble. She wore on her head the most wonderful structure, +in the shape of a cap, ever seen. It was a kind of tower of muslin, +consisting of several stories ornamented with ribbons, and was fastened +under her chin with a broad band like a helmet. Her aged arms protruded +through her sleeves, which were tight as far as the elbow, and sloped +out wider till they terminated half-way to her wrist, where a pair of +black mittens commenced. + +“Your dear uncle’s been bad, indeed,” said Miss Betsey, taking a pinch +of snuff. “I a’most thought we should have lost him, Mr Durham; but he’s +better now, poor dear. But there’s no knowing what might happen yet,” +said Miss Betsey, shaking her head; “and I’ve had a thought concerning +you, and him, and another, Mr Durham.” Here Miss Betsey closed her +snuff-box—which was round, black, and shining, and held about a quarter +of a pound of princes’ mixture—and, putting it in her ample pocket, laid +the hand not occupied with snuff on Fane’s shoulder with amiable +frankness, which gin-and-water generates in old ladies. “Mr Durham, your +dear uncle’s never forgot your cousin, Master Langley—and ’twould be a +grievious thing if he was to leave us” (a mild form of hinting at Mr +Levitt’s decease) “without forgiving him. Couldn’t you put in a word, Mr +Durham, for your dear cousin?” + +“The very thing I intend, Miss Betsey,” returned Fane, “as soon as it +can be done effectually.” + +“Ah, Mr Durham,” the old lady went on, waxing more confidential, “your +dear uncle’s fond of you, and well he may be, but you’re not to him what +Master Langley was;—no,” repeated the old lady, shaking her forefinger, +and looking sideways at him, “not what Master Langley was; and your dear +uncle’s never been like the same man since that poor dear boy left us.” + +“You seem to be quite as fond of him as my uncle ever could have been, +Miss Betsey,” Fane remarked. + +“Fond!” said Miss Betsey, “who wasn’t? He had that coaxing way with him +that he could”—she completed the sentence by flourishing her forefinger +in the air, as if turning an imaginary person round it. “Everybody was +fond of him;—the maids (the pretty ones in particular) was a’most too +fond of him—so much so, that it rather interfered with their work.” + +Fane’s smile at this proof of his cousin’s irresistibility called forth +a playful tap on the shoulder from the old virgin, who presently +afterwards dived down into her pocket for her snuff-box, and, screwing +off the lid, which creaked like the axle of a stage waggon, stimulated +her reminiscences with a pinch. + +“Well-a-day! your uncle’s never been the same man since. You don’t know, +perhaps” (whispering in a tone that fanned Fane’s cheek with a zephyr +combined of gin-and-water and princes’ mixture), “that he keeps Master +Langley’s room locked up the same as the poor boy last left it, do you? +There now, I said so,” giving him a gentle slap on the back, and +retreating a pace, as he answered in the negative; “for all you lived +here weeks together, on and off, you never knew that. Come with me,” +added the old lady; “I’ve got the key, and we’ll go in there together.” + +Fane willingly followed her, taking deep interest in all fragments of +his cousin’s history. Arriving at the door of a room looking out on the +lawn, Miss Betsey stopped, and, after some protracted fumbling at the +keyhole, opened it. “Once or twice, when he thought nobody was watching +him, I’ve seen your uncle coming out of this door with tears in his +blessed eyes,” said she, as she entered, preceding him with the candle. + +The rooms were, as Miss Betsey had said, just as their former occupant +had left them. The pieces of a fishing-rod, with their bag lying beside +them, were scattered on the table, together with hackles, coloured +worsteds, peacocks’ herls, and other materials for fly-making. An open +book was on the window-seat, and an unfinished sketch in oils stood on +an easel. + +“There,” said Miss Betsey, holding the candle up to a painting over the +mantelpiece, “there you see the dear fellow taking a leap that none of +the others would face. Your uncle was so proud of that deed that he got +it painted, as you see—and a pretty penny it cost him. There were other +likenesses of him here, but your uncle put ’em all away before you came +from Indy.” + +Fane approached to look at the picture, which set at rest any +uncertainty that might remain as to his cousin’s identity with the +rough-riding corporal. There was the same handsome face, only younger, +and without the mustache. The same gay air and easy seat that +distinguished the dragoon Onslow on horseback appeared in the sportsman +there represented, who rode a gallant bay at a formidable brook, with a +rail on the farther side. The work was highly artistic, being the +production of a famous animal-painter. + +At this stage of the proceedings Miss Betsey’s feelings seemed to +overpower her. She wept copiously, and even hiccupped with emotion; and, +setting the candle on the table, abruptly retired. + +Fane lingered round the room, looking at the backs of the books, and +turning over portfolios of drawings, which would, of themselves, have +identified the hand that produced them with Onslow’s, as exhibited in +the sketch-book of Orelia. Among these was a coloured drawing of his +uncle—a good likeness—and another of the artist himself. Fane, looking +at the bold frank lineaments, internally pronounced it impossible that +their possessor could have been guilty of the mean and criminal action +imputed to him. He pictured to himself, and contrasted his cousin’s +condition before he lost his uncle’s favour, with his life as a soldier, +and decided it to be contrary to experience that any one could, under +such a startling change of circumstances, have behaved so well, had he +been conscious of guilt. + +After some time spent in these and similar meditations, suggested by the +objects around him, he went out and locked the door. Passing the +housekeeper’s room, he went in to leave the key. Miss Betsey appeared to +have been soothing her emotions with more gin-and-water, for she sat +still in her elbow-chair, with her wonderful structure of cap fallen +over one eye, in a manner that rather impaired her dignity, while she +winked the remaining one at him with a somewhat imbecile smile. + +“Come, Miss Betsey,” said Fane, “let me see you to bed.” + +Miss Betsey rose, and, taking his offered arm, they proceeded slowly +along the passage together. “By Jove,” thought Fane, “if those +youngsters, Bruce and Oates, could see me now, what a story they’d make +of it!” + +“You must make haste and get a wife, Mr Durham,” said Miss Betsey, whose +thoughts seemed to be taking a tender hue—“though, to be sure, you’re +not such a one for the ladies as Mr Langley was”—and here the old lady +commenced the relation of an anecdote, in which a certain housemaid, +whom she stigmatised as a hussy, bore a prominent part, but which we +will not rescue from the obscurity in which her somewhat indistinct +utterance veiled it. + +Fane opened the old lady’s bedroom door, and, putting the candle on the +table, left her, not without a misgiving that she might possibly set +fire to her cap, and consequently to the ceiling. This fear impressed +him so much that he went back and removed it from her head, and with it +a row of magnificent brown curls, which formed its basis, and, +depositing the edifice, not without wonder, on the drawers, he wished +her good night, and retreated; but, hearing her door open when he had +got half-way along the passage, he looked back, and saw Miss Betsey’s +head, deprived of the meretricious advantages of hair, gauze, and +ribbon, protruded shiningly into the passage, as she smiled, with the +utmost blandness, a supplementary good night. + + + + + CORAL RINGS.[5] + + +Montgomery’s well-known lines in praise of the coral polyps have given +these animals a tolerable share of poetical celebrity. Mr Darwin’s +ingenious researches have invested them with a degree of importance +which elevates them to the rank of a great geological power. These +minute creatures are now entitled to a larger share of consideration +than the greatest and most skilful of quadrupeds can claim. All the +elephants and lions which have been quartered in this world since its +creation—all the whales and sharks which have prowled about in its +waters—have done much less to affect its physical features, and have +left far slighter evidences of their existence, than the zoophytes by +whose labours the coral formations have been reared. For the most +colossal specimens of industry we are indebted to one of the least +promising of animated things. Comparing their humble organisation with +that of other tribes, we feel pretty much the same sort of surprise as a +man might express were he told that the pyramids and temples of +antiquity had not been constructed by Egyptians or Romans, but by a race +like the Earthmen of Africa, or by a set of pigmies like the Aztecs now +exhibiting in London. + +Though the works now before us have been long in the hands of the +public, the substance of their contents is far from being generally +known. Yet the beauty of the results at which their authors have +arrived, and the interest with which they have invested the coral reefs, +may well recommend these volumes to universal perusal. While Dana, more +than all his predecessors, has illustrated the natural history of the +little gelatinous creatures by which the coral is secreted, Darwin has +described the growth and consolidation of their labours into lofty and +extended reefs, and connected these with the broadest and most striking +phenomena of physical geology. The toiling of the minute zoophytes in +the production of vast masses of coral rock which wall round whole +islands, and stretch their mural barriers across deep and stormy seas, +he has shown to be successful only through the conjoined operation of +those wonderful physical forces which are now lifting and now lowering +large areas of the earth’s surface. + +Mr Darwin’s views not only exhibit a charming sample of scientific +induction, but carry with them such an air of probability, that the most +cautious investigators may subscribe to them without any particular +demur. Being the result of very extensive inquiries, and confirmed by +collating the peculiarities of many reefs, they are grounded upon a +sufficient quantity of data to entitle them to reasonable confidence. We +propose, in the present article, to indicate some of the principle steps +in the theory which this gentleman has propounded; and that the reader +may examine them consecutively, we shall imagine an intelligent voyager +visiting the Pacific for the first occasion in his life. As he sails +across that noble sheet of water, observing with a philosophic eye every +object which presents itself to his view, he suddenly perceives in the +midst of the sea a long low range of rock against which the surf is +breaking with a tremendous roar. He is told that this is a coral reef; +and having read a little respecting these curious productions, he +resolves to investigate them carefully, in order to fathom, as far as +possible, the mystery of their origin. As he approaches, the spectacle +grows more interesting at every step. Trees seem to start up from the +bosom of the ocean, and to flourish on a beach which is strewed with +glistening sand, and washed by the spray of enormous billows. When +sufficiently near to survey the phenomenon as a whole, he perceives that +he has before him an extensive ring of stone, set in an expanse of +waters, and exhibiting the singular form of an annular island. Launching +a boat, and following the curve of the shore for some distance, he finds +at length an opening through which he penetrates into the interior of +the ring. Once entered, he floats smoothly on a transparent lake of +bright green water, which seems to have been walled in from the rest of +the ocean, as if it were a preserve for some sort of nautical game, or a +retreat for the more delicate class of marine divinities. Its bed is +partially covered with pure white sand, but partly also with a gay +growth of coral—the stems of this zoophyte branching out like a plant, +and exhibiting the most brilliant diversities of colour, so that the +floor of the lake glows like a sunken grove. All the hues of the +spectrum may be seen gleaming below, whilst fishes scarcely less +splendid in their tints glide to and fro in search of food amidst this +shrubbery of stone. A fringe of trees, consisting principally of +graceful palms, decorates the inner portion of the ring, and when +surveyed from the centre of the lagoon, this edging of verdure springing +up in the midst of the Pacific presents one of the most picturesque +sights the voyager can conceive. Indeed, as he contemplates the tranquil +lake within, and listens to the dash of the surf without—as he runs over +the features of this beautiful oasis in the wilderness of waters, we may +pardon him if he almost expects to be accosted by ocean nymphs or +startled mermaids, and indignantly expelled from their private retreat. + +The whole structure is so striking, that the most careless observer must +feel some little curiosity to ascertain its origin. Our voyager regards +it with much the same sort of interest as an intelligent wanderer would +display, were he to stumble upon a ring of blocks like those at Abury or +Stonehenge in some distant desert. In order to pursue his inquiries +systematically, he proceeds to note down the principal characteristics +of the scene. The first peculiarity which arrests his consideration, is +the circular form which the rock assumes. Though far from constituting a +smooth and perfect ring, its outline is sufficiently definite to rivet +the attention at once. Then he observes that the outer portion of the +annulus scarcely rises above the level of the sea, whilst the inner +portion—the bank on which the belt of trees is mounted—is not more than +ten or twelve feet in height at the utmost. From this he infers that the +agency concerned in the formation of the structure was probably +restricted in its upward range. Next he notices that the ring +itself—that is, the wall of rock enveloping the lake, though by no means +uniform in breadth—is not more, perhaps, than three or four hundred +yards across in any part of its extent: this seems to say, that the +agency was also restrained by circumstances in its lateral expansion. +Again, as he runs his eye along the whole sweep of the reef, he remarks +that it is not quite continuous, the ring being broken here and there by +openings, through one of which he himself passed into the lagoon. If he +then endeavours to estimate the size of the whole formation with its +included lake, he may find it in this particular case to be eight or ten +miles in circumference. Should he stoop down to examine the material of +which the reef is composed, he will discover it to be dead coral rock +mixed with sand where it is not washed by the sea; but on breaking off a +fragment where it is covered with water, he may observe multitudes of +little worms, or curiously shaped polyps, which, incompetent as they +seem, are in reality the architects of the pile. But perhaps the most +significant circumstance to be noticed is the difference in depth +between the internal lagoon and the external ocean. If he takes +soundings within the reef, he ascertains that the water is comparatively +shallow, the slope of the rock beneath the lake being tolerably gentle, +and the depth rarely more than thirty or forty fathoms. Let him cross +the ring, however, pushing his way through the belt of trees; and on +trying the experiment in the contrary direction, seawards, he finds that +the ground shelves downwards gradually under the water, until it reaches +a depth of five-and-twenty fathoms, after which it plunges precipitously +into the abyss. So abrupt, indeed, does the descent become when this +point has been attained, that at the distance of a hundred yards from +the reef he cannot reach the bottom of the sea with a line of two +hundred fathoms. If, then, our explorer were capable of existing under +water for a while, and could be lowered to the bed of the ocean, he +would see before him an enormous cone or mound of rock shooting upwards +through the liquid to a prodigious height, its summit being hollowed +into a kind of cup or shallow basin, the rim of this lofty vase just +peering above the level of the waves, and its interior being partially +inlaid with a gorgeous and flower-like growth of coral. + +Now, without glancing at minor details, it must be admitted that our +voyager has stumbled upon a fine physical problem. As the Round Towers +of Ireland have constituted one of the most perplexing questions on +shore, so these coral towers of the tropics seem to present an equally +perplexing mystery for the sea. In the course of his researches, +however, he detects a circumstance which appears to be perfectly +paradoxical. Climbing the cliff from the bottom of the ocean, he +perceives that the creatures which produce the coral cannot exist at any +greater depths below the surface than from twenty to five-and-twenty +fathoms. Within that limit, upwards, the rock is covered with life; +below, it is tenantless and dead. Yet, descending as the structure of +coral does to immeasurably greater depths, the question naturally +arises—how could the animal ever toil where it cannot even live? How has +that part of the edifice, which lies buried in a region where no sunbeam +ever pierces, been built by architects whose range of activity is +comparatively so restricted? + +Brooding over an inquiry, which only adds fuel to his curiosity, he +proceeds on his cruise. He has already noted the prominent features of +one particular reef, which exhibits a coral construction in its simplest +shape—namely, as a ring enclosing a lagoon. He now falls in with +specimen after specimen of a similar class, and carefully observes the +differences in character they present. In point of shape, he finds that +some are oval, others greatly elongated, and many very jagged and +irregular in their form. Here is one like a bow, and there another like +a horse shoe, whilst none can be said to be geometrically round. In +regard to size, he meets with reefs which are a single mile only in +diameter, and then with others, which amount to as many as fifty, sixty, +or even more. If he compares the various rings, he observes that some +are perforated by few openings, and in rare cases there are none—the +fissures having apparently been filled up with sand or detritus, so as +to form a continuous girdle round the lake. But, in other instances, the +reef is so freely intersected by these openings, that the ring itself +may be said to consist of a series of small islands arranged upon an +extensive curve. In general, however, he perceives that the channels +connecting the ocean with the lagoon are confined more especially to +that side of the structure which is least exposed to the action of the +wind; and as he is sailing within the region of the trade-winds, the +portion of the reef which fronts the breeze and the billow perpetually, +appears to be more lofty and substantial than the other. Glancing, too, +at the bank which carries the fringe of trees, he observes that it never +seems to rise higher than a certain level in any case whatever; and as +he finds that it consists chiefly of sand and sediment, he concludes +that it has been heaped up by the waves themselves. The vegetation, +indeed, which frequently gives such a gay and graceful aspect to coral +rocks, does not always gladden the eye; but where it is wanting, he +infers that the circumstances which favour the dissemination of seeds or +the growth of plants, have failed to operate as yet, but may, perhaps, +in process of time produce their accustomed effects. Comparing also the +depth of the lagoons with that of the surrounding ocean, he ascertains +that the striking discrepancy which attracted his attention in the first +reef he examined, obtains to a considerable degree in every subsequent +instance: however shallow the sea may be within the ring, its depth +rapidly increases, and frequently becomes quite unfathomable at no great +distance without. Finding, then, that though certain differences exist +in the formations he has already inspected, yet certain general features +of resemblance invariably prevail, he concludes that all of these +structures are due to the operation of a kindred agency. But here there +arises another perplexing question. If he must admit—and the admission +is inevitable—that the coral polyps have been the builders of these +piles, how can he suppose that a number of small animals, each labouring +separately, as it were, could erect an immense wall of rock, leagues in +circumference, which, though far from regular in its composition, shall +yet exhibit any marked approach to a circle, an oval, a horse shoe, or +any other symmetrical form? Still more, how could they build, not one, +but innumerable reefs, differing in various particulars, but all +indicating some common principle of construction? How is he to explain +the appearance of co-operation, where, from the nature of the creatures, +he cannot imagine any intentional co-operation to exist? A troop of +moles working beneath a field will never cast up a succession of +hillocks in such a way that they will all combine to form a spacious +circle, or any other regular and definite figure. If, therefore, he is +compelled to believe that a number of insignificant creatures like the +coral polyps are capable of executing such prodigious undertakings, +wanting, as they do, the intelligence which enables higher beings to +carry out a coherent scheme, he must look for an explanation, not in the +_instincts_ of the animals, but in the _conditions_ under which they +pursue their toils. + +Hitherto, however, our voyager has only encountered reefs of one +class—namely, “atolls,” or lagoon islands. He looks anxiously, +therefore, in the hope of falling in with a specimen of a different +description. He knows that if a process is too slow in its action to +admit of direct observation, yet its character may probably be +ascertained by comparing several cases where the same agency is +employed—that is, by criticising the phenomenon in distinct stages of +development. He proceeds on his voyage, and at length is fortunate +enough to meet with a coral formation which varies in type from those +already inspected. There is the same sort of ring springing hastily from +the sea; but instead of an internal lagoon, the central space is +occupied by a beautiful and populous island, leaving only a belt of +water between the reef and the shore. Where all the elements of such a +scene are sufficiently defined, a more charming spectacle can hardly be +conceived. The land appears like a pleasant picture framed in coral. +Round a group of mountains, forming the nucleus of the isle, there runs +a verdant zone of soil—next comes a girdle of tranquil water—then a ring +of coral—and last, a band of snowy breakers, where the swell of the +ocean is shattered into surf. The island of Tahiti, whose mountains rise +to the height of seven thousand feet, and whose greatest breadth is +about thirty-six miles, is almost encompassed by a reef of this +description. When this spot is approached so as to make the separate +objects visible, the appearance becomes quite striking. “Even upon the +steep surface of the cliff, vegetation abounds; the belt of low land is +covered with the tropical trees peculiar to Polynesia, while the high +peaks and wall-faced mountains in the rear are covered with vines and +creeping plants. This verdure is seen to rise from a quiet girdle of +water, which is again surrounded by a line of breakers dashing in +snow-white foam on the encircling reefs of coral.”[6] Perhaps, however, +the descent of the waves upon the ring—curling and chafing like coursers +suddenly curbed—constitutes the most magnificent feature of the scene. +“The long rolling billows of the Pacific, arrested by this natural +barrier, often rise ten, twelve, or fourteen feet above its surface, and +then, bending over it, their foaming tops form a graceful liquid arch, +glittering in the rays of a tropical sun, as if studded with brilliants; +but before the eyes of the spectator can follow the splendid aqueous +gallery which they appear to have reared, with loud and hollow roar they +fall in magnificent desolation, and spread the gigantic fabric in froth +and spray upon the horizontal and gently broken surface of the +coral.”[7] + +With a reef like this before him our explorer may now collect some +additional data which will help him a few steps onward in his inquiry. +The distinction between a formation of this class and those of the +former description, consists principally in the substitution of an +internal island for a lagoon. Were that island pared away or dug out, a +simple lake surrounded by a ring of coral rock would be left. The one +structure would pass into the other by the erasure of the central land. +But here again he has stumbled over a difficulty apparently as great as +any he has previously encountered; for it would be preposterous to +suppose that large areas or lofty hills could be readily expunged from +the surface of the earth. There is a stage, however—call it rather a +pause—in the reasoning process, when the great master of inductive logic +recommends that, after having arranged all our available facts, and +extracted from them all the inferences they can legitimately supply, we +should allow the mind to take a little leap forward, just by way of +venture, and see what conclusions it will suggest. In short, we are to +send for the imagination, yoke it to the materials we have accumulated, +and observe in what direction it will conduct us. Our explorer does +this. He sets that faculty to work—with due discretion, however—and in a +short time it hints to him that islands may possibly _sink down slowly_ +in the ocean by the action of the subterranean forces. And if so, would +not that explain everything? + +He proceeds, therefore, to inquire how this supposition will work; for +there are many conditions which it must satisfy, and many puzzles which +it must solve, before its probability can be affirmed. In the first +place, the coral polyps, as we have seen, can only operate within a +limited depth of water, which has been roughly fixed at twenty or +five-and-twenty fathoms. Mr Dana, indeed, considers that sixteen fathoms +will perhaps measure the whole extent of the region assigned to the +principal artificers. Consequently, when the creatures laid the +foundation of any particular reef, they must have done so in shoal +water, or in the neighbourhood of land. Next, where a small isle issues +from a profound sea, it will in general be tolerably regular in shape; +because, with relation to the bed of that sea, it must in reality be a +kind of mountain: therefore, as the coral builders find the requisite +range of water in the zone which encircles the shore, the reef they form +will be tolerably regular too. Hence the circular or curvilinear outline +which these structures generally assume. Then, if, after the basement of +such a ring has been laid, the land should begin to descend slowly, the +polyps must proceed to raise the edifice storey after storey, for thus +alone can they keep themselves within the region of vitality; and here +we have an explanation of the singular fact, that the reef, where it +constitutes a true atoll, or coral-lagoon, usually ascends to the level +of the sea. A singular fact we call it; because, if we consider how +variable are the heights of any series of mountains on land, the +equality of stature which distinguishes these marine elevations is +certainly a remarkable result. If it were possible for some great giant +to run the palm of his hand along the tops of the Andes or Himalayas, it +would describe a very irregular sweep, rising or falling with every peak +it visited; but were he to draw it over the summits of a succession of +atolls, though these might stretch through a space thousands of miles in +length, he would scarcely perceive any difference whatever in point of +altitude. It will be seen, therefore, that the uniformity characterising +these Alps of the ocean is a circumstance which our explorer’s +hypothesis readily solves. But in raising their embankment higher, it is +clear that the animals must build up vertically, and hence the abrupt or +precipitous face which it presents externally towards the deep water. +Landwards, again—that is, within the reef—the pigmy architects will +labour more feebly, because it is found that the kind of polyps which +exist in smooth still water are more delicate in their productions than +their gallant little brethren who flourish amongst the breakers. This +serves to explain, again, why there is an interval of fluid left between +the rising reef and the sinking shore; but as the land subsides, the +space which it occupies within the magic ring will obviously diminish, +whilst the space covered by water will proportionately increase. The +girdle of coral will not maintain its original dimensions, because the +polyps will probably incline inwards, instead of building directly +upwards; but the contraction of the ring will proceed slowly, because +the wall is invariably steep seawards, even if it should not be +altogether precipitous. Finally, when the island is fairly drowned, when +we have got its whole body well under water, we shall have an enormous +mass of coral raised by successive additions of coral skeletons, and +resting upon a basis which may be hundreds of feet below the level of +the sea. A zone of rock, constituting the rim of the structure, will +just show itself above the waves, whilst within this zone sleeps a +shallow lake, where the polyps, for various reasons, have not followed +the growth of the ring with equal rapidity, or where the sediment +deposited has not accumulated in sufficient quantities to fill up the +interior. And when the lake is obliterated, as ultimately it may be, +either by the labours of the feebler animals, or by the deposition of +detritus from the reef, we shall have the platform of a new country +where tropical forests may some day flourish, where towns and villages +may hereafter arise, and where man may exhibit the strange and mingled +play of virtue and vice, which has marked his footsteps from the first. +“The calcareous sand lies undisturbed, and offers, to the seeds of trees +and plants cast upon it by the waves, a soil upon which they rapidly +grow, to overshadow its dazzling white surface. Entire trunks of trees, +which are carried by the rivers from other countries and islands, find +here, at length, a resting-place, after many wanderings: with these come +some small animals, such as insects and lizards, as the first +inhabitants. Even before the trees form a wood, the sea-birds nestle +here; stray land-birds take refuge in the bushes; and at a much later +period, when the work has been long since completed, man appears, and +builds his hut on the fruitful soil.”[8] + +Thus, it will be seen that the supposition of a slow descent of the land +appears to meet the prominent requirements of the case; and however +startling the assumption might seem when first suggested, yet the +pressure of certain conditions, which this theory alone can sustain, +renders its adoption almost, if not altogether, inevitable. But, says +the explorer, if this hypothesis be correct, it should follow that, as +the sinking isle may vary in altitude in different parts—as it may have +several peaks or elevated districts—all these higher portions must be +left projecting out of the water for some time after the lower lands +have been entirely submerged. Accordingly, we may expect to discover +coral reefs, containing within their circuit several small islands, the +relics of some larger district which has died a watery death. And this +is just what frequently occurs. The two isles of Raiatea and Tahaa, for +example, are included in one reef. The group known as Gambier’s Islands +consists of four large and a few smaller islets encircled by a single +ring. The reef of Hogoleu, which is one hundred and thirty-five miles in +circuit, contains ten or eleven islands in its spacious lagoon. + +So, again, says our explorer, as islands are frequently arranged in +clusters, it should follow that, if the areas whereon any of these +groups were stationed, have subsided, whole _archipelagoes_ of coral +reefs ought to exist. And some of these archipelagoes may be expected to +exhibit a series of perfect lagoons, where the land has been fairly +submerged; whilst others, where the process is less advanced, or the +ground more elevated, ought to present a series of reef-encircled +islands merely. Here also the theory is fully corroborated by facts. Low +Archipelago is composed of about eighty atolls; and of the thirty-two +groups examined by Captain Beechy, twenty-nine then possessed the +internal lakes which we have seen are characteristic of this class; the +remaining three having passed, as he believed, from the same condition +originally to the dignity of closed or consolidated reefs. The Society +Archipelago, again, consists of tolerably elevated islands, encircled by +coral ledges, and lying in a direction almost parallel to the last. + +Indeed, it will be readily imagined that the shape and character of the +coral formations must be considerably influenced by the nature of the +site upon which they are reared. They will assume different aspects +according to the physical configuration of the land to be entombed. They +must be interrupted where the water is too deep, or the shore too +precipitous to permit the artificers to acquire a proper footing. They +will exhibit breaches where the descent of cold streams from the +mountain heights, or the presence of mud carried down by rivers, +rendered it impracticable for the creatures to pursue their avocations. +They may also adopt peculiar forms where the lowering of the ground may +not have taken place gradually, or where, from some eccentric action of +the subterranean force, one portion may have sunk under different +circumstances from the rest. A reef may, therefore, be submerged in +part, or, as in some instances, throughout its whole extent. Thus, in +the Peros Banhos Atoll, forming a member of the Chagos group in the +Indian Ocean, a portion of the ring dips under water for a distance of +about nine miles. This sunken segment consists of a wall of dead coral +rock, lying at an average depth of five fathoms below the surface, but +corresponding in breadth and curve with the exposed reef, of which it is +obviously the complement. Or a ring may be wholly submarine. The same +group affords, amongst others, an admirable example of this in the +Speaker’s Bank, which is described as a well-defined annulus of dead +coral, let down into the sea to a depth of six or eight fathoms, with a +lagoon twenty-two fathoms deep and twenty-four miles across. It is +apparently a drowned atoll. Hence from these, or from other causes, such +as the action of the sea, the killing of the zoophytes by exposure or +otherwise, we may have several modifications of the model reef. + +As yet we have only mentioned two principal types of structure—first, +the _atolls_ or coral-lagoons; and, second, the _encircling reefs_. But +we may here refer, in a sentence or two, to a third and an important +class—namely, the _barrier reefs_. These are extensive lines of coral +masonry, which pursue their course at a considerable distance from the +shore, but with a degree of conformity to its outline, sufficient to +prove that some relationship subsists between them. They do not, +however, surround an island like the encircling reefs. The West Coast of +New Caledonia is armed with a reef of this character, 400 miles in +length; but in some parts it is sixteen miles distant from the shore, +and seldom approaches it nearer than eight miles in any other quarter. +This great ledge of coral rock is, moreover, prolonged for 150 miles at +the northern extremity of the island; and then, returning in the form of +a loop, and terminating on the opposite shore, seems to intimate that, +in ancient days, New Caledonia was of much greater extent in this +direction than it is at present. There is a still more magnificent +specimen of the barrier reef on the north-east of Australia. This noble +coral ridge is a thousand miles in length. Its distance from the coast +is generally between twenty and thirty miles, but occasionally as much +as seventy. The depth of the sea within the barrier is from ten to +twenty-five fathoms, but at the southern extremity it increases to +forty, or even sixty. On the other side, without the barrier, the ocean +is almost unfathomable. The breadth of this embankment varies from a few +hundred yards to a mile, and it is only at distant intervals that it is +intersected by channels through which vessels may enter. It is a +causeway for giants, and yet the architects were mere polyps! + +It is time, however, that our voyager should proceed to verify the +supposition his fancy suggested. As yet he has adduced no proof that +subsidence is, or has been, the order of the day where its results are +supposed to appear. He knows that mountains and islands must not be sunk +by a mere assumption, however plausibly that assumption may seem to +solve the mystery of the reefs. Now, it is an admitted fact that, in +certain parts of the globe, extensive regions have been hoisted up, some +suddenly, some slowly; whilst others have gone down in the world just as +suddenly or as slowly. The coast of Chili and the adjoining district, as +is well known, were once elevated several feet, throughout an area of +perhaps 100,000 square miles, in the course of a single night. Sweden +has long been rising in its northern portion, and sinking in its +southern, as if it were playing at see-saw on a magnificent scale. But +we want evidence from the coral localities themselves. Of course, from +the nature of the case, the testimony must necessarily be somewhat +limited; because the question relates to a tardy movement, operating +through ages, and occurring in regions which may be wholly uninhabited, +or else peopled by tattooed and unphilosophical savages. But there seems +to be tolerable proof for the purpose in hand. For instance, in an +island called Pouynipate, in the Caroline Archipelago, one voyager +describes the ruins of a town which is now accessible only by boats, the +waves reaching to the steps of the houses. Of course, it is not likely +that the founders of that place would build their habitations in the +water; and, therefore, it must be inferred that this spot is in course +of depression. Such, according to theory, should be its condition, +because it consists of land encircled by a reef—that is, of land which +must all vanish before the formation can be converted into a true +coral-lagoon. At Keeling Island, again, Mr Darwin observed a storehouse, +the basement of which was originally above highwater, but which was then +daily washed by the tide. Many other instances of the same sort might be +advanced; but there is still more striking evidence on this point, +perhaps, in the existence of certain reefs which may now be introduced +as links in the theory, or rather as tests by which its validity may be +tried. These have been styled “shore” or “fringing” reefs. They differ +from the other classes in the shallowness of the foundation on which +they rest, and in the closeness of their approach to the land—either +lining the shore itself, or, if separated, leaving a channel of no great +depth between the coral bank and the coast. Wherever these exist, it is +clear that the soil is stationary, or that it must be in course of +elevation. It cannot be undergoing depression, because the coral beds +would increase in thickness, and graduate into another class of +structure. And in many instances where these fringes abound, there is +the clearest proof, derived from organic remains, and other geological +evidences, that the land has been actually upraised. A resident at Oahu, +one of the Sandwich Islands (which are all fringed), stated that, from +changes effected within a period of sixteen years only, he was satisfied +that the work of elevation was proceeding at a very perceptible rate. +Indeed, in numerous cases of this kind, coral deposits are found at a +height where it is as certain that the polyps could never have toiled, +as it is certain that fishes could never have lived. But elevation in +one quarter implies depression in another. And, accordingly, it has been +shown that the Pacific and Indian Oceans might almost be divided into a +series of great bands, where the bed of the sea has alternately risen +and sunk—just as if in one band the crust of the earth had been heaped +up into a great solid wave, and in the next had subsided into a huge +submarine trough or valley. For it happens that the reefs abounding over +one of these areas belong almost universally to the class of formation +which, according to theory, indicates that the ground is subsiding, +whilst those which distinguish the next area are quite of the opposite +description, and intimate that the crust is rising. Thus, for example, +if we select the broadest illustration available, it will be seen, on +referring to a map of the Pacific, that there is an extensive chain of +islands, beginning to the west of the Caroline Archipelago, and running +through Low Archipelago—a distance of several thousand miles—the whole +family of which belong to the type denoting depression; whilst there is +another long chain of islands, corresponding or parallel, in some +measure, with the first, and extending, say from Sumatra to the +south-east of the Friendly Isles, most of which indicate, by their +reefs, that they belong to the type denoting elevation. + +The general coincidence, therefore, of fringing reefs with raised or +stationary districts, and of atolls or lagoons with regions which appear +to be subsiding, affords considerable support to the theory our voyager +is maturing. But there is another remarkable criterion, which in due +time he contrives to discover. In the districts where fringing reefs +occur, or where the coral has been plainly uplifted, active volcanoes +are frequently established. But where reefs of the contrary character +prevail, these agents are rarely, if ever, to be found. Of course, where +a volcano presents itself in any particular locality, and especially if +it happens to be a volcano in a state of activity, this shows that the +subterranean forces are disposed to upheave the soil above them; +whereas, if volcanoes are wanting in another quarter, or if, being +there, their activity has ceased, the conclusion is, that in this region +no upward tendency at present exists. Now, this test, too, is in +striking accordance with geographical fact. The two great chains of +reefs already mentioned may again be adduced. In the series of atolls or +subsiding islands extending from Caroline Archipelago to Low +Archipelago, not a single working volcano is to be detected within +several hundred miles of any moderate cluster; whereas, in the band or +series of isles which are characterised by fringes, numbers of these +powerful agents are busily engaged; and in some of them, as, for +instance, in Java, the subterranean forces are known to be intensely +energetic. In fact, it may be stated as a pretty authentic conclusion, +that whilst volcanoes frequently appear in those areas where the crust +of the earth is now, or has recently been, in upward motion, “they are +invariably absent in those where the surface has lately subsided, or is +still subsiding.”[9] + +At the same time, it may be interesting to remark, that whilst busy +volcanoes are thus shown to be irreconcilable with the presence of true +atolls, yet at one period the theory most in fashion assumed that all +coral-lagoons were mere submarine craters, whose rims had been coated +with calcareous matter by the coral polyps. However plausible this +hypothesis might seem when applied to a few particular cases, its +insufficiency was soon discovered when a considerable number of reefs +had been compared, and when the order of transition from one type to +another was clearly understood. The vast size of some of these +atolls—the elongated shape which many assume—the mode in which they are +frequently clustered—the precipitousness of their flanks, rendered it +difficult, if not impossible, to treat them as drowned Etnas or Heclas. +Then the equal altitudes they must have attained as submarine mounts, is +totally inexplicable, if the fact of the limited operations of the +polyps be admitted; for it would be preposterous to imagine that +thousands of volcanic cones could all rise to the surface of the sea, or +within a range of five-and-twenty fathoms, and yet never overtop the +waves to a greater height than a dozen feet. But, above all, the +existence of coral rings, with land in the interior—where, if the theory +were correct, a large cavity should have taken the place of primitive +rocks, exhibiting no signs of volcanic action—has proved utterly fatal +to the theory. It is manifest that Tahiti, for example, with its lofty +mountains, could never have been the centre-piece of a huge crater; and +it is certain that a volcanic vent would not assume the shape of a mere +moat, like the girdle of water which encompasses an ancient castle. + +Combining, then, the various data already adduced, and observing that +there is a general harmony in the results, our voyager may reasonably +conclude that his theory has now been mounted upon a tolerably fair +basis of facts. He has explained the seeming paradoxes which thrust +themselves upon his view at the earlier stages of the inquiry. He has +brought all the different varieties of coral formations under the grasp +of one law, and shown how, by the continued operation of a subsiding +force and the continued addition of coral skeletons, the “fringing” reef +would pass into an “encircling” reef, and this again would graduate into +a perfect “atoll.” It is true that in doing this he has been compelled +to draw a pretty picture of the fluctuations to which the earth’s crust +is exposed. Large areas are supposed to sink in one quarter, and to rise +in another. Here and there a spot which has once been lowered may again +be uplifted; and this fitful movement may, in the course of ages, be +repeated, as if to show what “ups-and-downs” a poor island may be called +upon to endure. He knows, indeed, that his theory trenches upon the +marvellous. Were it not for the light which geology has latterly thrown +upon the pranks played by the Earth in its youthful days, he is aware +that his hypothesis would be condemned as a thing far too romantic for +belief. + +But perhaps the most surprising circumstance, after all, is, that such +stupendous structures should really be fashioned by such puny +artificers. When he turns his attention to the builders themselves, he +finds that they are little better than lumps of jelly.[10] The workmen, +who far surpass, in the vastness of their erections, all the proud +masonry of man, belong to the lowest classes of animated things. They +are half-plant, half-animal. Until the commencement of the last century, +indeed, their pretensions to a higher dignity than that of marine +vegetables was denied; and when a certain M. Peyssonel interested +himself on their behalf, and endeavoured to raise them to a higher +position in the scale of organisation, his proposal was treated with +much the same sort of derision as if he had demanded the admission of +monkeys into the ranks of humanity. These zoophytes consist, in the +main, of a mere visceral cavity, containing no distinct system of +vessels, exhibiting no decided appearance of nerves, possessing no other +senses than an imperfect touch and taste, and certainly manifesting no +distinction of sex. They are simply digestive sacs, for which a troop of +tentacles are continually foraging: they eat, drink, secrete coral, +throw off young polyps, and die, without in general wandering an inch +from the place where they were produced. + +Of all living things we should least expect that creatures so imbecile +as these would be able to run up great embankments capable of repelling +billows which sometimes roll along in an unbroken ridge of a mile or two +in length, or of resisting a surf whose roar may be heard at the +distance of eight or nine miles. That a feeble zoophyte should have the +power of breasting the waves of the Pacific, did we not know it to be a +fact, would appear a more preposterous notion than that of the memorable +lady who attempted to keep the Atlantic out of her dwelling with a mop. +No other animals seem to possess a faculty at all approaching to this: +none exhibit a constructive propensity which leads to such massive +results. The bee, for example, produces more geometrical works, but we +cannot conceive of a honeycomb as large as a county, or a mountain of +cells as tall as Skiddaw or Snowdon. It would be absurd to dream of +fabricating a reef of sponge, though, if its animal character be +admitted, this creature will almost hold as high a rank in life as the +coral polyp; nor would it be pardonable to imagine that such a miserable +material could ever become the basis of a new island. The beaver, it is +true, executes very extensive dams; he is an excellent carpenter—perhaps +the most skilful four-footed artisan with which we are acquainted; but +put him in the midst of a boisterous sea, to erect a great circular +rampart fifty or a hundred miles in diameter, with the billows tumbling +about his ears continually, and he might just as well have contracted to +build the Plymouth Breakwater, or the Eddystone Lighthouse. In fact, if +we consider what difficulty men have in achieving their simplest +specimens of marine architecture, it may be said that, were a whole +nation of human beings set to work in the Pacific, they could not +accomplish one of the colossal enterprises which these morsels of pulp +silently effect. + +What renders the undertaking more surprising is, that these soft-bodied +things have to _make rock_ for themselves; they have to provide the very +stone which constitutes the edifice they build; they have not only to +find straw to produce their bricks, as it were, but to procure the clay +itself. The hard coral composing their edifices is the internal skeleton +of the animals, and appears to be a secretion from their own tissues. +Chemical analysis has shown that it consists principally of carbonate of +lime—upwards of 95 parts out of every 100—including also small +quantities of silica, alumina, magnesia, iron, fluorine, and phosphoric +acid. It is remarkable, however, that this secreted matter is harder +than calcareous spar or common marble—much harder, indeed, says Mr Dana, +than its peculiar chemical composition will explain. “Using an iron +mortar,” observes Mr B. Silliman, junior, “in the earlier trials, the +iron pestle was roughened and cut under the resistance of the angular +masses of coral, to a degree quite remarkable, considering the nature of +the substance operated on. So much iron was communicated to the powder +from this source, that recourse was had to a mortar of porcelain; and +even this was not proof against wear, the porcelain pestle being pitted +by the repeated blows. The more porous species, of course, were crushed +with less difficulty.” Whence, then, do the animals procure the +materials which they fashion into such dense and enormous piles? Here +are millions of tons of calcareous matter heaped up by their agency, and +yet there is no visible storehouse from which they can obtain any solid +supplies. For as the land subsides, the builders of the reef are cut off +from the shore: there is little but coral beneath them—there is nothing +but water around them. It must therefore be from the billows of the +ocean that the creatures possess the power of picking out the small +quantity of carbonate of lime which the fluid contains. Their food may, +of course, contribute to the supply; but from what source again did the +minute animals they devour procure their stock of salts and earths? + +It is singular, too, to observe how limited is the sphere of activity +assigned to these creatures. In order to complete a reef, it is not +sufficient that one tribe or species alone should be employed; the +Madrepores, Astræas, and Gemmipores are the principal masons engaged; +but each structure exhibits considerable diversity of workmen. There are +some polyps, as we have seen, which love the contention of the surf, and +thrive only when exposed to the play of the waves; there are others +which covet a more tranquil life, and prosper only in the peaceful +lagoon. Neither could change places with safety, any more than the +reindeer could barter climates with the camel. A reef might almost be +divided into a number of zones, in each of which a particular sort of +coral polyp finds its appropriate habitat. The sea-front of the ring +appears to be partitioned into belts, like the vegetable regions on the +slope of a mountain. “The corals on the margin of Keeling Island,” says +Mr Darwin, “occurred in zones: thus the _Porites_ and _Millepora +complanata_ grow to a large size only where they are washed by a heavy +sea, and are killed by a short exposure to the air; whereas three +species of _Nullipora_ also live amidst the breakers, but are able to +survive uncovered for a part of each tide. At greater depths a strong +_Madrepora_ and _Millepora alcicornis_ are the commonest kinds, the +former appearing to be confined to this part. Beneath the zone of +massive corals, minute encrusting corallines and other organic bodies +live.” Thus, even in the limited range allotted to these zoophytes, we +have a minute illustration of the law which has been so admirably +developed by Professor Edward Forbes—that the bed of the sea exhibits a +series of regions, each peopled, according to its depth, by its peculiar +inhabitants. + +But if the creatures which are employed in the erection of the reefs are +restricted to so narrow a field of exertion, a very peculiar provision +has fitted them for the work they have to perform. This consists in what +is called their _acrogenous_ mode of increase. If, for example, the +zoophytes assume the form of a plant, it is not the whole mass which is +alive, but only a very small portion at the summit and at the +extremities of the branches. All the remainder of the stem and boughs +has been converted into dead coral. To grow, with them, is therefore to +mount. The skeleton of the young animal is hoisted upon that of its +defunct predecessor. Some zoophytes, like the Goniopores, spring up in +columns to the height of two or three feet; and to each of these coral +pillars a capital of live polyps, two or three inches in extent, is +affixed. Or if the creatures assume a more clustered or globular form, +as is the case with many of the Astrææ, Porites, and others, the depth +of life in the mass is extremely small. A dome of Astræas, twelve feet +in diameter, is supposed to consist of a thin film of living polyps, +extending not more than half or three quarters of an inch below the +surface—a solid nucleus of coral being, in fact, merely coated with +vitality. It is to this property of upward and outward growth that we +must ascribe the prodigious power these animals possess. Their labours +are _cumulative_; and hence, though in themselves the most insignificant +of creatures, they are enabled to heap up tier after tier of skeletons, +until the mountain which has sunk in the waters is rivalled by the +monument they erect upon its site. + +If we wish, however, to form some conception of the marvels which these +zoophytes accomplish, we have only to remember that the coral formations +in the Pacific occupy an area of four or five thousand miles in length, +and then to imagine what a picture that ocean would exhibit were it +suddenly drained. We should walk amongst huge mounds which had been +cased and capped with the stone these animals had secreted. Prodigious +cones would rise from the ground, all towering to the same altitude, and +reflecting the light of the sun from their white summits with dazzling +intensity. Here and there we should come to a huge platform, once a +large island, whose peaks, as they sank, were clothed in coral, and then +prolonged upwards until they rose before us like the columns of some +huge temple which had been commenced by the Anakims of an antediluvian +world. If, as Champollion has said, the edifices of ancient Egypt seem +to have been designed by men fifty feet high, here, whilst wandering +amongst these strange monuments, we might almost fancy that beings +hundreds of yards in stature had been planting the pillars of some +colossal city, which they never lived to complete. But the builders, as +we have seen, were mere worms; the quarry from which they dug their +masonry was the limpid wave; and the vast structures which have been +calmly upreared in the midst of a tempestuous sea, are the workmanship +of creatures which possess neither bodily strength nor high animal +instinct. That duties so important should have been assigned to beings +so lowly, is one of the finest moral facts science has unfolded. It is +the function of the coral polyp, under the present geological +dispensation, to counteract the distant volcano, and to repair in some +degree the ravages of the subterranean fires. Its task is to fasten upon +a sinking island, and keep its top on a level with the sea. The +haughtiest of physical forces—that which sometimes shakes great +continents—which lifts or lowers whole regions in a night—is often kept +in check by the industry of these diminutive things. When the earth’s +crust is collapsing, and it becomes necessary to fill up the vacancy, +the commission is not given to any gigantic workmen, but a number of +mere polyps are bid to labour upon the subsiding soil, as if to show +that the Creator could employ the humblest of His creatures in executing +the largest of physical undertakings. + + + + + THE AGED DISCIPLE COMFORTING. + + + Fear not, my son; these terrors are from GOD. + Hast thou not heard how, when Elijah stood + On Horeb, waiting while the LORD passed by, + Before the still small voice, there came a blast + That rent those ancient mountains? after the wind + An earthquake, after that again a fire? + Aye, when Christ visits first a sinful heart, + The devils that abide there shake with fear; + Who can abide his coming? + I remember, + (How could I not?) that, in his days of flesh, + We—even we, who called ourselves his friends— + As little knew him as dost thou to-day. + In a dark night we sailed upon the lake, + Alone, not knowing where our Master was. + The night was dark, and dark our lonely hearts; + A moon there was, but low, and blurred with clouds; + Only upon the horizon lay a line, + A level line of light, which, near and far, + Marked the black outline of the eastern hills. + Stern was our toil, with every art we had + To speed our vessel; for the breeze had sunk, + Or only came by snatches—till the rain— + Then flashed the incessant lightnings, then the hills + Rang, roared, as though the thunder shattered them; + Then surged the waves against the opposite wind, + Rattled our useless cordage, rent our sail, + Rent, flapping in the tempest, and his might + Seized on our boat, and drave it at his will. + No man was free from fear; we knew too well + Those treacherous waves; and He, whose master voice + Had laid them cowering at his feet, like dogs, + Where was He now?—In some lone mountain wood + He communed with his Father and the angels, + And knew not that we perished there alone. + Alas! far otherwise when in the stern + He slept, amid the hubbub of the storm, + As if on priceless couches, in the pomp + Of Herod’s palace; now He was afar, + Each of us felt the terror of the night, + And each one acted as his nature was. + One fell to prayer; one muttered instant vows; + Another lay and wept aloud; some few + Deemed that the gale was transient, and sate still + Watching their idle nets; some, bolder, strove + To save the canvass, and the labouring mast. + Amongst the band were two, forever first; + One was a reverend man, of ripening years, + Whose steel-grey beard fell on his fisher’s coat, + Even to his belt; the other was a youth, + Whose face, made ruddy by the genial suns + Of five-and-twenty summers, always shone + A God-wove banner of celestial love. + These two were working still, to save the ship, + When the cry rose, “A spirit!” There it walked, + Or seemed to walk, the waters, and drew near. + Then he that wore the fisher’s coat cried out; + “If not to be afraid be brave,” he said, + “When fear were preservation, be not bold; + What men could do we have done; now let be, + Lest haply we be found to fight with GOD.” + Thus spake he; but we lay down, motionless, + Struck by despair, and waited for our end: + Only the young man bared his trusting brow. + Then spake the Form majestic: + “It is I; + Be of good cheer;” and then we knew our Lord, + And took him up into the ship with us, + And fell before him worshipping, and said, + “Ah, doubt is dead; ah, blessed Son of God!” + Thus scant of faith were we, and ignorant + That he was with us, when we saw him not, + Or deemed him but some spirit of evil, sent + To make complete the horrors of the night. + Our hearts calmed with the waters, we were saved, + And knew our Master’s power, and blessed his love, + And, lo! were landed at the wished-for shore. + H. G. K. + + + + + THE EXTENT AND THE CAUSES OF OUR PROSPERITY. + + + TO THE EDITOR OF BLACKWOOD’S MAGAZINE. + +The majority of the Legislature and of the great Conservative party +throughout the country have declared, either openly or tacitly, that our +present commercial policy cannot be reversed; and, in the present temper +of the people, such submission was almost inevitable. Whatever might be +the convictions of Conservative statesmen as to the working and tendency +of Free Trade, the expression of those convictions, and evidence, +however strong, in support of them, would have fallen idly upon the ear +of the masses, taught as they have been—and, indeed, are predisposed—to +jump to the nearest conclusion, when tracing effects to their causes. +They see the outward and visible marks of prosperity accumulating around +them on every side. Blue books and merchants’ and brokers’ circulars at +length speak the same language and tell the same story of a +widely-spread prosperity, which every man hears boasted of in his daily +avocations, whilst exulting Liberalism continually proclaims to the +world the coexisting fact of free imports. It is of no avail to remind +those men that the prosperity in question is not that which they +predicted or anticipated; that it is not the prosperity meant by the men +whose most loudly-urged inquiry was, “How can we compete with the +foreigner, whilst food is at war prices?” It is of no avail to remind +them that the foreigner has not, as was promised us, reciprocated our +generous policy, and that the tariffs of the world are still maintained +in their restrictive character; or to point to the palpable fact that we +have not even that “cheapness” of all the necessaries and comforts of +life, which was held up as the great boon to be achieved by Free Trade +legislation. The arguments, assumed to be conclusive, brought to bear +against those who still adhere to the principles which they have all +along maintained, are that the commercial and industrial enterprise of +the country is extending—that our population is fully employed—that the +revenue increases in elasticity—that property of every description +maintains its value—and that, through the length and breadth of the +land, there is scarcely a cry of suffering raised which is not at once +drowned by counter acclamations of satisfaction with the existing +condition and prospects of the great masses of the community. + +Whilst statesmen, however, are forbearing, and refrain from active +opposition to the conclusions, be they founded on delusion or not, drawn +by the advocates of onward policy in the direction of Free Trade, it is +the legitimate province of the political essayist to investigate +_facts_, which lie below the surface from which ordinary inquirers +derive their arguments, and to take care that such facts are brought +with sufficient prominency before the public. The _suppressio veri_ has +ever been a favourite weapon of casuists; and when we see that a +precisely opposite result is admitted by all parties to have followed +the adoption of a given policy, it is reasonable to conclude that some +suppression of the truth has taken place as to the facts, or that they +do not legitimately lead to the conclusions drawn from them. We see at +the present moment high prices of every commodity prevailing, whereas we +were assured that low prices would bring them within the reach of the +mass of consumers. We have dear labour in every department of industry, +instead of the cheap labour which the capitalist made no secret of +expecting as the result of free imports of foreign food. We have high +freights for our shipping, both inwards and outwards, yet both +Free-Traders and Protectionists prophesied low freights as the result of +the repeal of the Navigation Laws. We have well-employed artisans, +notwithstanding the anticipated displacement of their labour by the +introduction of foreign manufactured articles. Lastly, the British +farmer is not ruined; a good Providence has protected the tiller of the +soil from the annihilation which was predicted for him; and he is +enabled indirectly, by high prices of certain portions of his produce, +to wring an ample reward for his industry from the consuming classes. +The obvious inference to be drawn from such a state of things is that +some circumstance or circumstances, previously unforeseen, have +interfered to derange and falsify the calculations of both the great +opposing parties in the country; and it is most desirable to know what +are those circumstances, and what their past and probable future +operation. + +To arrive at the solution of these questions, we may be excused if we +refer to a notice of the industrial and commercial condition of the +country given in this Magazine in June 1851, or a little more than two +years ago. At that period, as admitted by the circulars of our leading +merchants, brokers, and manufacturers, we were in anything rather than a +condition of general prosperity. Importation of foreign produce was +unattended with profit, the export trade to foreign markets was equally +unprofitable, and the home demand, both for produce and manufactures, +was seriously restricted. With respect to the latter, an eminent +Manchester firm, Messrs M‘Nair, Greenhow, and Irvine, reported in their +circular of March 31, 1851—“The market is far from satisfactory. +Complaints to this effect are very frequent, and determined resolutions +_in favour of reducing the production of cloth of certain descriptions +are becoming general on the part of manufacturers, who assign, with +reason, their inability to render their manufactures remunerative. +Vitality is wanted, and the absence of anything approaching to a demand +for the country trade contributes necessarily to aggravate and deepen +the dissatisfaction._” The Shipping Interest was at that time in a most +disastrous condition, freights being reduced in many cases fully 50 per +cent, and far below the remunerative point. Such was the condition of +the country five years after the repeal of the Corn Laws, and two years +after the repeal of the Navigation Laws. With respect to the latter +interest, it is important to bear in mind that the low freights in +1851—particularly for long voyages—were very generally attributed to the +competition of the American shipowner, who, having a valuable passenger +and carrying trade secured to him by the new conquests of his countrymen +in California, could afford to bring return cargoes from India, China, +and the markets of the Pacific, at much lower rates than British +shipowners. The changed fortunes of the latter class afford striking +testimony of the fact that _their_ prosperous position, at all events, +is not attributable to Free-Trade measures, or to legislation of any +kind. A few months after the ruinous period to which we have referred, +the country was electrified by intelligence of the discovery in our +Australian possessions of wealth equal in amount, if not even superior, +to that which was being gathered by the adventurers in California; and +although at first doubts were expressed of the correctness of the +intelligence, a large emigration to those colonies at once set in, which +has continued to increase up to the present time. We ceased to hear of +shipping lying idle in the docks of our leading seaports. We ceased to +hear of our seamen entering into the service of rival countries. Our +building-yards, both at home and in the American colonies, became scenes +of unprecedented activity; and every branch of industry connected +directly or indirectly with shipping, was placed in a prosperous +condition. To enable the reader to form an idea of the amount of tonnage +employed in this new trade, it may be stated that the amount of shipping +which sailed from the port of Liverpool for Australia, since the first +of January 1852, to the end of July 1853, was 175 ships of 138,500 tons +register. These were exclusively passenger-ships. If we add 40 more as +the number taking cargo or cabin passengers alone, which are not +mentioned in the Government officer’s returns, we have in round numbers +215 ships with a tonnage of 170,000 tons, from the port of Liverpool, +engaged in this new trade. The departures from London and other ports, +of which we have not at hand correct returns, but which very materially +exceed those of Liverpool, will swell the amount of tonnage to about +500,000 tons. Of the shipping from Liverpool, 52 vessels—in all, 46,000 +tons—have been chartered by Government for the conveyance of Irish and +Scotch emigrants chiefly, sent out by the Emigration Board. There were +loading in Liverpool, on the 8th inst., 48 ships, with an aggregate +tonnage of 33,369 tons. Moreover, from the nature of the trade, and the +peculiar temptations which present themselves to our seamen to desert +when they arrive in the colony, and proceed to the diggings, the wages +paid them have been nearly double the average paid for other voyages. + +Here, then, we have the prosperity of one great interest in the country +distinctly accounted for, with which Free Trade has manifestly no +connexion. Australia has saved the British shipowner from ruin; and it +has done more. An increasing population, attracted to the colony from +every quarter of the globe, have become large consumers of British +products, and promise at no distant date to be still larger consumers. +In the first six months of 1851 we exported to Australia 3,003,699 yards +of plain calicoes, and 3,611,751 yards of printed and dyed calicoes. In +the corresponding period of 1852 the exports were 1,453,079 yards of +plain, and 5,683,822 yards of printed and dyed calicoes; and in the six +months just ended they have increased to 6,856,010 yards of plain, and +5,751,431 yards of printed and dyed. This is in addition to the large +quantity of these goods taken as outfits by emigrants, and the stocks +which may have gone from our Indian and other markets. The hardware +trade of Birmingham has been largely benefited by the consumption of +Australia; and, in fact, there is scarcely a branch of industry in this +country which it has not stimulated. Even the farmer owes to it much of +his present position. The absorption of agricultural labour by the +diggings of Australia, from which colony we derive the finest wools used +in the manufacture of broadcloth, has, by raising the price of those +wools, encouraged the substitution of an inferior article. This cause, +and the great increase in the home consumption, a portion of which +increase has been taken by emigrants in the shape of slops, blankets, +&c., has contributed materially to raise the value of our own produce. +The extent of this advance is thus stated by a leading firm in the wool +trade in Liverpool—“The advance in the value of the various kinds of +British sheep’s wool, from August 1851 to August 1853, varies from 30 to +40 per cent. Production has not decreased, but perhaps the contrary, +while consumption is very much increased.” Farm produce of all +kinds—butter, cheese, bacon, &c.—have found in the colony a new market, +which has greatly contributed to produce the high prices existing at +home. + +If we turn to the manufacturing interest, we suspect it will be found +that much of its present boasted prosperity is attributable to other +causes than our Free-Trade policy. We have had a considerable increase +in our exports of cotton manufactures during the first six months of the +present year; but when we inquire to what countries this increase has +gone, we find that nearly the whole has gone to four—viz., the United +States, China, Australia, and the coast of Africa. The three last we may +certainly exclude from the countries whose increased dealings with us +are at all distinctly traceable to Free Trade. We have therefore to +examine how far those of America can properly be so considered. The +exports of cotton goods to that country, as given in _Burn’s Monthly +Colonial Circular_ for the first six months of 1851, 1852, and 1853, +were as follows:— + + Plain Calicoes. Printed and Dyed. + + First six months of 1851, 6,580,713 yds. 21,078,887 yds. + „ „ 1852, 8,928,610 „ 22,144,002 „ + „ „ 1853, 26,428,896 „ 49,478,800 „ + +The shipments to that country are still being made on so extended a +scale that, whilst every sailing vessel which can be secured is promptly +filled up at high rates of freight, the steamers are actually compelled +to shut out goods, although the rates have lately been advanced to £5 +per ton for those chiefly of the class called “fine,” which they are in +the habit of carrying. It is calculated that there are at present lying +in Liverpool for shipment by the “Cunard” line of mail boats, more cargo +of this description than can go for three weeks to come; and the +consignees of the American or “Collins” line had recently a lottery in +their office, to decide whose goods were to go by the steamer then +loading. To what cause, then, can we attribute this amazing increase of +our exports to America? It cannot be the operation of Free-Trade +measures in this country which has enabled America to take from us, in +the first six months of 1853, twenty million yards of plain, and nearly +twenty-eight and a half million yards of printed and dyed calicoes, more +than in 1851. We have not extended to _her_, in particular, any material +concessions since the latter year. We have not been greater importers of +her bread-stuffs, or of any other article of her production, with the +exception of cotton. Of this great staple the clearances from all the +ports of the Union to this country, from 1st September 1852 to 5th July +1853, were 1,617,000 bales, against 1,577,160 bales in the corresponding +period of 1851–2, and 1,285,173 bales in that of 1850–51; showing an +excess this year of 39,840 bales over last, and 331,827 bales over 1851. +This may account in part for the increased purchases of America from the +British manufacturer; but, on the same grounds, she must also have +increased her purchases from other countries; for we find that, whilst +her excess of exports to Great Britain was 331,827 bales last year, as +compared with 1851, the excess to “_all_ countries” was 533,386 bales, +showing that other countries had also received increased supplies to the +extent of 201,559 bales: and we are not aware that any of those +countries have been legislating of late in the direction of Free Trade; +The conclusion which it strikes us as most likely to be correct, as to +the cause of our increased exports to America, is that something has +occurred to improve the condition and enlarge the consuming power of +that country. Such, on inquiry, we find to have been the case; for with +the comparatively light import of British fabrics in 1851, what was the +state of the American market for those fabrics? We have it thus stated +by the _New York Courier and Enquirer_ of the 16th of April in that +year, as quoted in the article to which we have before referred—“The +very heavy sales made of domestic light prints have put an end to all +inquiry for the foreign article; and _we do not know a case of English +prints that will bring prime cost, whilst the majority must suffer a +heavy loss_...... Nor is the prospect better for ginghams; _few, if any, +bring cost and charges_.” + +It is true that reference was made by the American writer to accidental +causes, which were alleged to have produced this unprofitable state of +business in 1851; but it is tolerably clear that there must have been +besides a want of the power to buy—and it is the fact that there was +such a want—compared with that which exists at present. The American +planters have had, since 1851, two crops of cotton, in succession, +larger than were ever raised before, which have been sold, especially +the last, at higher prices than those which prevailed in 1851—a year of +short crop, as will be seen from the following table, made up to the +30th ult.:— + + Mobile Fair. Orleans Fair. Crop to July 5. + 1853, 6¾d. to 6¾d. 6⅝d. to 7d. 3,172,000 bales. + 1852, 5⅝d. to 5⅝d. 6⅜d. to 6⅜d. 2,963,324 „ + 1851, 5¼d. to 5⅜d. 5¾d. to 5¾d. 2,273,106 „ + +The American farmer also has had this year considerably enhanced prices +of grain of all kinds—cheese, butter, pork, beef, and other produce—for +which large markets have been opened in California and Australia. +Emigration has greatly swelled the number of the population, and thus +increased domestic consumption. Employment throughout the Union is +ample, every fresh body of labourers, as soon as they are landed, being +sought out and engaged at good wages for the various railways, canals, +and other public works, which are constructing in almost every state. +California, with its vast mineral wealth, is exercising an almost +inconceivable influence throughout the entire continent, enlarging and +rendering more secure its monetary resources, stimulating domestic +enterprise, and furnishing that which a new country most urgently +requires—the means of extending its foreign commerce. It is not the +Free-Trade policy of Great Britain _per se_, if indeed at all, which has +rendered the United States better customers of Great Britain, but mainly +the increased and unparalleled prosperity of the American people—a +prosperity which, it should ever be borne in mind by the statesman, is +coexistent with a strictly protected domestic industry. + +In addition to the effect produced upon the industrial portion of the +community in our own country by the increased demand for British +productions to supply the wants of America and Australia, we must not +omit to notice some other important circumstances which have been in +operation during the past three or four years. We have recently been +sending away to our North American Colonies, to the United States, and, +for two years past, to Australia, large numbers of our population, and +particularly of that portion of them whose position at home may be +termed one of struggling for the means of living. Large tracts of land +in Ireland, once thronged with this class, are at present almost +literally unpeopled; and from England and Scotland many thousands of +able-bodied labourers, skilled artisans, and small farmers, have swelled +the tide of emigration. It may be said, with truth, that this is not a +sign of prosperity at home. These classes confessedly left their native +soil because it no longer afforded remunerative employment for their +industry. Yet, indirectly, an increased prosperity has been the result +of their departure, especially in our large towns and in the +manufacturing districts. We feel no longer the pressure upon the labour +market of continual immigration from Ireland to this country of a +semi-pauper class, ready to accept employment at the very lowest rate of +wages upon which life can be supported by the coarsest description of +food. The visits of Irish agricultural labourers are now decreasing year +by year; and although many still come to settle amongst us, and to +partake with our own working classes of the advantages of continuous +employment, they are no longer satisfied with that low scale of +remuneration for which they were formerly content to labour. + +The comparative dearness of what used to be their staple article of +food—the potato—has driven them, during the past few years, to the +adoption of a higher scale of living. They have imbibed, even in their +own workhouses, the taste for aliments similar to those upon which the +English labourer is fed. In proof of this change, which has been taking +place in Ireland during the past few years, we may point to the fact of +that country having ceased almost entirely to supply the British markets +with cereal productions, and to its diminished exports of other +descriptions of farm produce; for it is not true that this has been +altogether caused by diminished production. The result is felt upon +their arrival in this country, by the Irish emigrants speedily falling +into the scale of living, and demanding the same wages, as our own +labouring classes. To the causes referred to is, in a great measure, to +be attributed the improved condition of those classes generally in every +department of industry. Labour is no longer in excess of the demand for +it, and commands a higher rate of remuneration. An additional portion of +the working masses, too, have become consumers of both foreign and +domestic produce and manufactures, and hence some of those marks of +prosperity which political economists see in increased imports and +customs, and excise receipts, and attribute exclusively to the operation +of Free Trade. We have got rid of the surplus portion of our labouring +masses; and, as the result, those who remain to us are better employed +at better wages. + +The operation of this change, so far as regards the revenue, the +importing merchant, and the manufacturer, is much greater than is +generally supposed. Below a certain scale of wages the working classes +contribute almost nothing to the revenue, or to the profits of the +importer, and comparatively little to those of the manufacturer; and the +bulk of the population of Ireland had ever been hitherto below that +scale, where they were in receipt of wages at all. Any addition to such +wages, half of which at least is expended upon customable or exciseable +commodities, tells immediately upon revenue and upon the profits of +imports; whilst the remainder is probably expended upon the consumption +of home productions, and thus further stimulates the prosperity of the +producing classes. The comforts of life are sought for, instead of the +mere necessaries being endured; and, virtually, an improvement in the +condition of the labourer becomes a real increase in the numbers of the +population. The United States are experiencing this fact in the immense +consumption of every description of produce and manufactures by her +prosperous gold miners in California; and Great Britain is experiencing +it also in the consumption of the settlers in the gold regions of +Australia. Our merchants had paused in their shipments to that colony. +They feared that they might have glutted its markets. In doing this they +had simply overlooked the fact, that a highly prosperous community +consumes ten times the quantity of commodities of all kinds, which +suffices for the wants of the same number of individuals prohibited by +their position from indulging the tastes and desires natural to them. A +few hundred thousand of diggers in Australia, with Anglo-Saxon habits, +gathering each their ounce of gold per day, are equal to as many +millions of rice-eating Hindoos in India, or opium smokers in the +Celestial Empire. + +Since these remarks were written, they have received a very striking +confirmation from the circular of Messrs W. Murray, Ross, and Co., +commission merchants of Melbourne, dated 20th May. After referring to +the high prices existing in Melbourne, and the rapidity with which the +supplies of goods which had arrived up to that date had been taken off, +the writer proceeds, with respect to the apprehended glut to be created +by the large shipments known to be on the way—“Great though the quantity +of goods to come forward may be, it is yet equally evident that +consumption will keep pace with, if it do not exceed, the import. The +fact, moreover, must not be omitted out of the calculations of operators +at foreign ports, that the exorbitant rates current in Melbourne have +attracted such large importations from all the other Australian +colonies, that the markets of every one of them are more bare of +commodities than our own. The consequence will be, that as Melbourne and +Sydney will be the principal recipient ports for foreign merchandise, +large transhipments must be made to fill up the vacuum which our +extraordinary demand has created. _The European population of the +Australias is estimated at 600,000, the consuming power of whom is equal +to at least three times as many in England. Therefore, the wants of a +population, equivalent to 1,500,000 at home, have to be provided for._ +The immense addition which will also be made to these numbers by the +rapid immigration which is, and will continue flowing from the mother +country and elsewhere, must also be taken into account. The average +immigration has latterly been about 3000 souls per week. No diminution +is expected; on the contrary, an increase is expected. Some idea of the +probable increase of the population during this year may be formed from +knowing the increase which took place during the last year in Victoria +alone, namely, 100,000. _As respects our power of consumption, nothing +need be feared by the foreign shippers; all the goods that come forward +will be wanted._” When it is borne in mind that the bulk of the +population, described to be thus rapidly increasing, have Anglo-Saxon +tastes, and consume principally British articles of the best +description, we need scarcely be surprised if present prices at home, +especially of agricultural produce, are not only maintained, but very +materially enhanced. We find, from the same circular, that Australia is +diverting from this country a large portion of our usual supplies of +flour, cheese, &c., which we should otherwise have received from the +United States, thus accounting for the advance in prices in the British +market already experienced. All other commodities, whether of British, +colonial, or purely foreign production, are bringing enormous rates in +that country. English products, however, such as butter, cheese, hams, +bacon, &c., are those most materially increased in value; and large +quantities must go out to meet the demand, thus trenching still more +upon the amount of the necessaries and comforts of life which are at +present within the reach of our consuming classes. + +That, under all these circumstances combined, we have a high range of +prices of produce existing, is scarcely to be wondered at; but, whilst +we must decline to admit that such high prices are attributable to our +adoption of a Free-Trade policy, we are rather doubtful of the fact that +they are altogether the result of the undeniably-increased consumption +of our population. Other causes are operating, which account, in part, +for such high prices, irrespective of those which are urged by the +advocates of that policy, and of those who attribute them to the +prosperous condition of the country. We have had, during the present +year and a portion of the last, decreased imports of some of the leading +articles of foreign produce. Thus we have received in the ports of +London, Liverpool, Bristol, and the Clyde, during the first seven months +of 1853, only 100,080 hhds. and 13,065 tierces of West India sugar +against an import of 122,300 hhds. and 15,685 tierces during the +corresponding months of 1852. We have received of Bengal and Madras +sugar 401,970 bags, &c. against 526,345 last year. From the Mauritius +our receipts have been 777,900 against 708,730 mats, &c.; and from Java, +and our other East Indian possessions 62,360 bags, &c. against 88,915 +last year. Decreased stocks and advanced prices naturally follow such a +state of things. On the other hand, we have both increased imports and +stocks of Havana, Brazil, and other foreign sugar—which, however, being +chiefly used for refining purposes and for export, is not so correct an +index of the consuming power of our home population. We have a slightly +increased import of colonial molasses, and a considerable decrease of +stocks. Our imports of colonial rum have been 19,330 puncheons only +against 23,450 puncheons last year, whilst the stocks are only 15,530 +against 25,695 last year. The causes of this decline in the +productiveness of our West Indian possessions, as well as in our imports +from the East Indies, need scarcely be glanced at; and, as a just +retribution, we find that the exports of cotton manufactures to the most +important of the former—Jamaica—have fallen off from 2,413,611 yards of +plain cottons, and 2,036,598 yards of printed and dyed, in the first six +months of 1851, to 874,382 yards of plain, and 888,565 yards of printed +and dyed in the corresponding period of 1853. Of another important +article—tea—our imports during the first seven months of the present +year have been less than in the corresponding months of last year, viz. +30,086,000 lb. in 1853 against 32,867,000 in 1852; and prices have been +enhanced in part by the civil war going on in China, and by the effect +of the reduction made in the duty by Mr Gladstone’s Budget. Dried fruit, +which was cheapened by the Tariff of 1841–2, has advanced enormously in +price; but the principal cause of such increase has been a blight, which +has occurred during the past two years. The supply of many articles of +home produce, too,—such as butchers’ meat, butter, bacon, &c.—has been +limited by the wet season at the beginning of this year, which was +unfavourable to every description of agricultural produce. All these are +distinctly exceptional causes of apparent prosperity, as shown by high +prices of commodities, and have nothing whatever to do with the question +of Free Trade v. Protection. + +It is not our intention here to enter into an inquiry as to the effect +which the increased production of gold in California and Australia has +produced, in inflating prices by enlarging the basis of our monetary +circulation. Political economists of our modern school persist in +treating the question of the currency as a bugbear; and in maintaining +that the price of gold, irrespective of its increased supply, must +remain, unlike that of all other commodities, _fixed_. It is useless to +direct their attention to the effect upon prices which an enlarged +currency, sustained by the golden treasures of California, has produced +throughout the length and breadth of the American continent. It is +useless to attempt to show them, although such is the fact, that the +increased banking facilities gained by that country during the past two +or three years have enabled her growers of grain, of cotton, and other +produce, to maintain prices above what European and other countries +could afford to pay, and to liquidate an almost continually adverse +balance of trade. This much, however, the most strenuous advocate of the +bullionist theory will perhaps admit: The mercantile community of this +country, notwithstanding their imports have in the aggregate very +largely exceeded their exports—thus inducing of necessity large exports +of specie—have not during the present year, as we might have expected, +been incapacitated by the position of the bank from holding their stock +of produce. Money for commercial, and even for speculative purposes, has +been abundantly afforded; and even in the face of a somewhat high rate +of interest, advances on mortgage and for permanent investment have been +readily procurable at reasonable rates. But for this circumstance, we +could certainly not have sustained prices of imported produce; and our +merchants, having been compelled to submit to the inflated ones of +foreign countries, must have been utterly prostrated. The same reasoning +applies to the internal industry of the country. Had money not been +cheap, and easily procurable on _bona fide_ security and for investment, +the vast amount of enterprise which has recently been manifested in the +erection of new buildings, and new works of every description, in the +drainage of our soil, in the beautifying of our large towns, and the +health-producing improvement of their sanitary regulations, must have +been checked, until, by a restriction of our imports, and something +approaching to a general commercial bankruptcy, we had wrung back the +limited amount of truant specie, upon which our currency is based, from +the hands of the foreigner. We are not at all certain, however, for what +period this pleasant state of things may last. For many weeks +successively we have seen the stock of bullion in the Bank of England +decreasing, notwithstanding the large arrivals from Australia and other +quarters; and although this may in part be accounted for by the +increased amount required to conduct the enlarged internal trade of the +country, there can be no denial of the fact, that we are experiencing a +serious external drain, required to meet our increased imports. For +three or four months past the fear of a considerably tightened money +market, as the result of such drain, has very greatly tended to repress +speculation, which would otherwise have run into excess; and at the +present moment anticipations of an advance in the rate of interest by +the Bank of England and the large discounting houses are beginning to be +seriously entertained. + +We have, then, the following facts established with tolerable +clearness—viz., first, that nearly all the most important commercial +interests of the country have been placed during the past two years in a +condition of great prosperity; and, in the second place, that our +industrious classes are now fully employed, at good wages. But it cannot +be admitted that the cause of such a beneficial change is altogether, or +even mainly, the Free-Trade policy which we have recently adopted. +Notwithstanding this fact, we are perfectly ready to admit that we +cannot at present disturb that policy, or retrace our steps. A large +majority of the public believe that the change in question has been +produced by Free Trade. They cannot perceive the exceptional causes +which have been in existence, or these are sedulously kept from their +eyes. A large portion of our working masses, during the temporary +cheapness which followed the first adoption of the system, which +cheapness was increased by the commercial sacrifices caused by monetary +paralysis in 1847, 1848, and 1849, became acquainted with luxuries to +which they had ever previously been strangers. A population, whose +staple food had been oatmeal in its various forms of preparation, became +acquainted with wheaten bread, with tea, coffee, &c., and were enabled +to resort more frequently to butchers’ meat. They found themselves +enabled to be better housed and better clothed, as well as better fed. +The change in this respect, which took place throughout the +manufacturing districts especially, was most striking, and was dwelt +upon as affording ample proof of the successful results of Free Trade +policy, so far as regarded these classes, at a period when it was +manifest that they were consuming every description of foreign and +domestic commodities at prices which were ruinous alike to the importer +and the home producer. It was only reasonable to expect that those +classes, thus substantially benefited, would resolutely refuse to listen +then to any proposal for the reversal of measures to which they were +taught to attribute the increased comforts they were enjoying; and the +same indisposition to do so continues to prevail now, with prices of all +the necessaries of life materially enhanced. Any return to protection, +however modified, is regarded by them as, so far, a return to their old +diet, and to the discomforts of their previous condition. For any party +to insist upon such a retrograde policy, would be to throw them once +more into the hands of the political demagogues, from which they have, +during the past few years, happily emancipated themselves. Without any +legislative interference with Free Trade, however, the position of these +masses is just now becoming materially changed for the worse; and +notwithstanding the fact, which we have admitted, that employment is +more abundant than at any former period, it is very questionable whether +we are not threatened with serious difficulties and social +disorganisation, arising from the efforts of the labouring classes to +maintain themselves in that position which they have been taught was +their right, and was the natural result of Free Trade. For some months +past the temper of these classes has been in a state of almost universal +ferment. With continuous employment superseding the intermittent +employment of a large portion of them, demands have been made for +increased wages, and have in most cases been conceded. We have had +strikes of our dock labourers and porters for rates which were never +heard of previously, even when three or four days’ work in a week was +considered as affording a fair amount of the means of living. The same +classes, on our railways and other public works, have given evidence of +dissatisfaction with their position by similar proceedings. +Handicraftsmen of every description have joined in the movement; and +even the police of our large towns have shown a disposition to seek +other avocations than those of wielding a truncheon for from 18s. to +21s. per week, with a livery. Throughout the manufacturing districts +there has been, during the past three months, a large suspension of +labour, the hands in one branch after another seeking advances of from 5 +to 10 per cent, and in some instances attempting to impose conditions +upon their employers. Turn-outs, of short duration, resulting in +concessions to their demands, have served to show the operatives that +they are now the most powerful body, and to lay the foundation of +further aggressive efforts. Next only in importance to the increase thus +caused in the cost of manual labour, the manufacturer has had to submit +to a large increase in the cost of his fuel, to the extent, in some +districts, of 15 to 20 per cent—the miners in most of the small-seam +collieries, and in several of the deep pits, having successfully stood +out for higher rates of remuneration. The iron-miners, especially in +Wales, have followed the example of their brother operatives in other +branches of industry; and in one district in South Wales it is expected +that upwards of 20,000 of the working population will shortly be +deprived of the means of living by the blowing out of furnaces by the +masters, in the endeavour to resist the demands of their men. + +There are two or three rather important questions which offer themselves +for solution connected with these aggressive movements of the working +classes. Are they the result of a confidence, on their parts, of power +to coerce their employers? Is capital being compelled to relax its gripe +upon industry? Or are these movements merely the defensive ones of men +who feel that the comforts, which they have been recently enjoying +through a factitious cheapness, are being withdrawn by high prices of +the various articles of consumption? We believe that we must attribute +them to all these causes combined. To this important part of our subject +we entreat the earnest attention of our readers. + +It is natural to conclude that the working classes must feel somewhat +confident of the fact that, to a great extent, the pressure upon the +labour market, caused by immigration of fresh hands into the large +manufacturing and other towns, has been withdrawn. The surplus +population of the agriculturists have either sought, or are seeking, new +spheres for the exercise of their industry in other lands, which offer +to them a surer prospect of permanent prosperity; but there is this +striking difference between the present movement of our operatives and +those of former years, that the opportunity for it has not been seized +upon in a pressing emergency of the masters—that it is not confined to a +particular class, or a particular district. It is, in fact, universal, +and apparently unprompted. No demagoguism has been required to bring it +about; and, with a few rare exceptions, we have observed characterising +every conflict for higher wages the best possible feeling between the +employers and the employed. So long as the latter remained in the +enjoyment of cheap food, they were quiescent; and in the majority of the +strikes which have recently occurred, the plea most prominently put +forward has been the advanced price of all the necessaries of life. In +some few cases only has a scarcity of labourers appeared to warrant a +demand for advanced wages; and it is a remarkable fact that these have +resulted from causes distinctly unconnected with Free-Trade policy. The +carpenters in our shipbuilding yards, and other branches of industry +connected with the shipping interest, have been enabled, by the +increased demand for ships for the Australian trade, to command higher +rates of remuneration, irrespective of the advance in the prices of +food. The men employed in building trades generally—masons, +house-joiners, bricklayers, &c.—have been placed in a similar position +by the internal improvements, and the increase of public and private +works, which a more plentiful currency has stimulated throughout the +country. But the main inducing cause of the aggressive attitude of the +industrious classes, as a body, has been the fact that employment, at +the wages paid from 1845 up to within the past few months, was +insufficient to enable them to keep up to the standard of living which +the cheapness prevailing in the greater portion of those years had given +them a taste for. The following comparison of the present prices of a +few of the leading articles, which form the consumption of the working +classes, with those existing in the corresponding period of 1851, will +enable the reader to draw a tolerably accurate conclusion with respect +to their condition in the respective years. We take the prices from the +authorised Liverpool data, as this port may be said to regulate those of +the manufacturing districts:— + + │ 1st August 1851. │ 1st August 1853. + │_s._ _d._ _s._ _d._│_s._ _d._ _s._ _d._ + Good beef, per lb. │ 0 4½ to 0 5│ 0 5¾ to 0 6¼ + (carcase), │ │ + Good mutton, per lb. │ 0 5½ to 0 6│ 0 6¼ to 0 6¾ + (carcase), │ │ + Good American flour, │ 20 0 to 21 0│ 28 0 to 29 0 + per barrel, │ │ + Wheat, imp. average, │ 40 0│ 52 7 + per qr., │ │ + Butter (best brands),│ 74 0│ 93 0 to 95 0 + per cwt., │ │ + Butter low qualities,│ 65 0 to 66 0│ 84 0 to 86 0 + Butter American, duty│ 32 0 to 40 0│ 80 0 to 87 0 + paid, │ │ + Bacon, best Irish, │ 44 0│ 60 0 to 63 0 + per cwt., │ │ + Bacon, American, per │ 38 0 to 44 0│ 46 0 to 52 0 + cwt., │ │ + Pork, American, per │ 55 0 to 63 0│ 72 0 to 85 0 + 200 lb., │ │ + Cheese, American, │ 34 0 to 39 0│ 40 0 to 48 0 + middling, 200lb., │ │ + Cheese, Cheshire, │ 50 0│ 65 0 + middling, 200lb., │ │ + Sugar, good dry brown│ 36 0 to 37 0│ 36 0 to 37 0 + colonial,[11] │ │ + Tea, good congou, in │ 0 11│ 1 0½ to 1 1 + bond, per lb., │ │ + Tallow, per cwt., │ 37 9 to 38 0│ 52 0 + Coffee, fine ord. to │ 44 0 to 58 0│ 45 0 to 84 0 + good mid., per │ │ + cwt., │ │ + Oatmeal, Irish, per │ 25 0 to 26 0│ 23 6 to 24 6 + sack, │ │ + +There has obviously been upon the bulk of these articles an advance of +from 25 to 30 per cent; and this advance has been most signal upon the +articles which the working man’s family chiefly consumes—bread, +butchers’ meat, cheese, bacon and pork, butter, &c. With respect to tea, +which has recently formed an important item in their expenditure, we +have had within the past few weeks a reduction of the duty. This, +however, has been nearly met by the increase in price which it now +commands in bond. We had in July last a reduction of 1s. per cwt. in the +duty upon sugar, and since 1851 the total reduction is 2s. This also has +been more than met by increased price, in the average, at least, of the +period between 1851 to 1853, for we find that the price of “good dry +brown” was, in 1852, only 35s. 6d. per cwt. The reduction of duty on +soap is neutralised by the high price of the materials. In order to +ascertain, or at all events to approximate to, an idea of the extent to +which the working classes have been affected by the changes of the past +two years, we shall take the instance of an average family, composed say +of a man and wife and three children, earning the advanced wages of 24s. +a-week. Such a family would consume at present, according to the scale +of living enjoyed by them two years ago, when commodities were cheap, as +follows:— + + Bread, produce of 21 lb. flour, 3s. 0d. + Tea, 2 oz., 0s. 6d. + Coffee, 4 oz., 0s. 4d. + Sugar, 2 lb., 0s. 9d. + Butter, 1½ lb., 1s. 3d. + Candles, 1 lb., 0s. 7d. + Coals, 1½ cwt., 0s. 10½d. + Soap, 1½ lb., 0s. 7½d. + Butchers’ meat, 5 lb., 2s. 11d. + Bacon, 1 lb., 0s. 8d. + Cheese, 1 lb., 0s. 8d. + Currants, &c., 1 lb., 0s. 8d. + Potatoes, 20 lb. (average price of 1853), 1s. 3d. + Sundries, 0s. 2d. + Rent, water, &c., 3s. 6d. + ———— ————— + 17s. 9d. + +We have thus an expenditure of 17s. 9d. a-week for food and rent out of +an income of 24s., leaving only a balance of 6s. 3d. for clothing, malt +and other liquors, medical attendance and casualties. Such a scale of +living may appear a high one to some parties, who have been in the habit +of gauging the human appetite for the purpose of getting up statistics +for union workhouses, model prisons, or model conditions of society. It +will be found, nevertheless, to be pretty nearly that into the enjoyment +of which our able-bodied working classes, pursuing moderately healthful +though laborious avocations, rushed with eagerness during the period of +cheapness resulting from the early operation of Free Trade. The cost of +such a scale in 1851, calculated according to the prices of that period, +would be about as follows:— + + Bread, produce of 21 lb. flour, 2s. 0d. + Sugar, 2 1b., 0s. 8d. + Butter, 1½ lb., 1s. 0d. + Candles, 1 lb., 0s. 5½d. + Coals, 1½ cwt., 0s. 9d. + Butchers’ meat, 5 lb., 2s. 3½d. + Bacon, 1 lb., 0s. 6d. + Cheese, 1 lb., 0s. 5½d. + Currants, Mr 1 lb., 0s. 4½d. + Potatoes, 1s. 0d. + Articles in which no material reduction has taken place, 5s. 1½d. + including rent, + ———— ———— + Total week’s consumption, 14s. 7½d. + +Thus the working man’s family in 1851 were enjoying the same scale of +living for 3s. 1½d. less than it now costs them; and would have had 9s. +4½d. left for clothing, &c., out of 24s. per week, if the same range of +prices which were then existing had continued. Their present wages, +however, have only been gained by them during the last few months. The +utmost advance realised by any class of workmen has been 6d. per day; +and such a family as we have instanced were called upon, by the +increased prices to which their food has risen since 1851, to adopt one +of these alternatives: Their wages of a guinea a-week, with 17s. 9d. of +expenditure for food and lodging, leaving them only the insufficient +margin of 3s. 3d. for clothing, medical attendance, malt liquor, &c., +they must either have gone back to their old scale of living, or +insisted upon an advance of wages. The allowance of wheaten bread must +have been curtailed and oatmeal substituted; a less comfortable dwelling +must have been submitted to; their consumption of butchers’ meat must +have been stinted; and they must have resigned altogether the whole, or +a portion at least, of the luxuries contained in their dietary—tea, +sugar, currants, &c., to the serious loss of the revenue. They +preferred, and happily for them they have been able to obtain, the +latter alternative, an increased remuneration for their labour. It is +clear, however, that large as this increase has been, it has not placed +the working man’s family in any better position than they occupied in +1851. They have at present 3s. per week more to live upon; but their +living costs them 3s. 2d. more. + +This, however, it will be said, is only the position of a family +provided with constant work both in 1851 and at present. We readily +admit that there is a class below this who are very materially better +off now than they were in the former year. The condition of the working +man who has now four or five days per week of employment, where he had +formerly only three days, is materially improved, notwithstanding the +recent advance in prices of commodities. But this is precisely the class +which has been most materially benefited by the emigration of their +competitors in the labour market, and by the activity which has been +imparted to the internal enterprise of the country by our discoveries in +Australia, and the enlargement of the currency resulting from them. + +It must be tolerably clear to most men that no portion of our working +classes will readily submit to a reduced scale of living, either as the +result, or the fancied result, of legislation, or from known ordinary +causes. There is a further source of social danger in the circumstance +that, having been taught that legislation had realised whatever benefits +have accrued to them since the adoption of Free-Trade policy, they will +be inclined to look to further legislation in the same direction for a +remedy, whenever, through an advance in the price of the necessaries and +comforts of life, or circumstances at present unforeseen, anything may +occur to injure their position. They have tasted of those comforts; and +they will insist upon enjoying them whatever other interests or +institutions may have to be prostrated in order to bring about that +result. Indeed, the Ministry of Lord Aberdeen, as shown by their policy +during the whole of the past session, have impressed upon the minds of +the working classes the fact that nothing will be permitted to stand in +the way of further progress of the policy upon which the country has +entered, or of cheapness for the consuming classes. With a view to +relieve those classes, we have just witnessed an impost, which may be +almost called one of spoliation, authorised to be levied upon the owners +of our soil; and, ludicrous though its failure has been, the operation +of the Chancellor of the Exchequer upon the interest of the National +Debt may be only a prelude to what the fundholder may expect from a more +unprincipled minister. We are not at all assured that even the national +honour will be permitted, without a struggle, to stand in the way of +cheapness of the necessaries of life. Happily society is at present +undisturbed by the efforts of the political demagogue. Our Brights and +Cobdens, and their “peace progress” associates, are at present too small +a minority to dare embarking in an attempt to persuade the +highest-souled nation on earth to embrace degradation. But signs and +portents have not been wanting during the past two months, whilst we +have been upon the verge of a collision with Russia, which, combined +with the temporising course of her Majesty’s Ministers, ought to be +seriously weighed by every patriotic man. The world at large, reading +the tenor of our trade circulars, and looking at the same time at our +tedious protocolling and negotiations with an aggressive power, may well +draw the conclusion that England is more anxious for uninterrupted +supplies of grain from the Black Sea than for the maintenance of her +prestige as the leading power in Europe; and reflecting men may +seriously ask the question—how long, in the present temper of the +consuming masses, would a state of warfare be tolerated with patience? +Unprincipled persons there are sufficient amongst us, who, although at +present their bad passions are without a profitable sphere for their +exercise, would willingly emerge from obscurity to undertake the task of +inflaming the minds of our working masses, and who might probably do so +successfully if they could point to dear food as the result of a manly +and consistent foreign policy. + +Whatever may be the future price of food—and we are satisfied that it +must maintain its present, if not a higher value, as measured in +gold—there is another reason why we may look for a prematurely +advanced rate of wages in this country. The great American continent +is now bridged over, as it were, by a constant succession of +passenger-ships—“clippers,” whose voyages rarely average above +eighteen to twenty days, and of which eight or ten sail every week +from the port of Liverpool, in addition to those which go from other +ports of the United Kingdom. The postal arrangements between the two +countries are as regular as those between London and Edinburgh. A +month’s time suffices to exchange communications between this country +and the Far West of the United States; and £5 or £6 will suffice to +convey the British labourer or artisan to the prairies of the +Mississippi, the Ohio, or the Western States of our North American +colonies. Moreover, it is no longer to a new land, or amongst +strangers, that the Celt and the Saxon now go to push their fortunes, +and find new scope for their industry and enterprise. A hearty welcome +awaits them in these countries from friends and relatives who have +preceded them; and, in a majority of cases, it is the success of these +pioneers which furnishes their connexions at home with the means of +emigrating. Whilst high wages and prosperity prevail in new countries +situated as the United States and Canada are, and must continue for +years to be with respect to the old countries of Europe, it is sheer +folly to imagine that low wages in those old countries can ever be +secured. The cost of a passage across the Atlantic for an adult +operative is insignificant, compared with that of a strike of even a +few weeks’ duration; and the dangers and hardships of the voyage are +regarded now, as compared with those contemplated by the emigrant a +few years ago, very much like those attending modern railway +travelling as compared with that by “the heavy stage,” which our +great-grandfathers patronised, when the journey from Edinburgh to +London was advertised to be performed in a fortnight—“God willing.” To +a far greater extent than our statesmen imagined we are committed to +the fortunes, and bound by the rate of labour, enjoyed by the working +classes of the American Republic. If Free Trade, as was boasted, has +placed Manchester alongside the valleys of the Mississippi, the +increased facilities now afforded for emigration have also placed our +operatives in closer proximity to their highly-paid American brethren. +Those classes in Great Britain will never again succumb to the +dictation of the capitalist, whilst there is afforded to them a way to +the prosperity enjoyed by their fellow-labourers in the United States +and Canada. And here a serious question arises for the consideration +of those politico-economical schemers who have built up their +expectations of manufacturing prosperity and enlarged foreign trade +upon the basis of cheap production in this country. Great Britain +cannot spin and weave for the world whilst her labouring population +have the wages of new countries thus easily open, as we have seen, to +their acceptance. We may command for a time the trade with our own +colonies. The abundant capital of our merchants may maintain our +commercial predominance for a time. But colonies situated as Australia +and Canada are—the resort of the enterprise of every nation—will seek +to be independent. Capital, the Free-Traders reminded us, owns no +allegiance, and may command the cheap labour of countries differently +situated to our own. It is worth the while of our manufacturing +interest, whose selfishness has been manifested in our Free-Trade +policy, to ponder upon the probable future operation of those signal +events, which Providence seems to have thrown in the way of the +realisation of their ambitious designs. + +But the middle classes—the men who exercise the franchise—surely these, +it will be urged, are, and have been for some time past, in a condition +of unqualified prosperity. The retailers in our large towns and +boroughs, as distributors of commodities between the merchant, or the +producer, and the consumer, must have been benefited materially by the +enlarged consumption of the country. The assumption is a natural one, +and yet it may be only partially true. The business of the retailer is +one of which we possess no statistics. We have no means of gauging the +results of his dealings. A larger amount of money may be passing through +his hands now than formerly. Enhanced prices of every article in which +he deals, independently of increased consumption of those articles, will +account for his receipts being larger. But the great question to be +solved is—are his profits increasing in the same ratio? It would be a +healthy sign if we could find that the increased consumption of the +country had operated to put an end to that ruinous competition which has +for years past been going on amongst these classes;—a sign that the +consumers, being in possession of increased means to buy, were willing +to afford to those from whom they buy a fair remuneration for their +industry and their capital. It would be most gratifying to find that +puffery and clap-trap were declining amongst our shopkeepers; that +frauds were less rife than formerly; that adulteration was no longer +practised, and just weight and measure were universally meted out. We +observe, however, none of these healthy signs of a profitable trade. On +the contrary, we have evidence around us on every side, that the +retailer has for some months past been placed, as it were, in a vice +between two opposing conditions of the community, by whose custom he has +to live. He has to fight against rising markets and dear labour on the +one hand, and the determination of the consumer to insist upon cheapness +on the other. For every purchase which he makes, he has to pay higher +prices; and he can only extort these from the community after a severe +struggle. He is, in fact, in the position of the traveller, who has no +sooner surmounted one hill than he sees another on the path before him. +It is notorious that this is always the case in rising markets. Every +advance in the price of raw materials or other commodities is followed +by a period of business without profits. Traders are withheld, by mutual +jealousy and the fear of competition, from the necessary efforts for +self-protection. Doubts intervene as to the permanency of such advanced +prices. And when at length the step is resolved upon of demanding a +corresponding advance from the consumer, it is frequently found that a +further upward movement has taken place in the wholesale markets, which +once more compels the retailer to resign the gain which he ought to +derive from his industry. This has been the position of these classes +during the whole of the past twelve months; and it is one in which +capital is rapidly exhausted, especially in the case of men whose +dealings are from hand to mouth, and whose means are limited. The +tradesman of large means and extensive credit may buy a stock in advance +of his consumption; and thus for a time protect himself from the loss +which rising wholesale markets, unattended with higher retail prices, +would occasion; but the small capitalist has no such resource. He is +continually reversing the principle extolled by the Free-Trader, by +buying in the dearest market and selling in the cheapest. + +The severity of this operation of rising markets has been very greatly +increased on the present occasion by the prevailing temper and opinions +of the consuming classes, especially throughout the manufacturing +districts. They have been taught that free imports were to bring about a +permanently low range of the prices of all commodities; and they are +disposed to regard and to resist high prices, as the result of +speculation on the part of the capitalist, or undue extortion on the +part of the retailer. When being charged 8d. for a pound of beef or +bacon, which a year ago was only worth 6d., or 10d. for a pound of +butter, which a year ago was sold at only 7d., they have regarded the +extra charge as something approaching to a fraud. It is of no use +reminding those persons that they are themselves demanding from the +community a higher price for their labour; and that dear labour involves +dearness of every product of labour. They are deaf to such appeals to +their reason, and resolutely ignore every fact which tends to account +for the high prices of which they complain. The prosperity which they +contemplated, and believed that they had secured by free imports, was +one which the consumer could monopolise. Each class seems to have +imagined that the remainder were to be prostrated for their own +particular benefit. + +It is perfectly natural that, during such a struggle between the +distributors and the consumers of commodities, and whilst competition +was unabated amongst the former, no effort would be left untried by them +to secure business and profit. The great object to be achieved was to +induce a belief on the part of the consumer that he was not paying +advanced prices, and was still in the enjoyment of the idol “cheapness.” +This could only be done by the aid of adulteration, and deception of +every kind; and never were these dishonest practices of traders more +rife, throughout the manufacturing districts especially, than they have +been of late. The price of flour began to rise towards the close of last +year. From an average of about 21s. for the best quality of American, it +has gradually risen to 28s. Was the price of bread advanced, in +proportion, to the consumer? It was not—at least apparently. A less +profit was submitted to by the baker and retailer; and wherever it was +possible, just weight was withheld. For example, the small loaves, +nominally of two pounds weight, with which the small shopkeepers are +supplied for retailing amongst that portion of the working classes in +the manufacturing districts whose payments are usually weekly ones, were +not very perceptibly advanced in price, but decreased in weight. Twenty +pounds of bread contained in such loaves were manufactured into twelve +or thirteen, nominally of two pounds each, instead of ten. The price to +the consumer of each loaf remained the same. Although tallow has risen +in price at least thirty per cent, the price of the candles principally +consumed by the working classes remained mysteriously almost the same. +We have had this accounted for by the fact that dishonest manufacturers +have been supplying equally dishonest tradesmen with the article in +quantities, purporting to be pounds in weight, but, in reality, two or +three ounces less. Thus, candles sold as twelve, fourteen, or sixteen to +the pound, contain still _the number_ represented; but, as the buyer +never asks to have them weighed, as he does beef or mutton, they are +short of the proper _weight_. This practice has lately been shown to +prevail throughout a great portion of the manufacturing districts, +especially of the north of Lancashire and the West Riding of Yorkshire. +The adulteration of coffee with chicory, it is well known, has prevailed +so long, and the tastes of the consuming classes have become so +accustomed to the mixed article, that the Legislature has had to submit +to its permanent practice. Cheatery of every description, in short, has +been resorted to by the dishonest trader, to disguise from the consumer +the fact of dearness, and to wring a profit from the low range of prices +which alone the public are disposed to tolerate; whilst the honest +trader, who is not willing to descend to such arts, has been carrying on +a continually losing business, and contemplating in despair the gradual +absorption of his capital. + +Unfortunately there are not in existence the requisite data to enable us +to arrive at the precise position of these classes as compared with that +which they formerly occupied. The humbler portions of them—the small +retailers in our large towns and manufacturing districts—were never in +the habit of attaining a place in that truth-telling and widely-read +record, the _London Gazette_. They embark in their petty course of +ambition, trusting to the enterprise which they feel stirring within +them for a successful result; and when the reverse comes, and +disappointment is their lot, they retire from the struggle, disappear +amongst the classes from which they rose, and are forgotten. The other +sources of information, with respect to the condition of these classes, +have been so altered recently, since the extension of increased powers +to the County Courts, that the means of an accurate comparison of any +two periods are wanting. Moreover, the resort to legal proceedings, in +cases of insolvency, is less now than in former years. Compositions and +amicable private arrangements between creditors and debtors are found to +be cheaper, and more satisfactory in their results, than the ordinary +formal modes of proceeding. Hence the statistician, who would fain +persuade mankind that nothing of ill exists in the world save that which +such records reveal, can prate glibly of prosperity to classes, who, +knowing the reality of their own position, must feel such prating to be +a bitter mockery. The facts which we have shown above, as to the +tendency of rising markets to decrease the profits of the retailer’s +trade, are sufficient of themselves to prove that he cannot, at the +present moment, be in the enjoyment of a satisfactory position; and we +have the further fact to adduce, that at no previous period was credit +more reluctantly extended to that class than at present. The merchant +and the wholesale dealer are well aware, and watch well when the +retailing classes are doing business without profit. They are aware when +those classes are living upon their capital. And that a large portion of +them are doing so at this moment, and have been so for many months past, +is clear, not only from the increased jealousy of the wholesale dealer, +but also from their almost general exclusion from the benefits of a +money market which, up to within the last few weeks, might be fairly +described as “easy” to most other classes. The extensive merchant who +has produce in his hands to pledge, or the speculator who can raise +capital of his own equal to cover the probable margin of loss to arise +from his temporary investment, can command almost unlimited pecuniary +accommodation, on tolerably reasonable terms. But the same facilities +are not open to the retailer, who may for a time require an increase of +his means. To this class money is always dear. It is to be had by the +bulk of them only upon usurious terms. The retailer cannot command a +capital by paying in to his banker small bills drawn upon his customers. +He must resort to the Loan Society, to the Insurance Office, or to the +moneylender, whose terms are even more ruinous than those of the +previously mentioned parties; and it is a sad fact that such modes of +raising money are more practised amongst tradesmen of the present day +than formerly. We can scarcely glance over the columns of a newspaper +published in any of our large commercial towns, without observing one or +more advertisements of societies professing to lend money on personal +security, repayable by instalments, the interest of which is seldom less +than ten per cent; or of insurance companies, whose directors hold out +to parties in want of money the inducement that life policies may be +pledged, and the provision which might have been made, through the +beneficial medium of insurance, for a widow or an orphan family, +anticipated, for the purpose of bolstering up perhaps unprofitable +speculations. There is known to be existing amongst the trading classes +an underground ramification of involvements of this description, which +would startle the world if it could be brought to light, as it is seen +occasionally in the schedules of insolvents in our Bankruptcy and our +County Courts. The most profitable business would not suffice to +maintain a man who is paying ten to twenty per cent for every money +accommodation which he may require in temporary emergencies, and is +besides compelled from time to time to make up the defalcations of +friends, between whom and himself a mutual system of guaranteeship for +loans is constantly existing. The evil is not by any means confined to +the small trading classes, but prevails as well amongst our working +classes. We have loan societies whose accommodations range from £3 to +£10 or £15, which the working man too frequently avails himself of to +enable him to expend upon excursion trips, and other extravagancies +scarcely justified by his station in life. We have, too, modes of +anticipating the incomes of the working classes even less legitimate +than the legalised loan societies. During this very week we find +recorded, in a Manchester paper, the existence, throughout a large +portion of the manufacturing districts, of clubs, the parties engaged in +which pay small weekly instalments, as low even as a shilling or +sixpence, and gamble with the dice, or draw lots for the privilege of +having the whole sum—say of forty shillings or five pounds, for which +they are responsible—advanced on personal guarantee. Another festering +sore in the body politic is the present amazing increase, especially in +the manufacturing districts, of what in the metropolis is called the +“tally system,” but is elsewhere better known as dealing with +“Scotchmen,” or “weekly men.” It argues little in favour of the +provident character of our manufacturing operatives, that thousands of +hard-working and industrious families amongst them purchase the bulk of +their clothing from these men, at prices ranging from 40 to 60 per cent +above the fair value of the articles, not only to their own manifest +injury, but also to that of the legitimate trader. These men are to be +seen in every manufacturing town and village, yard-stick in hand, and +parcels of patterns and collecting-books protruding from their capacious +pockets, perambulating the small streets and courts inhabited by our +working classes, too often to wring their gains from simple-minded +wives, whose husbands are unconscious of the indebtedness incurred, +until made aware of the fact by a summons from the county or some other +petty court of law. Not above twelve months ago _one_ of these Scotchmen +in a manufacturing borough in Lancashire had no fewer than fifty cases +for hearing in a single fortnightly session of the County Court there; +and it is not uncommon to find upwards of one-half of the cases tried at +these courts, in the manufacturing districts, to consist of actions for +debts incurred in the manner we have described. So largely has the +number of this class of traders increased of late, that they have become +a distinct _power_, and, in some of our boroughs, can determine the +result of an election—in favour of Whig-Radicalism, by the by; for your +travelling Scotch draper is invariably attached to “liberal” politics. +In one borough in Lancashire with which we are acquainted, it is +computed that they possess, amongst their own body, no less than eighty +or ninety votes; and at the last two elections those votes decided the +results of the contests. + +Under such circumstances it would be most rash, at any time, to assert +the existence of great prosperity, either of the retail traders or of +our manufacturing operatives, merely from external appearances, or from +the ordinary tests of employment and increased consumption of the +necessaries of life. We know that at present there do exist all the +external appearances of such prosperity; but we know also that there is +a restlessness being manifested amongst those classes, which is +incompatible with a perfect satisfaction with their real position. We +have to bear in mind always, whilst speculating upon the state of the +small traders in particular, that they form a class whose numbers are +readily recruited during a period of actual or apparent prosperity. +Little encouragement suffices to induce the well-to-do operative, +disgusted with the arduous toil required from him in his legitimate +sphere, to embark in the apparently more easy avocations of the small +dealer; and since we have placed so large a share of the political power +of the country in the hands of these classes, it is most important that +we should not be misled as to their social condition, and the amount of +prosperity which they are enjoying. We have taught them to believe that +it is within the power of legislation alone to command that prosperity +for them; we have taught the working classes, too, that it is in the +power of legislation to bring about cheapness contemporaneously with +highly remunerated labour; yet we see abundant elements at work, which +point to dearness in prospect as the result. We see the prices of raw +materials and produce rising in every foreign market as the result, in +part at least, of an increase of the precious metals throughout the +world. We see foreign enterprise and industry everywhere stimulated by +increased monetary facilities afforded to the masses of the people, +whilst such increased facilities at home never extend below the +privileged classes, who are permitted to negotiate directly with the +banker and the capitalist. We see the bulk of the transactions of the +country, and especially the distribution of food and other necessaries, +falling day by day more extensively into the hands of those classes who +can avail themselves of cheap money; whilst all below them the very +nature of our existing banking system drives into the hands of the +usurious lender, unless they are contented to restrict their dealings to +little beyond the supply of their daily wants. What must be the course +of the great masses of our population, should their present doubtful +prosperity altogether disappear; or should high prices and reduced +profits press them further than at present towards the necessity of +curtailing their enjoyment of material comforts? It is not difficult to +perceive that a demand must arise for continual further reductions of +taxation, and consequent reductions of the public expenditure. We have +gone almost as far as we can go in dealing with those duties whose +removal is followed by such an amount of increased consumption as will +protect our customs’ revenue from exhaustion. The numerous small items +the taxation of which was well-nigh unfelt, although, in the aggregate, +it was productive, are being rapidly swept away; and there remain none +for the financier to operate upon save the few large imposts, the +removal of any one of which would be almost equivalent to national +bankruptcy. If interference with these is denied, a demand must arise +either for such a diminution of the public expenditure as is +incompatible with the maintenance of the national honour and security, +or for a decrease in the interest of the public debt. Mr Gladstone’s +financial abortions have shown us, with tolerable distinctness, that, in +the existing state of our monetary laws, a permanently reduced rate of +interest is inconsistent with increased imports and an enlarged trade. +Whilst the specie, which regulates the quantity of money which is +permitted to circulate, is constantly liable to be drawn away to meet +adverse balances of trade, such as we have now with almost every country +of the globe, a reduction in the pressure of our indebtedness is +impracticable, except by a stretch of power on the part of the +legislature, which must for ever stamp us as an unprincipled people. +With the important question of the currency, however, we repeat that we +have no intention of meddling in this article. Our object has been +simply to examine carefully the actual condition of our industrious +classes, and to endeavour to trace that condition to its true causes; we +leave to others to draw conclusions, and to point the way to a remedy, +should further experience prove that a remedy is required. + + LIVERPOOL, _13th August 1853_. + + + _Printed by William Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh._ + +----- + +Footnote 1: + + _History of Scotland from the Revolution, &c._ By JOHN HILL BURTON. 2 + vols. London: 1853. + +Footnote 2: + + _Wanderungen durch London_, von Max Schlesinger. Two volumes. Berlin: + Duncker. London: Williams and Norgate. 1853. + +Footnote 3: + + _Curiosities of Modern Shakesperian Criticism_. By J. O. HALLIWELL, + Esq. 1853. + + _Observations on some of the Manuscript Emendations of Shakespeare, + and are they Copyright?_ By J. O. HALLIWELL, Esq. 1853. + + _J. Payne Collier’s alte handschriftliche Emendationen zum Shakespeare + gewurdigt von Dr Nicolaus Delius._ Bonn, 1853. + + The original text of Shakespeare has obtained two stanch and able + defenders in the persons of these two gentlemen. Mr Halliwell’s + competency to deal with the text of our great poet, and with all that + concerns him, is, we believe, all but universally acknowledged—the + best proof of which is the confidence reposed in him by the + subscribers to the magnificent edition now publishing under his + auspices; a confidence which, we are convinced, he will not betray by + any ill-judged deviations from the authentic readings. Dr Delius’s + pamphlet contains a very acute dissection of the pretended evidence by + which Mr Collier endeavours to support the pretended emendations of + his MS. corrector. It is characterised by great soundness of judgment, + and displays a critical knowledge of the English language altogether + astonishing in a foreigner. He may be at fault in one or two small + matters, but the whole tenor of his observations proves that he is + highly competent to execute the task which, as we learn from his + announcement, he has undertaken—the publication, namely, of an edition + of the _English_ text of Shakespeare with _German_ notes. We look + forward with much interest to the publication of this work, as + affording further evidence of the strong hold which Shakespeare has + taken on the minds of Germany, and as a further tribute of admiration, + added to the many which they have already paid to the genius of our + immortal countryman. + +Footnote 4: + + The German translators Tieck and Schlegel adopt the reading of the + first folio, _tongue_, for “gown,” and translate, + + “Warum soll hier mit _Wolfsgeheul_ ich stehen.” + + Dr Delius concurs with his countrymen, and remarks that the boldness + of Shakespeare’s constructions readily admits of our connecting the + words “in this wolfish tongue” with the words “to beg.” Now, admirable + as we believe Dr Delius’ English scholarship to be, he must permit us + to say that this is a point which can be determined only by a native + of this country, and that the construction which he proposes is not + consistent with the idiom of our language. Even the German idiom + requires _with_ (mit), and not _in_, a wolf’s cry. We cannot recommend + him to introduce _tongue_ into his text of our poet. + +Footnote 5: + + _The Structure and Distribution of Coral Reefs._ By CHARLES DARWIN, + M.A., F.R.S., F.G.S. London: Smith, Elder, and Co. 1842. + + _The Structure and Classification of Zoophytes._ By JAMES D. DANA, + A.M. Philadelphia: Lea and Blanchard. 1846. + +Footnote 6: + + WILKES’S _United States Exploring Expedition_, vol. ii. p. 130, (ed. + 1852.) + +Footnote 7: + + ELIS’S _Polynesian Researches_, vol. ii. p. 2. + +Footnote 8: + + _Kotzebue’s Voyage_, 1815–1818. Vol. iii. p. 333. + +Footnote 9: + + Mr DARWIN’S _Coral Reefs_, p. 142. The only supposed exception to this + remarkable coincidence, at the time when Mr Darwin wrote, in 1842, was + the volcano of Torres Strait, at the northern point of Australia, + placed on the borders of an area of subsidence; but it has been since + proved that this volcano has no existence. Sir CHARLES LYELL’S + _Principles of Geology_. 8th edit. p. 767. + +Footnote 10: + + This expression, as applied to many of the coral polyps, must be taken + in a somewhat qualified sense. Many of them are of a fleshy + consistence. + +Footnote 11: + + A reduction of duty of 2s. on foreign has taken place during these + periods. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES + + + ● Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained. + ● Used numbers for footnotes, placing them all at the end of the last + chapter. + ● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76979 *** |