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Atlantic Cable Anon Aspect of the Pyramids Volney. PAGK .. 9 .. 10 .. 18 .. 19 Antagonists, The '. 21 Bagdad, the Ancient City of the Caliphs. . .Humboldt 24 Bigotry Anon 26 Constantinople Holthaus 27 Canadian Ladies Anon 31 Canadian God Save the Queen Anon 32 Christmas 33 Damascus Lamartine 33 Death and Sleep Krummacher. . . 36 Dollars and Dimes Anon 38 Devotion of Nature Anon 39 Dogmatism , Wieland 41 Day Scene in Naples Kotzehue 42 Death, the End of all Human Greatness. . . . Saurin 43 Egypt, the Tombs of Volney 45 Education Herder 47 Esperance 48 Fatherland Moritz Arndt. . . 49 Graces, The Three F. Stolle 50 Grecian Art Winkleman. . . . 103 Geneva Cuvier Ill Jenner and Simpson, Drs Anon 113 Italians, The Heinrich Leo. . Indian Falls, Sarawak, C. W Anon Josephine Anon Light and Truth—A Simile Saumes Loan, Neapolitan Detective 121 124 124 125 127 7 VI CONTENTS. TAOE Learning, for Life Herder 155 Martyr, Tho Von Spaun .... 167 Meditations Anon 160 Magdeburg, Tho Taking of. Schiller 162 Nile, The Michaud 165 Night Excursion on Bay of Naples Humboldt 167 Plague of ITioroncc. Sismondi ft • • e : : 1R9 Penang Dr. Yvan. ..... 175 Prayer for all Men Victor Hugo ... 181 Petroleum Voyageur 183 Pyramids, The Holthaus 194 Pompeii Mme, de Stael. . 196 Pompey's Pillar Anon 198 Passage from a Sermon, 1272 Rerthold 201 Reflection Anon 201 Romans, The Wenzel., 202 Revolutions of the Globe Cuvier 204 Ruins of Palmyra Volney 206 Summer Night at St. Petersburg DeMaistre 209 Southern Cross Humboldt 211 Souvenir Anon 214 Shark, The Lac^pede 215 Serpents, The Cave of, in Peru Marmontel 216 Struggle at the Brink of a Precipice Victor Hugo. . . 220 Sicily Von Spaun 223 Schoolmaster, The Guizot 242 Spain under the Saracens. . . Heinrich 242 Sketch, The Mysterious Stolle 244 Scholars and Mechanics Von liaumer . . . 262 Social Intercourse — . 266 Versailles, Opening of the Museum of... Chapsal 267 Value of Life, or the Cost of Ambition Scribe 269 Wood Nymphs Lamprecht. . . . . 284 Wandering Jew, The Bdranger 286 AfJE , 156 . 157 . 160 . 162 . 165 . 167 .. 16ft . 175 . 181 . 188 . 194 . 198 . 198 ,. 201 .. 201 .. 202 .. 204 .. 206 .. 209 .. 211 214 215 216 220 223 INTRODUCTORYAM) EXEGETICAL. " Of making many books there is no end/' says Solomon. Indeed it were a pity there should ; for know- ledge being infinite, no amount of books could con- tain it. And to man hath been given a busy soul, the cultivation thereof cannot but through time and experience, work out many hidden truths ; to suppress them would be injurious to mankind, whose minds should be enlightened by each other. What happiness it is to have access, through their works, to ancient and modern authors, and thus to commune with them. Great men — the heights and pinnacles of the human mind — are of no country. They are cos- mopolitan, not national. They belong not to the Teutonic, or the Anglo-Saxon, or the Italian, or the Gaelic: race, but to the human race. They are stamped with the features, rich with the endow- ments, mighty with the power, instinct with the life, not of this or that phase or section of human- ity, but of humanity itself in its most unlimited developm through mile after mile of dew-spangled orchard. These were my romantic days, and nothing would have pleased me better than to have met with an adventure or two by the way. ^ These were denied me ; but, upon the other hand, an abundance awaited me at the place of my destination. It was between nine and ten in the forenoon when I reached the neighborhood of the rich coun- sellor's fine domain. The morning was so fine, the country so beautiful, that I determined to leave my gig at a road-side inn, about a quarter of an hour's drive from Wiesenthal, and to proceed thither on foot. Perhaps, also, if truth be told, I was not sorry to stop at the inn to get rid of the dust of the high- M THE SOUVENIR. way, and arrange my dress a little. I liad certainly no desire to please any of the three Misses Frager ; but that was not a reason for appearing to disad- vantage before them. The disorder of my toilet repaired, I set out on my walk, and soon came in sight of a villa. A small birch wood lay before me, through which I had to pass, and then I should be in the garden which stretched up to the house. As I proceeded, I looked about me on all sides, think- ing I might by chance descry one of the three graces from which it was my uncle's will (but not my intention) that I should select a wife. The only women I saw were two peasants toiling in a field. I was about to enter the wood, when at some two hundred paces from me, the slender figure of a woman attired in fantastical costume, between a riding-habit and a liunting-coat, and bearing a double-barrelled gun in her hand, stepped out from among the ioliage. Leaning upon her weapon, she seemed enjoying the charming landscape. " If that be one of Frager's daughters," thought I to myself, " Uncle Keinhold was not so far wrong. A fine girl she seems." Not wishing to disturb the graceful apparition in her contemplation of the scenery, I talked on as if I had not perceived her. I had taken but a few steps when a female voice, melodious but powerful, THREE GRAOES. 57 shouted, ^' Halt I" That cannot be addressed to me, thought I to myself, and walked on. Then came a sound like the cocking of a gun, and the next instant a bullet whistled, as it seemed to me, close over my head. The hint sufficed, and I halted at once. " The woman must be crazed," thought I as I gazed at the reckless amazon, who walked slowly towards me. I had leisure to observe her, and to admire her remarkable beauty. Her graceful iSgure was set off to advantage by the close-fitting habit, and her blooming countenance by a profusion of fair curls. I thought to myself, what a pity it was that so lovely a form should be that of a mad woman. When she arrived within twenty paces of me — " Why did you not halt," she asked, in command- ing tones, *^ when I ordered you ?" I really knew not what to reply to the imperious beauty ; so I varied the subject. ^* If I do not mistake," I said, " I heard a bullet whistle rather near me." '* Arc you afraid of bullets ?" " Well — thefe may be cases." . " For shame ! a man should never be afraid, least of all of a lady. You thought I should hurt you. Do you take me for an assassin, or for a bad h«t?" 58 LE SOUVENIR. "Neither, upon my word." " There is a fine apple hanging over your head. Lay it on your pahii, stretch out your arm, and I will shoot it off. Will you bet that I don't?" " I am not fond of such bets." ".Afraid again ?" " Every man has his moments of weakness." "Poltroon !" scornfully exclaimed tli is demon in petticoats, and, raising her gun, levelled it at my head. " For God's sake !" I cried, but before the words were out of my mouth came the flash and report, I thought I should have fallen on the ground. To a dead certainty the monster had hit my hat. " Take off your hat," said she. I mechanically obeyed. There was a hole close to the crown. I shuddered from head to foot. " Where are you going to ?" said the terrible markswoman. Not to anger her, I replied, as courteously as possible — " To Wiesenthal; to Counsellor Frager's." " Beware of his daughter," said the female fiend, with a laugh that reminded me of the wild huntsman. And she disappeared in the wood. It may be supposed that I did not linger long in so dangerous a neighborhood. The lady might take a fancy to THREE OBAOES. 59 to load again. I made the best of my way towards the house, wondering, as I strode along, whether Wiesenthal was a Turkish province, or whether we were hack again in the middle ages, when people shot at peaceable passengers for pure pastime. What could this semi-assassin be ? Was she a goblin, a wood demon, whose occupation was to frighten men, or real flesh and blood? If the latter, where had she acquired this preternatural dexterity with the gun, and the abominable habit of firing at travellers ? Handsome she undoubtedly was, but when the devil disguises himself, he does not assume the ugliest form. And my thoughts • reverted to my pretty gentle Minnie, a less imposing beauty, but a far safer companion than this lunatic William Tell, whose warning against the counsellor's dau<;hters also recurred to my mind. I wouid not allow myself to suppose that the sharpshooter was one of Frager's daughters ; but if she was, and her sisters resembled her, there was no danger of my falling in love with one of them. I should as soon have thought of becoming enamoured of a Zouave. I looked cautiously around me as T hurried through the wood, every moment expecting to see the ter- rible double-barrel peering through the bushes, Uncas in the forest of Hudson, with the Pawnees upon his trail, could not have jreconnoitred more 60 LB SOUVENIR. it I carefully. At last I emerged from the trees, and breathed more freely as I entered the garden. My wish had been for adventures, and I was punished by its fulfilment. Romance and danger were cer- tainly combined in the one I had just met with. The worthy counsellor gave me a hearty recep- tion, and made me welcome to Wiesenthal. I must be hungry, he said, after my drive, and calling a servant, he bade him brine: refreshment. Cold game and a bottle of Steinbeeger were soon upon the table, and truly I wanted somethins; to revive me after my recent peril. My friendly host pledged me in a bumper, and lamented the absence of his daughters, whom he was most desirous to introduce to me. He hoped they would be back to dinner. I ventured a conjecture that they were on a visit somewhere. Not a bit of it, was the reply ; each one of them had gone her own way, and on her own business. Business ! thought I to myself, what business can these young ladies possibly have ? And I fervently trusted it was not that of waylaying travellers, and shooting at hats with heads in them. " Though I cannot show you my family," quoth the counsellor, when I had done eating, " if you will come with me into the next room, I will make you acquainted with their portraits." I followed Mr. Frager. Beaming out of their ' THBEK aSAOES. 61 ' golden frames were three of the handsomest female faces man's eyes ever rested upon. But my admi- ration was converted into something like terror when I recognized in one of the portraits the re- doutable guerilla who, one short hour before, had sent a bullet within six inches of my head. *^ This blonde," said Frager, playing the show- man, " is my eldest girl, Louisa, a terrible madcap and hairbrained puss, who should have been a boy. I always called her my Nimrod, for she is passion- ately fond of hunting, and rides and shoots to per- fection. I own that I am not partial to such tastes in young ladies, but youth and high spirits must be allowed their way, and as the girl is a real angel in every other respect, and has the best heart in the world, I tolerate her cavalier customs." "As regards the young lady's shooting," Ire- plied, " I have had some experience of it myself this morning. She sent a bullet through my hat as I walked up to the house." And I related my adventure. The counsellor tried to look indignant, but his frown melted into a smile. " Just like the gipsy," he said. *^ But you had nothing to fear. Her hand is steady and her aim sure. n " I will take the liberty to remark that I do not think such masculine accomplishments particularly becoming in a young lady." ! 62 LE SOUVENIR. " Certainly not, certainly not," replied the fond father. *' You nre quite right, and I preach to her every day. But it goes in at one ear and out at the other. And if T get seriously angry, she throws her arms round my neck, and vows she will be a better girl, and leaves me no rest till I forgive and kiss her. Then off she goes, and good resolutions are all forgotten. I couFess my weakness; I h-^ve not the heart to thwart the child." The next portrait was that of the second daughter, Emily by name. It was that of one of the hand- somest brunettes I ever saw — a lofty commanding style of beauty, but the features were an unmistak- able expression of masculine earnestness and deci- sion. 1 stood lost in admiration before the beautiful countenance. The counsellor noted, with evident satisfaction, the effect it produced upon me. ^* That is my Dieffenbach," he said. "Your Dieffenbach I" I repeated, wondering what on earth the renowned surgeon had to do there . "The same," replied Frager, smiling. — "Emily is the cleverest surgeon iu the whole neighborhood . She is just now down at the village, helping the doctor to amputate the hand of a gamekeeper who has had an accident with his gun." " A fine prol'ession," I remarked, not knowing f THREE GRACES. 63 what to say ; and I turned, with somewhat altered feelings, from the portrait of the fair Esculapius. The third portrait was not less charming than the other two. Eich tnasses of brown hair shaded a countenance whose features were more delicate, xind its expression softer, than in that of ei^.her of the other sisters. *' Let us hope," I thought to myself, "that this one has no such extrn^iJaiary and un- womanly tastes as Nimrod and Dieffenbach. She looks milder and more feminine." " That is my Oken," said Frager. *^What? The naturalist?" " The same. This, my youngest daughter, was baptized by the name of Ernestine, but I alwi^vs call her my Oken. No professor knows more of zoology, ornithology^ ichthyology, entomology, and a few other hardnamed sciences. She is passionately bnd of the study of nature, notwithstanding the occasional disagreeables connected with it." "Disagreeables?" ^* Certainly. From her wanderings over hill and dale, through thicket and forest, the girl brings home so much vermin that I have repeatedly been quite angry with her. — Snakes and lizards, frogs and toads, are continually crawling, writhing, and jumping about the house. She is particularly attached to spiders, of which she has a splendid A i II 64 LE SOUVENIR. collection. If you could procure her an American tarantula, which is the object of her most ardent desires, you would at once attain a high place in her esteem. You should see Oken's boudoir," con- cluded the huppy father ; " you would never think you were in a lady's apartment, but in a museum of natural history." *^ My dear," I exclaimed, now completely aston- ished, "how is it that your amiable daughters have become addicted to such extraordinary and unfemi- nine pursuits?" "The cause is soon told, my dear Mr. Frank," replied Frager ; " they had the misfortune to lose their mother very young. My occupation rendered it impossible for me to attend to their education, and I thought I had done all that was necessary when I entrusted the girls to a tutor highly recom- mended to me, but who brought them up like boys. Their only companion was their brother Bernard, since unhappily drowned when studying medicine at the university. From him the sisters learned and inherited their various passions — Louisa, her riding and shooting, Emily her surgery, and Ernes- tine, her natural history. I live in hopes that when they will be weaned from their strange fancies, house keeping will not leave them much time for shooting and operating, or for collecting frogs and snakes. I THREE GRACES, 65 feel that I ought to have been stricter with the girls, but the harm is done now, and I can but hope in the future.'' I was far from displeased at the counsellor's re- velations. The peculiarities of the three beautiful sisters justified opposition to my uncle's wishes. He could not expect me to take to wife a Nimrod a DiefFenbach, or an Oken. The thing was absurd. No amount of gold and beauty could atone for such unwomanly eccentri- cities. At the same time I was curious to see the two young sisters. They must be very beautiful. I was less anxious for another meeting with Miss Nimrod. The whistle of her bullets still resounded in my ears. The female Frieschutze was capable of shooting the cigar from one mouth, or the rose from my button hole. I am not fond of such prac- tical jokes. We had hardly turned into the breakfast room when there was a barking of dogs without, and Louisa dashed into the court on a snow-white pal- frey. Nothing could be more graceful and charm- ing than this slender daring amazon in her well- fitting habit. She sprang lightly from the saddle, and hurried into the house. From the window the counsellor watched her with ill concealed pride and satisfaction. The door flew open, Louisa darted E 66 LE SOUVENIR. in, and, without taking the slightest notice of me, threw her arms round her father's nock. ** Mad girl ! " cried Frager, with a most ineffec- tual attempt at severity of tone, ** do you not see there is a guest in the room, a worthy friend of mine ! Rearing her elegant form to its full height, the wayward beauty, glowing with recent exercise, measured me with a glance that spoke anything but friendly welcome. A sarcastic smile played about her beautiful mouth, which Diana might have envied. " If I do not mistake," said she, coldly, " I have already made the gentleman's acquaintance." " I had the honor," replied I, with a bow, " to serve you as a target." *^ I wish you had behaved better, Louisa," said the counsellor, with some displeasure; "you are really incorrigible." " So he has blabbed already," said the damsel, scornfuily. " Only think, papa," she added, turn- ing to Frager, " the young man was frightened and thought I would kill him 1" " Louisa !" growled her father, now really angry, " I insist upon your treating my esteemed guest with pioper respect." • Louisa answered nothing, but walked pouting to f THREE GRACES. 67 me. jp' the window, and stood there fanning herself with her handkerchief. — Suddenly she turned and ad- dressed me : "Are you a good pistol-shot?" *^ It is some years since I practised," I replied, wondering what on earth was coming next. " Come with me to my gallery j we will shoot a match," " But Louisa," interposed the counsellor, " let our guest rest himself to-day; to-morrow, or the day after, you can shoot as much as you like." **You are not tired, are you ?" said Louisa to me. What could I say but that I was perfectly fresh, and quite at her orders ? I added that I should certainly have no chance of equalling her shooting. *^ Never mind that," was her reply, and she carried oif her victim. I had not fired a pistol for five years j she handled the weapons with a practised dexterity that made me look very clumsy. As I had foreseen, I had not the slightest chance with the expert markswoman. I considered myself very fortunate when I hit the target, which was as big as a plate : whereas she put the bullet in the bull's eye at almost every shot. She soon got tired of that, and fired at birds, and at fruit upon the trees. At last she produced an ace of hearts, and bade me hold it out at arm's length. I inquired her objeot. 68 LE SOUVENIR. She would shoot the ace out, she said. I expostu- lated; she was firm. ** Attention !" she cried, " I fire." I threw the accursed card away, *^ This is tempting Providence," I said. " I have not the least doubt of your skill. On the con- trary — " Louisa stood before me, with her pistol cocked, like a destroying angel. ^' Will you instantly pick up that card, or I send a bullet through your hair." This was worse than scalping. I tried to smile, and turned it off as a joke. " 1 do not joke," calm- ly replied the terrible Louisa, and took a steady aim at my head. I thought I should have fainted. Mechanically I stooped, picked up the card, and held it by the extreme edge, as far from my body as possible. I felt that my hand trembled, but I preferred a shot in the arm to one in the head. The pistol went off and Louisa hurried up to me. My patience was at at an end. " Madame," said I, seriously, and rather angrily, " I must inform you that I do not relish jests of this kind." ** All one to me," was her laughing reply. " I do. But you are only a Philistine," she added, in university phrase, looking down upon me as a student of five years' standing might upon some ^U THREE GRACES. 69 pusillanimous freshman. And away she tripped, discourteously leaving me by myself. 1 thought little of the discourtesy, and was glad to be rid of her at any price. " A real blessing would such a wife be," thought I to myself. And I made up my mind that my stay at Wiesenthal should be of very short dura- tion. Passing through the garden, I met old Fra- ger, who doubtless noticed discomposure on my countenance. " I fear," he said, " that Nimrod has played you some fresh trick." " The young lady." I replied, *• is undoubtedly an excellent shot ; but I am no lover of such military exercises." " You really have nothing to fear." *The devil I haven't!" thought I to myself. " No one," I added aloud, '' can always answer where a bullet will strike. A quicker throb of the pulse, the sudden sting of an insect, may alter the direc- tion of the weapon." The doating father seemed struck by the truth of this ; but he said nothing, and turned the conver- sation. Strolling together through the garden, we stopped to look at a gigantic sunflower, which I thought was the largest I had ever seen. As we stood admiring the enormous flower, a gun was 70 LE SOUVENIR. 'vi- fired close at hand ; the hullet passed less than two feet before us, and went right through the sun- flower, severing it from its stem. This was too much even for Frager's endurance. " By heavens I '* he exclaimed, " you are right ; the girl is intoler- able! " and, turning to Louisa, whose lovely laugh- ing countenance appeared through the branches of a rose-laurel, he ordered her, in an angry tone, to take the gun into the house, and not touch it again for four-and-twenty-hours. Nimrod forthwith dis- appeared. '* I hope," said the counsellor, apologisingly, as we walked back to the house, '* that my Emily will efface the bad impression her sister's pranks have made upon you. If Louisa, with her rage for shooting, risks inflicting wounds, Emily, on the other hand, is always ready to heal them." In the dininsij-room, the table was spread for five. A servant asked if he should bring in dinner. "Are Emily and Ernestine at home?" asked Frager. " Not yet returned." " And Louisa ? " " Miss Louisa has just ridden out again." '^Well," said the patient counsellor, without a wore" of disapproval, " then we shall dine alone. I cannot imagine," he continued, when we had sat THREE GRACES. 71 (Un- too I'' ller- a ourselves down, ** what is come to the girl. I never saw her so unruly and reckless as to-day." For my part, I did not at all regret Nimrod*s absence. Had she been there, I do not believe I could have swallowed a mouthful. I made no doubt that, like the pirate captains of the Spanish Main, she dined with a brace of pistols beside her plate. Notwithstanding the fright she had given me, I was very hungry ; the counsellor's cook was good, and I was passing nearly the first pleasant moments I had since my arrival at Wiesenthal, when the door opened and the dark-browed Emily entered. The portrait had told the truth. She was, if possible, still handsomer than Louisa. Quite dazzled by her beauty, I rose and bowed, Like her sister, she heeded me not, but hurried to her father, and embraced him. " A most successful operation," she cried ; " poor Arnold is saved. It was high time to amputate, however. See here, the state the hand is in." And as she spoke, she unfolded a linen cloth, and displayed the shattered hand with its raw stump. I have always had the greatest horror of operations, and aversion for everything savouring of the dissecting-room ; and the sight of this dead hand made me quite sick. It was all up with my appetite for that day. 72 LE SOUVENIR. i *' But, girl ! " tlie counsellor exclaimed, '• we are at dinuer; how can you bring up such disgusting objects?" " Naturalia non sunt turpia^^^ replied the female surgeon ; " what care art and science about your appetite?" " If you do not consider me," continued Frager, " you might my guest. This is Mr. Frank Stein- man, the nephew of my old friend, of whom I have often spoken to you." Dieftenbach regarded me, as I thought, with no very friendly expression. " Had I known," she said, speaking coldly and contemptuously, *' that the gentleman shudders at blood, and cannot bear to uphold an amputated limb, I would certainly have spared him the sight of the result of our operation. I thought he had been a scientifically educated man." Miss Emily was gradually becoming as odious to me as her gallopping pistol-firing sister. Her father scolded, but his words were mere wind, as regarded their effect upon Dieffenbach, who was far too much engrossed with her amputation to care a copper for parental chidings. Again, putting forward the abominable hand, she began to explain, in scientific phrase, the nature ot the injuries, and the necessity of its removal j when Frager lost all patience, and THREE GRACES. 73 ordered her to itnniediatoly remove the abominable thing from his sight. Emily carefully wrapped up her hand in the cloth and left the room. <' The deuce take me," growled the counsellor, " if I know what is come to her to-day. She does not generally intrude her surgical learning. The successful amputation must have turned her head. Well, let's think no more of it, but return to our dinner." To dinner, with what appetites we might. I could not swallow a bit. I had dined for a week —on that horrible dead flesh. — Presently in came Emily and sat down to table. *' Fall to, my friends," said the hearty and hos- pitable Frager, who saw that I did but play with my knife and fork, and put nothing into my mouth. " This fillet of roebuck is done to a turn." Desirous to conceal the fact that the amputated hand had cut off my appetite, I took out my hand- kerchief and held it to my mouth. ^'What is the matter?" asked the counsellor. Dieffenbach looked inquiringly at me. " I have a tooth that pains me," I replied. " Do you suffer from a decayed tooth? " hastily inquired l.mily. One lie begets another. " At times," I answered, "when eating, one of my double teeth is very apt to ache." 74 LE SOUVENIR. " We must have it out/* said Dieifenbach, in a tone of decision that made me tremble for the safety of my thirty-two perfectly sound grinders. And up she jumped, and hurrying into the next room, returned instantly with an instrument case. ** Pray give yourself no trouble on my account, Miss Emily," I said j ''the pain already dimin- ishes." " We must have it out," repeated Emily, firmly. "A bad tooth is like a bad conscience, it may be stilled for a moment, but never rests. You are never sure of being an hour free from pain." " I am really extremely obliged to you," said I deprecatingly, and observing with horror that the desperate dentist drew from her case a hideous instrument, in form something between a boat- hook and a corkscrew. " At least allow me to examine your teeth ? " *' Must really decline," I replied, setting my jaws firmly together. '' If I once open my mouth," I thought to myself, "this demon is capable of breaking every bit of ivory I have in it." And I muttered a host of excuses, which sufficiently showed my aversion to operations on the teeth. Dieffenbach did not seem to listen to me, but drew an arm-chair to the window, and bade the servant bring in a basin and water. Then with an angelic smile, she invited me to sit down in the chair. THREE GRACES. 75 m a the Iders. next lase. )unt, imin- my *' Satan himself," thought I, ** must have hrought me to this house;" and straightway I declared that I could not consent to submit to any operation, and that, as to toothdrawing, it was clean against my principles. " I will do nothing at all to your mouth," replied Emily ; ' but the teeth are one of my favourite studies, and I beg jou will allow me to examine yours. I thought it rather an odd wish, but I did not like to refuse, lest she should think me a coward. I did make some further objections— would not give her the tro'iblc, and so forth ; but all this was of no use. I at lust had to sit down in the chair by the window, and open my mouth. Just as I did so, the counsellor left the room. My heart sank within me ; I was now completely in the power of this fiend and her forceps. She took a sort of probe, and scraped and poked about my mouth in a manner that was anything but agreeable. I en- dured the pain, however, and said nothing. Then she took some other instrument, and scraped and scratched again. The sufferings of Job can hardly have exceeded mine " Have the goodness to wash out your mouth," said the operator, handing me a glass of water. I did as I was bid, and discovered, to my horror. that my gums bled profusely. my 76 L£ SOUVENIR ^1 I, ; ii I i8M lai " Nothing more dangerous," said this infernal Dleflfenbach, " than to have the gums growing too low down upon the teeth. I have separated them a little." *' Small thanks to you," thought I, and hoped, with a sigh, that my tortures were at an end. Not a bit of it. Emily again rummaged in her instru- ment-case. " I will not trouble you any more," I said clos- ing my mouth. " Only one moment," said the determined dentist, and in an instant thrust some hideous piece of mechanism into my mouth, and grappled a tooth. Before I knew where I was, blue lights danced before my eyes, and I felt as if my jaw was break- ing. The next moment, a magnificent double tooth, with two prodigious fangs, was waved in triumph before my eyes. " It must have come out very soon," quoth Dieffenbach, with imperturbable calmness; "decay had begun, and would shortly have spread to the other teeth, and caused you great pain." I was more dead than alive. My tongue con- vulsively sought the horrible gap left by my de- parted and irreplaceable grinder. ** You have two other double teeth that will not last long," continued Emily; ''if you please, we THREE GRACES. 77 will take them out at once, to save further trouble. My I ^ is in, and I should be of opinion to have ther .." She furnished her diabolical implement, but I shouted with terror, rnd sprang from the chair as if a scorpion had stung me. " As you please," said Emily, with a charming smile, and, gathering together her instruments, left the room with a gracious gesture, leaving me spit- ting blood and musing over this new and most abominable adventure. Never was any suitor so infamously treated— nearly shot through the head by one lady, and having my tooth wrenched out by another. I gazed sorrowfully at the recent oc- cupant of my mouth, which had never caused me a moment's pain, when the counsellor, whose ear my shriek of agony had reached, hastily entered the room and inquired what was the matter. "Your daughter," replied I, in no very friendly tone, *' has been pleased to extract, in spite of my resistance, a perfectly sound tooth from my mouth ; an exploit for which I am far from obliged to her." " Perfectly sound," said Frager, shaking his head ; " there I must beg to differ from. you. Emily understands teeth, and is incapable of such a mis- take. You should rejoice, instead of lamenting. At the price of a momentary pang, you have been saved from much suffering. The operation has 78 LE SOUVENIR. been highly successful, thanks to my daughter's skill. If you complain now, what would you have done had your jaw been broken, as sometimes happens in toothdrawing ? But you must need repose. A short siesta will do you no harm. If you will accompany me, I will show you your room.'* I gladly accepted the oifer, well pleased to have at least a refuge from Nimrod's gun and Dieflfen- bach's instruments. My host led the way to a couifortable and well-furnished apartment, wished me a pleasant nap, and departed. Left alone, I fell to musing on the events of the day, and as I gazed through the window on the beautiful land- scape without, I thought to myself what a pity it was that such a charming residence should be ren- dered intolerable by the vagaries of the owner's daughters. The old gentleman was far too indul- gent — very weak indeed — and seemed to think Dieifeubach had done me a great service by robbing me of one of my best teeth. I made up my mind soon to depart. I would wait to have a look at Oken, that my uncle might not be able to say I had not complied with, his wish that 1 should see all three daughters. As to stopping a week, it was out of the question. Before that time elapsed, I should lose a leg or an arm at the hands of Dieffenbach, or be laid low by the bullets of Nimrod. More beauti- L,«L. THREE GR\CE8. 79 ful girls I had never seen, and doubted that hand- somer existed; but what is the value of beauty in whose presence there is no security for life and limb ? My thoughts turned to the youngest sister, Ernestine. — Judging from her portrait, she was of softer mood than her elders. Her father's account of her partiality to spiders and other vermin was not very encouraging, but at any rate with her one risked neither death nor mutilation. I would gladly have smoked a cigar, my custom of an afternoon, but the state of my gums rendered it impossible. I was quite exhausted by the various extraordinary adventures which in so short a time had occurred to me, and I felt inclined to sleep. The afternoon was very warm, so I puiled off my coat and laid myself down in my shirt-sleeves on a soft and excellent sofa. Sleep soon closed my eyes, but it was neither a pleasant nor a refreshing slumber. The incidents of the day were reproduced and ex- aggerated in my dreams. First came Louisa, and shot my nose completely off, as if it had been the beak of a popinjay at a shooting-match. Then Emily appeared with a horrible screw, which she insisted on passing through my head. The dream was a succession of ghastly visions, each one more painful and oppressive than its predecessor. I tossed about, and groaned, and perspired with terror, but 80 LE SOUVENIR. I i my persecutors wonld not leave me. After Nimrod had shot a hole right through my body, so that the sun shone through, and the landscape behind me was visible to those in front, DieiFenbach ap- proached me, wearing a string round her neck, on which were strung my thirty-one remaining teeth. So that I was as toothless as an old man of a hun- dred, and grievously did I bewail myself. But my sufferings were not over. Dieffenbach produced a long slender sharp-pointed instrument of polished steel, and insisted upon operating upon me for dis- ease of the heart. I naturally protested against this, and made a desperate defence, but all was in vain; invisible hands seized me, fettered me, so that I could not stir ; my breast was bared, and with a fiendish laugh, my persecutor drove the iron into my heart. Thereupon I screamed out loud — and awoke. My dream was not all a dream, al- though it seemed one to me for some seconds after I opened my eyes. Emily stood beside me, a lancet in her hand ; my arm bandaged, and from the vein a dark red streu'iiiet gushed into a basin, held by a maid-servant. " Merciful heavens 1 " I exclaimed, already weakened by the loss of blood, ** what is all this? " *' Hush, hush 1 " said my murderess, for such I now held her to be ; *' keep yourself quiet, or you will bring on fever." THREE GRACES. 81 Nirarod so that behind ach ap- leck, on ■ i : 1 ! i : i i ,1' '19 ' j; 1 . iK 1 1 i blindness, and to avoid contradicting my host, I held my tongue. " You must have been in real danger," said Frager, apologetically. " Emily has excellent judg- ment and a quick e^e, and certainly would not have bled you had it not been necessary ; and to lose a few ounces of blood never does any one harm." I began to lose all patience with this absurd old counsellor, who took his daughters' mad freaks for so many proofs of skill and wisdom. I believe that if they had cut off my head he would hfive main- tained them to be perfectly justified by the preca- rious state of my health. I examined myself to see if there was anything about me that could possibly afford Dieffenbach a pretext for another operation . Commencing with my head, I travelled down to my feet, and rejoiced to find that, with the exception of my tortured mouth and punctured arm, everything was in a perfectly natural and healthy state. There was nothing to justify any further practice of sur- gery upon my unfortunate person. I resolved to be extremely on my guard, and to lock the room door whenever I was alone. The day was near its close when we returned to the house, where we found the supper-table spread. The young ladies were all absent. Heaven only knew in what direction Nimrod was out shooting, THREE GRACES. 83 Dieffonbach amputating, and Oken collecting spiders. I must confess to a greater wish to see Oken, than Minnie, perhaps, would altogether have approved. At any rate, with her I should not be in bodily danger. She would hardly attempt to impale me on a corking-pin, like a beetle or a but- terfly. I was very glad her two sisters did not make their appearance. To me their presence would have embittered the meal. We waited awhile, expecting their arrival, and the counsellor who could not but remark or suppose that the impression made upon me by the occurrence of the morning was not par- ticularly favorable, filled up the interval with praises of his daughters, lauding the excellence of their hearts, and pointing out how much better it was that they should have been suffered to grow up half wild in the country than that they should have been exposed, without the guidance and protection of a mother, to the corrupt atmosphere and dangerous refinements of a town. When upon this theme, Frager was inexhaustible. I never saw a man so much in love with his own children. At last he declared he would wait no longer for the girls, and we began supper. We had been at table about a quarter of an hour, when the door opened, and Oken 5 long expected, came at last. Yery different was the impression she made upon me tQ that pro- ^ jr 84 LE SOUVENIR, 'i\ t ti ! I i; I ! i 11 duced by her sisters. She was quite as pretty, but gentle and amiable in countenance and manner. She did not run past me, like Nimrod and Dieffen- bach, as if I had been a part of the furniture, but bowed hv3r head gracefully and courteously, apolo- gised for her tardy arrival, a. id added that had she known I was it Wiesenthal, the most interesting researches in natural history should not have with- held her from returning home to welcome me. I was delighted to find her so pleasing a contrast to her sisters, and, but for thoughts of Minnie, I should at once have admitted myself vanquished by her charms. She was tastefully dressed — her hair just a little blown about by the evening breeze. In her hand, she carried a covered basket, which she placed upon a chair beside her when she sat down. The conversation turned on natural history. Out of complaisance, and to win her good opinion, I feigned a lively interest in the science, about which I had never in the least troubled my head. We were a most harmonious trio. Counsellor Frager was in the seventh heaven. It was clear to the worthy man that Ernestine and I were born for each other. For my part, I forgot the disasters of tha morning, and basked in the smiles of the lovely naturalist, who by this time was in the latest dis- coveries respecting amphibia. Concerning these, I U THREE GRACES. 85 y, but anner. ieffe li- re, but apolo- ad sbe •esting e with- ne. I ;rast to mie, I jbed by ler hair ;ze. In ich she t down. . Out nion, I t which I. We Frager ■ to the orn for sters of e lovely :est dis- these, I neither knew irr cared anything, but I pretended profound attention, and gazed with delight on the lovely mouth that spoke so learnedly. It was quite a little lecture on reptiles. Presently Ernestine opened the basket beside her, and the next moment an extraordinary object writhed and danced within a few inches of my face. Its appearance was so sudden that I did not at the instant recognize its nature, but when I did, I thought I should have fallen from my chair with terror. A living and very lively snake stretched out towards me its horrible head and forked tongue. ** Here you have a most beautiful specimen of the ." She wound up the sentence with some Latin name of a snake. I was almost beside my- self. From my infancy upwards I had held ser- pents of every kind in extraordinary disgust. Oken detected my discomposure. ''What!" she ex- claimed, laughing scornfully, "you would pass for a naturalist, and are afraid of a snake? Impos- sible!" And the accursed head, with its quivering tongue and bright beadlikc eyes, drew nearer and nearer, Oken seeming to enjoy my manifest uneasiness. *' For Heaven*s sake l" I cried, *' take away that horrible creature." *' I see nothing horrible in it/' quietly replied 86 LE SOUVENIR. illj Ernestine. " Observe how gracefully its body un- dulates." And again th6 reptile writhed itself just before my nose. I jumped up and retreated. . Er- nestine followed me, snake in hand. '' I have never before been able to understand," began the idiotic counsellor, in a doctrinal tone, '* whence arose the peculiar aversion with which men regard all kinds of reptiles." ^* The deuce, you have not!" cried I, still re- treating from Oken and her odious pet. *"• The aversion is not very difl&cult to account for. For my part, I abhor the creatures." "Pshaw!" said Ernestine, angrily; "you are but a counterfeit naturalist." And thereupon she slapped me across the face with the snake. I could not restrain a cry of horror and disgust, Then she returned to her seat, and put the vermin into its basket. In my estimation the counsellor's third daughter had now fallen into the same category with her sisters. Frager, who saw that I was unable to con- quer my innate horror of snakes, had ordered his daughter to discontinue her unseemly jest ; but the poor old gentleman's authority was evidently at a discount that day, and Oken, with diabolical malig- nity, had continued to torture me until the per- spiration rolled off my forehead. THREE GRACES. 87 )dy un- elf just 1. . Er- stand," i\ tone, which still re- ^'The For my you are !pon she I could hen she into its laughter rith her e to cen- tred his but the itly at a il malig- the per- " Now may old Nick fly away with all three of you," said I to myself, as I passed my handkerchief across my dark brow. '' You have seen the last of me atWiesenthal. At daybreak I pack up my traps and leave this place of torment, worse than a cell of the inquisition, or a dungeon in front of de BoDut's castle. A nice place to come a wooing ! — snakes, bullets and tooth-drawing! — pleasant wel- come for a suitor I" The evening wore wearily away. Miss Oken, having ascertained that I was no naturalist, adopted her sister's system, and treated me with, profound contempt ; in fact, she hardly seemed aware of my presence. For my part, the sympathy with which she had at first inspired me had completely vanished. Frager was quite put out by the change in his daughters' demeanor, and of course cast the blame of it on me. " I should have never thought," he said, " that you would be so alarmed by a little harmless snake." *' Who could have supposed it ?'' cried Ernes- tine, applauding her father's words. *^ We are dif- ferent sort of people here." *' It is impossible to change one's nature," I re- plied. "Nature!" repeated Ernestine j " what do you 88 LE SOUVENIR. 11 know about nature? For Heaven's sake hold your tongue." This was really too rude. I was on the point of making a sharp reply, when I saw Oken extend her hand towards the reptile's cage. I kept silence, and prepared for flight. Never have I passed two more irksome hours than those that elapsed before bedtime came. The counsellor proposed a cigar. I caught at the idea. With a glowing havanna in my mouth, I felt as if I should be safer from the assault of that cobra de capello, or whatever else it was, that Oken kept beside her like a greyhound in leash, ready to let slip upon her game. I vowed to myself to smoke the beast to death if possible. Again I was to be balked. *' Bless me, papa I " cried the naturalist, ^' you forget that my pet cannot endure smoke. Can you ? '* she said, raising, to my infinite alarm, the lid of the snake -inhabited hamper, *' True, my dear," placidly replied her father, "I did not think of it;" and, turning to me, " Excuse me, my dear friend," he added, " but the little animal really cannot endure tobacco." It is bad enough to be henpecked, but to be chickpecked, to be the slave of three daughters, and they possessed of the devil, appeared to me the THREE GRAOES. 89 lowest depth of human degradation. So, because a wretched viper objected to the fragrant vapor of a cigar, I was to be deprived of my after-supper smoke. For a momeiit, my impulse was to kick the counsellor, jump upon the basket, and bolt from the house ; but calmer thoughts succeeded, and I sat resigned, merely secretly wishing that Oken and the snake were sitting tHe-a-tete in a Libyan desert or a Louisiana swamp, and -that I was an hundred leagues from Wiesenthal. I had suffered so much all day that my moral energy was completely gone. I was overwhelmed by the rapid succession of un- pleasant events. I st<\rted at every noise, expecting to see Nimrod or Dieffenbach, or both of them, enter the room and perpetrate some fresh aspault upon me Nimrod would, of course, begin snuffing the candles with pistol bails; and Dieffenbach, as soon as she observed my state of nervous excite- ment, would insist upon blisters and mustard- plasters, and perhaps upon a little more phlebotomy. Hitherto I had but one sister at a time to dealwith^ But if they formed a triple alliance, and set upon me in concert, I was lost, without hope of rescue. — Fortunately, neither of the elder sisters made their appearance, and at last the youngest, to my great relief, took up her basket and departed. No sooner was she gone than Frager, according to his 90 LE SOUVENIR. I custom, tried to remove the disagreeable impression she hud made upon me. One got accustomed in time, he said, to her strange tastes aud stranger pets, and when once she was married, she would give up her researches in natural history, and settle into an excellent wife. I was quite sick of the simple old creature's infatuation and apologies, and begged to be allowed to go to bed. " At last, said I to myself, on findi.ig myself alone in my room, " I shall have a little repose after the heat and burthen of the day, after all my dangers and adventures." So tired was I that I immediately undressed, blew out the lights and sought my bed. — Pulling back the clothes, I stepped in and much more hastily jumped out again. I hf?d come upon some hard substance which moved between the sheets. If I was not greatly mistaken, it was a live tortoise. Whilst I deliberated whether I should cry murder, sleep on the sofa, or dress and leave the house, something bit my great toe with such violence that I actually yelled with agony. A gi- gantic crawfish clung to my foot. I kicked about in so desperate a manner that I at last shook the creature off and I heard it go with a crack against the wall. I fled to the sofa. A horrible thought assailed me. What if Frager, through absence of mind, had ushered me into Oken's museum and THREE GRACES. 91 menagerie. This appeared to me the more probable that on all sides 1 heard strange sounds, as if nu- merous creatures were crawling, trotting, singing, and humming aiound me. Something flew up to me with a buzz and a bounce, and caught in my hair. I clutched at it, and shuddered as I found in my grasp a beetle as big as a sparrow. I dashed it furiously from me, and had the satisfaction of hearing it smash against some hard substance. Scarcely was I rid of the beetle when I was bitten sharply in the calf of the leg. I put down my hand, but the creature had done his work .?nd gone, leav- ing a severe smarting and irritation. I know not whether it was he or one of his ^riends who the next instant made an onslaught upon my ankle. I began to hunt about for the match-box, that I might at least see my enemies. I sought in vain, and was quite unable to conjecture the nature of the monsters that, during my search, pinched, bit, stung and assailed me in every conceivable manner. Once or twice I trod with my bare foot on hideous rep- tiles, whose cold slimy touch made me leap into the air. My capers would doubtless have diverted any who saw them, but to me it was no laughing matter. No martyr of ancient times, or victim of the vehm- gemcht ever suflfered more th^n I did in that cham- ber of horrors. The monsters that congregate on H IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) V. / ///// / O X ^KO ///// ^ m 1.0 I.I 1.25 lii 1118 150 Mi ■u 1^ 1^ IIIIM 12.0^ LB 1.4 ill 1.6 V] *^ ■^ /^ >^ o e). s. ej ^m * % V > c2r .> ^?^ f r c? / Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14S80 (716) 872-4503 C^ '^1^^^ % V > ;ination further embellished them. Pre- sently I heard a hiss. " A snake, by all that's horrible I" said I to myself, '* about to coil round and devour me " And I set up such an infernal clamour, shouting and cursing, like Ajax when wounded, that I must have been audible half a mile round the house. To add to the turmoil, in my eagerness to escape from something which I heard coming after me with a sort of clapping noise, I up- set the table. Several large boxes which stood upon it were opened by the fall, and I immediately perceived a great increase of animation around me. I continued to storm like a lunatic. It was all one to me whether anybody in the house slept or not. The awful row I kept up at lust roused the coun- sellor, who made his appearance in his dressing-gown, candle in hand. He at once saw the cause of the disturbance. " Hang the girl !" he cried ; " she will soon fill the whole house with her zoological collections." I put myself in mind of pictures I had seen of Adam on the sixth day of the creation, surrounded by all manner of beasts and creeping things. Frager led the way to another room, which as yet was not invaded by Okeu's vermin. THREE ORAOXS. 93 variety md my 1. Pre- tliat's round nferual when 'a mile in my . heard 3, 1 up- . stood diately id me, all one or not. i coun- 2en of mded 'rager IS not *' You have nothing to fear here," said my host ; and added, true to his system of making the best of everything, ''you will sleep all the better for your little misfortunes." " Heaven grant it I " sighed I, and thought that I should have slept quite well enough without them. After searching the whole room, under the bed, in the drawers and closets, and satisfying myself that no specimens of natural history, either alive or dead, were there, 1 again got between the sheets — this time without encountering a tortoise, but not the less determined to fly Wiesenthal at cockcrow. With this wholcsom*^ resolve, I stretched mvself out and went to sleep, as I presume the tortoise did in the bed originally destined for me. Scarce had AuroTa, with her rosy fingers, Tinged the hill*tops and bathed the plain in dew, when I was afoot and packing. Whilst thus oc- cupied, I reflected that, under all the circumstances, French leave was decidedly the best leave for me to take, otherwise I should have a regular fight with Frager, who would never let me depart. When I halted for the night, I would write him a letter, telling him that, with the best will in the world, I had been unable longer to endure the eccentricities of his charming daughters. I would put it to him 94 LE SOUVENIR. i as gently as possible, so as not to hurt his feelings ; and I felt sure that when he reflected on all that I had gone through under his roof, he would not feel surprised at my abrupt departure. Nor could my uncle blame me, when I told him of my tribulations, and related the conduct of the three mad women. Whilst pondering all these things, I completed my packing. I made sure that nobody would be stirring in the hcuse at that early hour, and at any rate that the ladies would be deep in their feather- beds. I was deliberating whether I should bravely shoulder my portmanteau, or leave it to be sent after me, when the door burst open, and to my im- mense consternation, in strode Mimrod, a brace of duelling pistols in her hand. ** Merciful heavens! " said I to myself, "torture begins again. It must be owned that these amiable demons go to work early." Without salutation or ceremony, Nimrod strode up to me. " Your conduct last night," she said, "your ill- treatment of my sister's property, and barbarity to several of her pets, are an insult to the family, and demand atonement. I have taken the business into my hands. We '^ill exchange shots." " Are you out of your mind ? " cried I, impa- tiently. THREE GRACES. 95 imrod strode " You will soon see that," replied Louisa, coldly and decidedly. " Answer me. Is it you who broke the claw of that rare specimen of the lobster tribe ? Is it you who threw the horned beetle with such violence against the wall, that the poor creature is still unable to walk or fly ? And are you the delin- quent who upset the cases in which colonies of spiders, earwigs, and centipedes had long led a tran- quil and happy life? Do you confess all these offences ? " My politeness was clean gone. I had come to consider Nimrod as a man, and should as soon have thought of putting on white kid gloves to saddle a horse, as to use towards her that subdued tone, and those guarded expressions one usually adopts with the gentler sex. " May the devil fly away with the whole brood I '* cried I, perfectly exasperated at being called to ac- count for my defence against the menagerie. "Follow me, sir," said Louisa; "such expres- sions as these can be washed out only with blood. Come, sir I " " Nonsense 1 " I replied ; " I do not fight duels ^with young ladies." " Ha I " cried Nimrod, stepping up close to me, [with raised pistol and an unwholesome sparkle iu her eye; " Nonsense, did you say ? Afraid, I sup- pose. But it won't do. Follow me, sir." It' ■» 96 LE SOUVENIR If " I tell you again that I will not. How can I answer to God and my conscience for having level- led a pistol at you ? " " ^ieed not to level it without you choose. Fire in the air. i am the aggrieved party and will fire at you." ** A thousand thanks.*' " For the last time I ask if you will follow me ? If not, I declare you the greatest coward that ever trod the earth and called himself a man." " As you please." " Yes, but that is not all. You shall carry away a mark that will remind you, yoyir life long, of your conduct this day." "A mark," said I to myself ; ''what does the assassin mean ? She is capable of any crime.'- And I confess I felt uneasy. Louisa came nearer and nearer, her pistol raised, her countenance threaten- ing. In her eje there was something deadly and alarming. I began to retreat. As I drew back, she advanced, taking step for step with me, her pistol aimed at my head, her finger, as it seemed to me, actually pressing the trigger. I could bear it no longer. " Fiend I " I exclaimed, " for Heaven's sake leave me in peace. I am about to quit this inhospitable house." THREE GRACES. 97 "You are going away?" cried Louisa, in a strangely joyful tone, and sinking the muzzle of her pistol. " I heartily wish I had never come," was my answer; ** nor would I but for my uncle's de- sire. >» " Speak the truth! " said Louisa, resuming her threatening tone. ** It was not your uncle's desire alone, but views of your own, that brought you to Wiesenthal. You wished to marry me or one of my sisters." " Good heavens ! " I exclaimed, " marry you ? I should as soon think of marrying a Minie rifle. Never dreamed of such a thing, I assure you. Be- sides, I am engaged to be married already." " What ! " cried Louisa, perfectly overjoyed. And she threw the pistol away, and herself almost in mj arms. ^■' What ! you are engaged to be mar- ried ? Why did you not say so before ? " "I was not asked the question," replied I, quite taken aback by the sudden embrace and change of mood. " You would have saved yourself a deal of un- pleasantness, poor fellow ! " continued Louisa, " I would not have shot at you, nor would Ernestine have tormented you with her snake, nor Emily have let your blood and drawn your tooth." O 98 LE SOUVENIR. I , i w I ' liiM ! " I should have been well pleased to have been spared the last operation," said I. *' You would have found us all very amiable, good tempered girls." " I have no doubt of it, since you say so ; but I really do not understand " " I will explain," said the transformed Nimrod who each moment oecame gentler and more charm- ing. " It is a secret; but we, too, are engaged to be married." " All three ? " *' All three. Notwithstanding our rather mascu- line tastes, we arc women at heart." " I am glad to hear it." ^^Are you? And surprised, too, apparently • Well, never mind; you will learn to know us better But our father, kind and indulgent though he be, is a great deal too practical in love matters. He thinks too much about what he calls " good matches," and unfortunately the men of our choice do not come under that head. One is a lieutenant with nothing but his pay, the other a clergyman without a living, the third an artist whose pictures nobody buys." ay I venture to enquire which of the three beautiful Louisa has honoured with h< u pre- ference ? )» (( The clergyman, >> I THREE GRACES. 99 ive been amiable, ; but I [ Nimrod re cbarm- igaged to er mascu- pparently* us better . igh he be, iters. He Is " good our choice lieutenant clergyman )se pictures f the three bh her pre- '^ The clergyman I *' I repeated, perfectly as- tonished. " You think me rather too wild to be a parson^s wife?'^ " Well," I replied, when her sharp shooting ex- ploits recurred to my mind, " a preacher of peace and a daring sportswoman " <' Love levels everything," returned Louisa, with enchanting frankness. *' And do you think I can- not be gentle when I please ? " '* I think that to you nothing is impossible." ^* When it is to please him — nothing!" she an- swered, with a touch of the old Nimrod energy. The next instant the woman resumed the ascendant. She cast down her eyes, and blushed divinely at the confession that had escaped her. Then, recover, ing herself: " Not a word, I entreat, to my father of what I have told you. He would never forgive us. We pray to Heaven day and night to improve the circumstances of the men of our choice, for whose sake we have already driven more than one wooer from Wiesenthal. When a danger of that kind approaches, we form our plans, and if one of us does not succeed in repelling it, another surely does. Confess whether, even if you had not al- ready given away your heart, you would have sought one of us as a wife after yesterday's adven- tures?" ! i I ■ i *. f) u i 100 LE SOUVENIR. *' Not if you had had Provinces for your dowry," was my uncivil but honest reply. "Many thanks," said Louisa, laughing. "An excellent proof of the efficacy of our measures.'* I now had to tell my new friend about my love aflfairs, and how it was that I found myself nearly in the same position as herself, since my uncle had no idea of my attachment to Minnie, the poor widow's daughter. To make a long story short, I was introduced over again to Dieffenbach, who no longer menaced my masticators, or flourished a lan- cet; and to Oken, now unaccompanied by her viper; and I found the three sisters as amiable as I the day before had thought them detestable. I was obliged to remain a few days longer at Wiesenthal. To confirm our alliance, prove my forgiveness, and heap coals of fire upon the heads of my tormentors, I volunteered to undertake the delicate task of in- terceding with the counsellor, and declared that I would not leave the house until he had given his consent to his daughters' marriage with the men they preferred. Upon receiving this promise, the sisters were near killing me with kindness and ca- resses. It was no small thing I had pledged my- self to perform, but, thus encouraged, I felt myself equal to any difficulty. We had a council of war, and that same day the siege began. I worked hard THREE GRACES. 101 in the trenches, was repeatedly under fire^ and had to repel several smurt sorties. On the first day I made little prof];ress ; but, encouraged by the implor- ing looks and honeyed words of the female besieging army, I persisted, and held my ground. Frager proved an obstinate old fortress. Fond though he was of his daughters, and generally indulgent and easy-going, in some things he was stubborn as any mule. However, on the evening of the second day I had opened a breach, and on the thir ^ I headed the storming party. Thereupon the enemy hung out the white flag, and asked for a day's truce. This was granted, but a strict blockade was maintained. The truce expired, the storming party again ad- vanced, capitulation ensued, and general rejoicings celebrated our triumph. The betrothal of the three sisters was now offi- cially announced, and the customary festival was to take place in a fortnight. I was to be there, and to bring Minnie with me. For, as a good deed rarely goes unrewarded, Frager, my conquered foe, undertook to intercede with my uncle and obtain his consent.' And so, after another happy day at Wiesenthal, I departed, a tooth the poorer than on my arrival, but radiant with victory and rich in hope. It was long since I had seen my worthy uncle 102 LE SOUVENIR, 5 ' \l laugh so heartily as at the narration of my adven- tures with the counsellor's daughters. It put him in such a fine humour that when Frager, true to his promise, made his appearance a d;iy or two later, he had much less difficulty than I expected in ob- taining his consent to my union with Minnie. A fortnight afterwards, a happy party was assembled at Wiesenthal; I made the acquaintance of tlie par- son, the dragoon, and the painter, and was obliged to admit that Nimrod, DieiFenbach, and Okon had shown both good taste and good judgment in their choice. My day's adventures at Wiesenthal were of course again brought upon the tapis, and were a source of never-ending mirth. The three young men who, directly, were the cause of my misfortunes, cordially consoled with me. But DieiFenbach, the operator, declared (and let this be the moral of my tale) that the loss of my tooth was but a just pun- ishment for going to look at other women when I was already a plighted and accepted lover ; a senti- ment in which her sisters and Minnie (especially the latter) most cordially concurred. Before the year was out, there were four wed- dings at Wiesenthal. Since then two more years have elapsed, bringing on their wing various changes, most of them for the better. Although I did not marry exactly as my uncle wishedj he did not the I QREOIAN ART. 103 less make me his partner. Nimrod, engrossed with gentler cares, is no longer a bportiiig character; much to the satisfaction of her husband, who has a pleasant country living. DieflFenbach has long since retired from medical practi(Je ; and the dragoon, now a captain, is quartered a few miles from Wicsen- thal. Oken pets a baby instead of a snake. The painter has thrown away his unprofitable palette, has taken to agriculture, and lives with his father- in-law, whose estate he manages. Such are the satisfactory results of my " Courtship under Dif- ficulties." GRECIAN ART. The study of Grecian art is as rich and various as that of Grecian literature ; for in the forms which the ancient Greeks gave to their marbles, we find the same pliability and variety of genius which is manifested in their literature. When we inquire regarding the causes which contributed to produce the excellence of Grecian works of art, we shall easily find several: — (1.) The influence of a fine climate; (2,) the mode of government ;^ and, (3,) the connection of art with public festivals and religious ceremonies. In the first place, we must ascribe some part of the cheerful development of 104 LE SOUVENIR. [Ill » III 1 ! life and genius araong the Greeks to the influence cf a beautiful clime. Greece appears to have been a land elected by heaven for the unfolding o^ beauty : its geographical situation and its temper- ature were favorable to this purpose, though it did not enjoy a perpetual spring, yet its general char- acter was fivorable to the life in the open air, and the public games and festivals in which the people delighted* * * * Next to V e influence of climate, we must consider, as another cause, the cheerful and benevolent disposition of the people. Of this history supplies many proofs. One poet tells us that the sympathetic disposition of the Athenians was noted. Outcasts ;ind refugees from other countries found in Athens an asylum, as we may observe even in the early times of the war between the Argives and the Thebans. The joyous Athenian spirit produced theatrical and other amusements ** to preserve life frum the influence of dulness and melancholy," as Pericles says. Of the benevolent spirit of the Athenians we find a striking proof when we contrast their public games with the sanguinary spectacles of gladiators and wild beasts fighting together in the amphitheatres of Rome. The Grecians in their best days, turned away with horror from such exhibitions of cruelty. When in the times of the emperors, a gladiatorial spec- GRECIAN ART, 105 tacle was appointed to be given at Corinth, the Greeks said, " we must throw down our altars sacred to pity before we can find amusement iu oUch a spectacle ;*' but under the influence of Rome, this spirit of humanity was debased, and at last a fight of gladiators was presented at Athens. The ^ree government of Athens was the nurse of genius and art. Even in the old times of the Kings, before the Greeks aspired to self-government, we may believe that a considerable degree of freedom was enjoyed under monarchy. Homer indicates the mild and paternal rule of Agamemnon by styling him '^the Shepherd of the people." Though tyrants arose in some states, the whole Hellenic nation was never under the sway of any one despot. Until the conquest of the Island of Naros by the Athenians, no city was subject to another — each enjoyed its own institutions. The Athenians were jealous of everything like a monopolizing of great- ness and honor. Their institutions encouraged all to stwve toward that nobility which genius, wisdom and virtue could claim ; and their works of art were the results of the same free spirit of emulation. A statue might be erected in one of their public places to commemorate the beauty, the swiftness, or the physical .strength of any individual, though he had risen from the lowest rank. Parents might ercof li ^ 106 LE SOUVENIR. statues of their children in the temples : of this we find an instance in the mother of Agathocles. The honor of a statue in Athens was, indeed, almost as common as a mere title or a badge, such as a cross to be worn on the breast, in our own times. When the poet Pindar alluded to the renown of the Athenians, though it was only in a few words in one of his odes, the men of Athens did not express their pleasure and gratitude in mere words, accord- ing to our modern style, but erected a noble statue of the poet in front of the Temple of Mars * * * The earliest Greeks esteemed every beautiful development of the powers of human nature long before they discovered the value of erudition, or the cultivation of the abstract intellect, and, accordingly the most ancient sculptures were produced in honor of physical or athletic qualities. Thus we read an account of a statue of Eutelides, a Spartan wrestler, which was erected at Elis, in the 38th Olympiad, and probably this was net the first statue made for such a purpose. In the inferior public games, as at Megara, a stone inscribed with the victor's name was used instead of a statue. Great was the honor of success in these public athletic exercises ; for the earlier Greeks had no thought of that neglect and degradation of the physical powers which belongs to modern times. Bodily excellence, as well as GRECIAN ART. 107 ntellectual power, often gained for its possessor the honor which art could bestow, and even the appel- lation " divine." Men of genius endeavored to win the palm in athletic exercises. Thus Chrysip- pus and Cleanthes were well known as victorious athletes before they became renowned as philoso- phers. The profound and eloquent Plato appeared among the wrestlers in the Isthmian gamei at Corinth, and also in the Pythian games at Sicyon. Even the meditative Pythagoras gained a prize at Elis, and gave instructions for athletic training to Eurymenes, who afterwards gained a prize at the same place. The statue of a victor, erected in some sacred or public place, and admired by the whole nation, was a powerful stimulus to the ambition of the athlete and the sculptor. So great was the honor of an Olympian victor, that his native city was regarded as participating in his renown : he was supported by the public, and when he died, received the homage of the people in nublic burial * * * Euthymus of Locri, in Italy, who had, with only one exception, been regularly the victor at Elis, was not only honored with a statue, but, by the command of an oracle, even during the lifetime of the victor, homage was paid to the statue. The moral virtues, however, were not forgotten in the midst of this enthusiastic admiration of physical JT 108 iE SOUVENIR. I I 'i ll ! iii power and beauty. Statues were erected to preserve the memory of worthy citizens. Dionysius tells us of the statue of a good citizen at Cuma in Italy, which was thrown down and otherwise dishonored by the tyrant Aristodemus. The way to honor was open to all who possessed superior powers of mind or body. The philosopher, or the wisest man in town, was honored as we now esteem the richest man, the millionaire. And various faculties of a superior order might be harmoniously developed by one individual j for the restriction of the mind to one province or department of intellect or art, which we find so commonly among modern painters, and musicians, was not thought necessary by the Greeks. A sculptor might be a moral philosopher, or like other citizens, might rise to command the army of a state. Thus, in later times, the Emperor Marcus Aurelius acknowledges that he received some lessons in moral philosophy from Diognetus the painter. One great consequence of the general appreciation of beauty among the Greeks, was that the artist was not condemned to work to gratify the pride, vanity, or caprice of any one noble patron j but was supported and encouraged in the efforts of genius by the gfineral voice of the people. And this people was not a rude untaught demo- cracy, but was under the direction of the wii^st GRECIAN ART. 109 minds. The honors which were awarded by public assemblies to competitors in art were generally fairly and intelligently distributed. In the time of Phidias, there was at Corinth, as also at Delphos, a public exhibition of paintings, over which the most competent judges presided. Here Panaenus, the relative of Phidias, contended for a prize with Timagoras of Chalais, when the latter proved vic- torious. Before such competent adjudicators Action produced his painting of "Alexander's Marriage with Roxane"; and Proxenides, the judge who pronounced the decision, was so well pleased with the work, that he gave his daughter to be married to the painter. Universal fame did not unfairly prevail over rising mcnt. At Samos, in the paint- ing of the weapons of ^* Achilles," the renowned Parrhasius failed to win the prize, which was carried away by the comparatively obscure artist Timanthes. Artists labored not merely to gain the applause of their contemporaries, but also for im- mortal renown ; and the immediate reward gained by some of their works was so ample, that they could afford to perform others gratuitously, to win honor, or to glorify their native land. Thus Poly- gnotus painted the Poecile at Athens, and also decorated a public building at Delphos with scenes taken from the siege of Troy. As an acknowledg- I ' 110 LE SOUVENIR. !m ! -i ment of his services in the latter instance, the Amphictyonic Council dcreed that this artist should be gratuitously entertained in every town through- out Greece. Honor and fame, indeed, attended every artist who rose to excellence in his depart- ment. Even in the present day, wo knov7 the name of the architect who built an aqueduct in the Island of Samos, and of the shipwright who built the largest ship for the same Island. The name of a stone mason, Architiles, renowned for his skill in hewing columns, has been also preserved, with the names of two excellent weavers who wove a mantle for Pallas at Athens; a mechanic named Parthenius who made true balances; a saddler who copied the shield of Ajax in leather; and even a certain Peron, who had the art of compounding very fragant oint- ments. Thus all useful and elegant work, dis- playing taste and geniu«, gained honor among the Greeks. But art was chiefly devoted to its highest objects, — the exposition of religious ideas, or of the nobler developments of human life— and did not stoop to make trivial playthings, or to furnish the private houses of rich men with ostentatious luxuries. The rich citizens in the best days of Athens lived in houses modestly and sparingly furnished, while th^y subscribed munificently to raise costly and beautiful statues in the public I':'; GENEVA. Ill temples. Miltiades, Tbemistocles, Aristides, and Cimon, the chieftains and deliverers of their country, did not distinguish themselves from their fellow citizens by dwelling in grand and expensive houses. Thus the wealth which was saved by the modesty of private life may pirtly account for the munificent patronage of genius. GENEVA. How ravished with admiration is the traveller, when upon a fine summer's day, after having crossed the summit of the Jura mountains, he beholds the great plain of Geneva ; when he views for the first time that beautiful lake, whose waterg reflect the blue sky, but purer and deeper ; that Vast plain so well cultivated, and covered with smiling habitations ; those hills rising gently and clothed with a rich vegetation; those mountains adorned witt forests always green ; the lofty crests of the High Alps, encircling this superb amphi- theatre, and Mont Blanc, that giant of European mountains, elevated above and crowning all with his eternal snows. The intermingling of light and shade produces an effect that no description can give an adequate idea of to any one who has toot •ff-W 112 LE SOUVENIR. seen if. And this beautiful country, so well adapted to strike the imagination, and nourish the talent of the artist and the poet, is probably still more so, to arrest the curiosity of the philosopher, and to excite the resources of the naturalist. It is here indeed that nature seems to satisfy herself in a greater number of respects. The most rare plant?, from those of temperate climates to those of the frigid zone, cost the botanist but a few steps. The zoologist can study an infinite variety of insects. The lake forms for the naturalist also, a sort of sea, from its depth and extent, and even from the violence of its movements. The geologist, who sees elsewhere only a very superficial portion of the earth's crust, here finds central masses upheaved and piercing everywhere their envelopes to display themselves to his view. In short the meteorologist can constantly observe "the formation of the clouds, penetrate and elevate himself above them. EBWAED JENNER. 113 Ei>WARD JENNER. LA FRANCE RECONNAISSANTE 11 Septembre, 1865. BoiTLOGNE SUE MeR, The beneficent discovery of vaccination to pre* vent small-pox is appreciated so highly by the physicians and soiertifio men of France, that they proposed, some years ago, at a meeting of the Soci^t^ des Sciences Industrielles, Arts et Belles Lettres de Paris, to erect the statue to Dr. Jenner, which which now stands on the Place des Bains at Bou* logne. It was at Boulogne that Dr, Woodville and Dr. Nor veil, two of the disciples of Jenner, landed during the peace of Amiens, as soon as English visitors had permission to land, with the humane and friendly purpose of introducing his most useful discovery to the medical practitioners of France. The erection at Greenwich Hospital, of a monument in honor of Lieutenant Bellot, the French naval officer who volunteered to join in the search for Sir John Franklin, and who lost his life in the attempt, had furnished a precedent for the Jenner memoria 114 LE SOtJVENlR. ir i t! at Boulogne. The Government of the Emperor Napoleon having readily approved of the scheme, it assumed almost a national character. A sculptor of repute, M. E. Paul, furnished the design and superintended the casting, without any pecuniary reward. The statue was formally consigned to the munici- pality of Boulogne, on Monday, 11th Sept., 1865. A procession, consisting of M. le Maire (Dr. Livois) M. le Baron de Farincourt^ the Sous Prefet of the arrondissement de Boulogne j M. Pinart, the repre- sentative in the Corps Legislatif; M. Seneca, member of the counsel-general; M. M. Crony, Charles Bellet, and A. Dubout, adjoints du maire ; M. le Marquis du Planty, president; M. Bpisson- neau, vice-presiden ' M. Adolphe Favre and M. Ledier, secretaries; M. C. Fournier, treasurer; M. Eugene Paul, statuary; and Messrs, Baschon, Rebillal, El wart, Laverdet, and Eugene Blot, members of the Soci^td des Sciences, Industrielles, Arts et Belles Lettres de Paris; most of the municipal council, all the civic • and government functionaries in uniform ; together with a large attendance of French citizens and English residents, proceeded to the Place des Pains, headed by the bands of the commune, the Sapeurs, Pompiers, and DouaneS) the companies of the two latter form- EDWARD JENNER. 115 mperor leme, it sculptor ign and 3cuniary munici- t., 1865. . Livois) ■et of the he repre- Seneca, , Crony, u maire; Bpisson- 3 and M. treasurer ; Baschon, ene Blot, lustrielles, ist of the 3vernment th a large L residents, ed by the Pompiers, atter form- ing the escort of honor. Hero a multitude of spectators awaited the arrival of the procession, to assist in the ceremony, which was commenced by an oration delivered by Dr. Gros, a physician prac- tising at Boulogne, and eminent in his profession, who, in well chosen words, enlarged on the benefits derived by mankind from the investigations and ultimately the great discovery effected by Dr. Jen- ncr, whose memory they had assembled to honor. The learned Doctor, on behalf of his medical brethren, and more particularly on behalf of the citizens of Boulogne, of whose local government he is a member, oflfcred to the Soci^td des Sciences Industrielles, through their president, M. Le Mar- quis du Planty, the thanks of the Boulonnais for the splendid statue which now adorns the city. The Mayor of Boulogne having also spoken, the Marquis du Planty, who is himself a physician, replied, expressing his gratification, and remarking that it would be almost impossible for any English- man to pass through Boulogne without looking at this statue, and appreciating the honor accorded, as well to Dr. Jenner as to the British nation. This sentiment called forth much applause, both from French and English, amid which M. Le Mar- quis concluded his address. M. Le Maire then unveiled the statue, which \ . 5 •' *»-^ 116 LE SOUVENIR. Btands on a marble pedestal about twelve feet high; the statue itself measures nearly ten.feet in height. It is of iron, bronzed by galvanic aid, and cast by M. Brochon, of Paris. The pose of the figure is easy, and it is clothed in the costume of 1810. The head is slightly inclined, as though absorbed in thought. In the right hand he holds a lancet. The left hand reposes on a pile of treatises placed on a pedestal, from which depends a sketch of a cow. The right foot is firmly placed over the word " Angle ter re," while the left is advanced over the word ** France "; on the border of the ground- work is inscribed the name of " Jenner," and on the pedestal is imprinted ** k Edouard Jenner, la France reconnaissante, 11th Septr., 1865." At the moment of uncovering the statue, the Orpheons of Boulogne, under the direction of M. Alex. Guilmant, accompanied by the communal band, under that of M. A. Lefevre, the whole under the especial direction of M. A. Alvart, Professor of the Conservatoire de Paris, the author of the words and composer of the music, sang a cantata in honor of Jenner with great taste, eliciting much applause. This concluded the ceremony The procession then reformed and returned to the Hotel de Ville. A magnificent banquet was given in the Grande Salle in the College Communal, under the presidency 1 iiiii EDWARD JENNER, 117 of M. Le Maire, at which upwards of 260 gon tie- men sat down. The healths of His Imperial Majesty and family, and of Her Majesty the Queen of England were given, and leceived with much applause. In the evening a fete, with fireworksi was given in the Jardin des Tintelleries, and a grand bal pard at the Etablissement des Bains, which was most numerously and fashionably attended, closed the festivities. Our own great dead I We neglect even our great men I There is one alive now, whom all men honour, and love, and bless ; but it might rain stars and garters, and pensions in this herald-ridden island, before anything worthy of his glorious gift to humanity would be conferred on Dr. James Simp- son, of Edinburgh. Science, humanity, and solid, sterling work are so scurvily treated, and learn to be so modest, while lucky knavery and good cour- tiership glitter with rewards, that he will probably not thank us for bringing his name into the light* We shall even be asked by some, " Who is Dr. Simpson of Edinburgh?'* We answer that Dr Simpson is the man who gave the world the grand, the blessed gift of chloroform. Come with us, en- quiring public, a careless, star-scattering government man, to the operating room of a London hospital. I>o you know what that room used to be in the 1 ! n i;t 118 TjE souvenir. year before 1847 ? A scene of daily agcgiy, and keen torture unspeakable, to which men were obliged to apprentice themselves with sickness and fainting fits, ere they could witness it unmoved. Battle wounds are nothing ; pain that comes and goes is nothing ; but to have a surgeon's knife searching in the home of life — to have his scalpel parting the living tissue — to feel the saw rasping the bone, and forceps pinching tho nerve, and to be held down amidst the agony, until gentle nature took sense and agony away in a sickly swoon — that was once the terrible experience of the operating room. Shall we make jthe picture complete with a sketch of those cockpits where the stump of the man-of-war's man was plunged into hot pitch to stop the bleed- ing, and when poor Jack came too again, the sur- geon's knife was ready to cut and sliver him under his own eyes ? Or shall we speak of the sight that Listen and Brodie have seen a hundred times, when some unhappy girl, accursed with a cruel disease, has been carried, white and shaking, to the theatre, and has died in agony under the slash of the knife ? Ah ! others than girls have grown white, for generation after generation, at the sight of that awful knife, so necessary and so cruel. Strong men, borne from the battle, turned, silent and pale, from its dreadful gleam; brave hearts EDWARP JENNER. 119 chose death rathor than the living anguish of the operating table. Yet for all the years of disease and wounds that had afflicted humanity, there was no resource in many a hopeless case, but the slew agony and uncertain gain. What did Mr. James Simpson do? Why — heaven bless him for his gentle work ! — ^he sat, and schemed, and read and labored, and experimental- ized, and ended by putting himself and his compa- nion, Dr. Keith, under the study table with the fumes of chloroform. But when consciousness returned, the terrors of the operating room were gone. Science, w^ich gives so slowly, but with hands full, when she gives at all, has honored his humanity with the dearest and most precious boon that suffering mortality ever received. A sweet and sul-ttle anodyde was found out, which steals the feeling of the frame away, and leaves the patient quiet and the surgeon free. Go to the operating- room now, or the sick chamber, and mark the glo- rious difference, The benign vapor is administered, and the knife does its work without a tremor or spasm ; the sufferer wakes up and asks, " When will it be r That deliverance from pain is the boon that Simp- son conferred on men and women, who suffer from maladies that call for the knife and ligature ; and iLinn iiii "■""—- 120 LE SOtlVENIR. li^ since God proclaimed the law that pain and sorrow, misery and trouble should depart by man's patient work, as by man's fault they came, there have been few nobler gifts bestowed on suffering mortals. Set Up your statue for our great dead physician, gen- erous people of France ; and don't ask what we have done for oiir great and good living doctor ' You made him an associate of your Academy, and sent him your Monthyon Prize ; and King Oscar, of Sweden, made him Knight of St. Olaf. We, who own him, who speak his language, who were the first to benefit by the splendid scientific boon he bestowed on * ur hospitals and sick rooms, and t"i that couch where motherhood fulfils, in exqui- site anguish, the woman's share of the primal curse — we hardly know his name, and did our best, some of us, to back his discovery with sombre theories that pain was meant for man, and that it was impious to steal the agony from the fainting mother, or stay the death-sweat on the forehead of the weak victim who writhes under the operating knife. We, compassionate at last towads the deepening groans of humanity, are only reminded of him by yon statue which has been raised to Jenner ; and when we think of something worth giving him who found out this divine boon for us •^this fairy gift of chemistry — we remember that THE ITALIANS, 121 the courtiers, and the swells, and the diplomats, fill the list of* honors, so that we can only give the Scotch Doctor our barren thanks while we are sound, and our blessings when the surgeons get hold of us, and the case of instruments comes out. THE ITALIANS. Germany and Italy advanced together in the same courp.o of intellectual development and free- dom, until the era of the Reformation. The great Italian artists in their paintings and sculptors, worked as truly for the liberation of the human mind as the German scholars in the revival of class- ical studies. Without such preparations, the Re- formation would have been a mere ecclesiastical schism, having no great influence on general intel- lectual progress. But after the Reformation, Germany and Italy were separated in their interests; for, while the latter remained devoted to the fine arts, the former employed its best minds in Philo- sophy. This separation was unhappy ; for German thought, divided from the poetical and beautiful, produced only dry metaphysical systems ; while on the other hand, the Italian passion for the fine arts degenerated into a frivolous amusement for 122 LE SOUVENIR. f lit dillettante — a mere sensuous luxury, destitute of every noble or religious purpose. But the glory of Italy still remains in its works of art. When we look back upon its lato 'political feebleness and sub- mission to foreign aut..ority, we see that nature and circumstances had prevailed over the Italians. But when we turn our attention to its present unity under Victor Emmanuel, and the world of art, we find the Italians great and victorious. But this praise must not be confined to statesmen and artists. These men of genius would not have succeeded, if they had not been encouraged by that taste for the just and beautiful which pervades generally the people of Italy. Great works require public interest for their consummation. The fine climate and the fruitful soil of the country have been favorable to the physical comfort of the people, and consequently to the cultivation of the fine arts. It is vain to expect that a people worn down by oppressive toil can evince a taste for the beautiful. Leisure is the friend of the muses. Of the truth of these remarks, we may find proofs in Italy in almost every pea- sant's homestead, in the granaries built upon pillars, and the other out-buildings with their neat flat roofs, and in the little field with its row of trees, as well as in the dresses of the peasant women, which show tasteful arrangements of color, and in the THE ITALIANS. 123 comely fashion in which the hair is worn. a. thousand signs in common life manifest the love of beauty which pervades the people. But who shall describe the splendor of the view over Tus- cany's metropolis of art and its surroundiLg gar- dens ? Who can paint those beautiful boundaries, extending from the point where the pleasant towers of Fiesole are shining, to the blue ridges of Hie hills of Lucca rising in the golden background of the western sky ? The whole prospect bears the mark oi the labors of many generations of men endowed with the love of beauty. And in the centre of this loveliness, Florence, still more lovely, lies like a beautiful flower. From the bold airy tower of the Palace, to the wonderful work of Brunellaschi, the cupola of the cathedral, every street of Florence contains beauties of art. And this Florence is only one, though the brightest of many gems in that dia- dem of ^ eauty with which the Italians have crowned their land. It is surrounded by other splendors, of which it is worthy to be regarded as the centre- Surely we must be blinded with prejudices, and helplessly narrow in mind, if we refuse to acknow ledge the greatness of -the Italians in the world of art^ M^. mi LE SOUVENIR. INDIAN FALLS, SARAWAK, C.W. Now the good mother speaks, full of care and bustle ; Say, Bobby, bring the kettle, and take a little trouble To build the fire, where the cold wind will blow the [smoke away. Where shall we sit ? under this old birch, I say, This fine old tree, whose bark is marked With many names, in large letters cut, remark ! The moss about the roots is soft and fine. The very place, to sit and chat and dine ; Now, darlings, gather wood, and to the others call ; How pleasantly sounds this lovely waterfall 1 Who would have pleasure, must have trouble too ; So pray be smart, life's pleasures are so few. I know a fountain, pure and sweet, and cold. Say ! shall we dance around it, as fairies did of old ? Thence we will draw the water, and from this day We'll always call it our dear Pic-Nic Bay, TO JOSEPHINE. I love thee, fondly love thee, T'would be death to say farewell : With joyful heart and gladness I've ever loved thee well ; Should all the world forsake thee. Believe me, little dear, I'll strive, with all affliction, Thy tender heait to cheer. tlOnf AND TRTTTtt. All happiness shine upon thee, Love's fragrance fill the air ; Thy joy and thy sadnf ss, Pray let me with thee share j And if I e'er neglect thee May my bright star then set ; My heart, it may break for thee, But never shall forget. 125 LIGHT AND TRUTH. A SIMILB. A lovely picture Light and Truth present. Resembling much a noble, ever-flowing river, Beautiful as eternal youth, its source in towering moun- Capped with everlasting snows ; [tains Where over all, on hoary ancestral mountain tops, Imperial freedom sits enthroned in majesty sublime j And, as Aurora paints them with her loveliest tints, Salutes her royal relatives the stars. Noble races do this stream adorn, which in hereditary And sovereignty, from its high source doth flow, [pride From its maternal bosom, thousand silvery rills descend, Onward and resistless, by peaceful vales, and glorious [cities Bearing forward in their course the happiness of nations Then human folly — pest of noble thoughts-^it's silly head And would arrest this limpid stream [uplifts. That flows so proud and free, but for human weal, — And dam up, to its piteous, narrow views, [bound. The bold, the freeborn, who never was, nor ever can be ( ! 5 I 126 LE SOUVENIRi Tis fools alone, whose ignorance presumes to oppose [th-e mighty one, Who with resistless force, sweeps by wmves immense And power resistless, the impotent from its path ; — Then echo from the distant hills defeat proclaims. Again they b'lild a wall of rocks — rocks, earthly par- [ticles. Fashioned by that great hand that made the world and Placed its firm foundations sure. But ah 1 What is that sound, that dreadful thundering sound — Like heaven's artillery, rolling still more near ? 'Tis the pent-up waves of liberty, that on a winged storm Descends, and swells, and swells into an overwhelming Blind human nature learns with trembling fear, [sea. That Light and Truth must and will o'er all prevail j How just appears to them their folly's doom With grief they learn too late, the higher they exalt Their ignorance and pride, the deeper is their fall. The rocky chain, with thunder-clap reports, To atoms bursts, and then in all magnificence Majestically flows the mighty river, once more regained Its sweeping wonted course, laving the earth For miles around. But, oh 1 -what means that wail, that agonized roar ? — The voice of man and brute, And hydra-headed bigotry ; The haunts of men, forests, lands, castles, cities- All swallowed up in one enormous grave. Such the fate, the terrible result, when tyrant ignorance Attempts to check the onward course of Heaven born Light and Truth, Which ever will their own eternal course pursue. !! THE NEAPOLITAIN LOAN. 127 posd one, se r par- ticles, d and nd— storm elming [sea. rail ; xalt 11. chained roar ?— rnorance THE NEAPOLITAN LOAN. A THRILLING ADVENTURE. Minnie, my blessed little wife, and I, had been just one month married. We had returned only two days from our honeymoon tour at Killarney. I was junior partner in the firm of Schwarzmoor and Laddock, bankers, Lombard street (I must conceal real names), and I had four days more of my leave of absence still to enjoy. I was supremely happy in my bright new cottage south-west of London, and was revelling in delicious idleness on that bright October morning, watching the great yellow leaves fall in the sunshine. Minnie sat by me under the hawthorn tree ; otherwise I should not have been supremely happy. Little Betsy, Minnie's maid, came fluttering down the garden with an ominous-looking letter in her hand. It was a telegram from Mr. Schwarzmoor. It contained only these words : " We want you to start to the Continent directly with specie. Neapolitan loan. No delay. Tran- sactions of great importance since you left. Sorry to break up holiday. Be at office by 6.30. Start le. i I 128 LB SOUVENIR. from London Bridge by 9.15, and catch Dover night boat. " Is the boy gone?" " Boy did not leave it, sir. Elderly gentleman, going to Dawson*s, brought it. The office-boy was out, and the gentleman happened to be coming past our house." " Herbert dear, you won't go, you must n't go." said Minnie, leaning on my shoulder and bending down her face. Don't go." ** I must, my dearest. The firm has no one to trust to, but me, in such a case. It is but a week's absence. I must start in ten minutes, and catch the 4.20 on its way up." " That was a very important telegram," I said sharply to the station master, " and you ought not to have sent it by any unknown and unauthorised person. Who was this old gentleman, pray ? " *' Who was it, Harvey ? " said the station- master, rather sulkily, to the porter. " Old gent, sir, very respectable, as comes to the Dawsons', the training stables. Has horses there." " Do not let that sort of thing occur again, Mr. Jennings," I said, " or I shall be obliged to report it. I wouldn't have had that telegram mislaid for a hundred pounds." Mr. Jennings, the station-master, grumbled THE NEAPOLITAN LOAN. 129 ►over man, y was 5 past tgo." mding one to but a )S, and I said ^ht not hoiised r?" station- s to the there." ^in, Mr* report slaid for :rumhled something, and then boxed the telegraph boy*s ears. Which seemed to do him (Mr, Jennings) good. " We were getting very anxious," sail Mr* Schwarzmoor, as I entered the bank parlor, only three minutes late. ** Very anxious, weren't we, Goldrick?" " Very anxious," said the little neat head clerk. " Very anxious." Mr. Schwarzmoor was a full-faced man of about sixty, with thick white eyebrows and a red face —a combination which gave him an expression of cho- leric old age. He was a shrewd severe man of business : a little impetuous and fond of rule, but polite, kind and considerate. " I hope your charming wife is quite well. Sorry, indeed, to break up your holiday ; but no help for it, my dear fellow. There is the specie in those iron boxes, enclosed in leather to look like samples. They are fastened with letter locks, and contain a quarter of a million in gold. The Nea- politan king apprehends a rebellion*" (It was three years before Garibaldi's victories.) ** You will take the money to Messrs. Pagliavinci and Eossi, No. 172 Toledo, Naples. The names that open the locks are, on the one with the white star on the cover, Masinisa ; on the one with the black star, Cotopaxo. Of course you will not forget the talis- 130 LE SOUVENIR. manic words. Open the boxes at Lyons to mako sure that all is safe. Talk to no one. Make no friends on the road. Your commission is of vast importance." " I shall pass," said I, " for a commercial trav- eller." " Pardon me for my repeated cautions, Blamyre, but I am an older man than you, and know the danger of travelling with specie. If your purpose was known to-night in Paris, your road to Marseilles would be as dangerous as if all the galley-slaves at Toulon had been let loose in special chase of you. I do not doubt your discretion : I only warn you to be careful. Of course you go armed ? " r opened my coat, and showed a belt under my waistcoat, with a revolver in it. At which warlike spectacle the old clerk drew back in alarm. ** Good," said Mr. Sohwarzmoor. " But one grain of prudence is worth five times the five bullets in those five barrels. You stop in Paris to-morrow to transact business with Lefebvre and Desjeans, and you will go on by the 12.15 (night) to Mar- seilles, catching the boat on Friday. We will telegraph to you at Marseilles. Are the letters for Paris ready, Mr. Hargrave?" " Yes, sir, nearly ready. Mr. Wilkins is hard at them." TUB NEAPOLITAN LOAN. 131 ;lamyre, now tlie purpose Larseilles ey-slaves ;eofyou. ivarn you inder my h warlike i. But one ,ve bullets to-morrow Dcsjeans, to Mar- We will ( letters for ns IS hard I reached Dover a*^ midnight, and instantly engaged four porters to carry my specie chests down the stone steps leading from the pier to the Calais boat. The first was taken on board quite safely ; but while the second was being carried down, one pf the men slipped, and >vould certainly have fallen into the wat^r, had he jt been caught in the arms of a burly old Indian officer, who, laden with various traps, and urging forward his good-natured but rather vulgar wife, was preceding me. " Steady there, my lad," he said. ** Why, wha* have you got there ? Hardware ?" " Don't know, sir; I only know it's heavy enough to break any man's back," was the rough answer, as the man thanked his questioner in his blunt way. " These steps, sir, are very troublesome for bringing down heavy goods," said an obliging voice behind me. ^^ I presume, sir, from your luggage that we are of the same profession." I looked round, as we just then stepped on board. The person who addressed me was a tall thin man, with a long and rather Jewish nose, and a narrow elongated face, He wore a greatcoat too short for him, a flowered waistcoat, tight trousers, a high shirt collar, and a light sprigged stifl;* neckloth. I replied that I had the honor to be a comoner- 132 LE SOUVENIR. cial traveller, and I thought we were going to have a rough night of it. "Decidedly dirty night," he replied; and I advise you, sir, to secure a berth at once. The boat, I see, is very crowded." I went straight to my berth, and lay down for an hour; at the end of that time I got up and looked around me. At one of the small tables sa half a dozen of the passengers, including the old Indian and my old-fashioned interrogator. They were drinking bottled porter, and appeared very sociable. I robe and joined them, and we exchange^ some remarks not complimentary to night travel- ling- " By Jove, sir, it is simply unbearable! " said the jovial Major Baxter (for he soon told us his name) ; " it is as stifling as Peshawa when the hot Tinsang wind is blowing; suppose we three go on deck and take a little air ? My wife suffers in these crossings; she's invisible, I know, i^ill the boat stops. Steward, bring up some more bottled porter." When we went on deck, I saw fco my extreme surprise, made conspicuous by their black and white stars, four other cases similar to mine, except that they had no painted brand upon them. I could hardly believe my eyes ; but there they were ; leather covers^ letter locks, and all. THE NEAPOLITAN LOAN. 133 " Those are mine, sir," remarked Mr. Levison. (I knew my fellow-commerciars name from the captain's having addressed him by it). " I am travelling for the house of Mackintosh. Those cases contain water-proof paletots, the best made. Our house has used such cases for forty years. It is sometimes inconvenient, this accidental resem- blance of luggage — leads to mistakes. Your goods are much heavier than my goods, as I judge ? Gas improvements, railway chairs, cutlery, or something else in iron?" I was silent, or I made some vague reply. " Sir," said Levison, ** I augur well of your future; trade secrets should be kept inviolate. Don't you think so, sir? " The major thus . appealed to, replied, *^ Lir, by Jove, you're right 1 One cannot be too careful in these days. Egad, sir, the world is a mass of deceit." ** There's Calais light I " cried some one at that moment ; and there it was, straight ahead, casting sparkles of comfort over the dark water. I thought no more of my travelling companions. We pnrted at Paris ] I went my way, and they went t>:3ir way. The major was going to pay a visit at Dromont, near Lyons : thence he would go to Marseilles en route for Alexandria. Mr. Levison I I , ! i i! 134 LE SOUVENtR. was bound for Marseilles, like myself and the majoFj but not by my train — at least he feared not, as he had much to do in Paris. I had transacted my business in the French capital, and was on my way to the Palais Royal with M. Lefebvre Sis, a great friend of mine. It was about six o'clock, and we were crossing the Rue St. Honor^, when there passed us a tall Jewish- looking p6rson, in a huge white mackintosh, whom I recognized as Mr. Levison. He was in a hired open carriage, and his four boxes were by his side. I bowed to him, but he did not seem to notice me. " Eh bien ! That drole— who is that ? " said my friend, with true Parisian superciliousness. I replied that it was only a fellow-passenger, who had crossed with me the night before. In the very same street I ran up against the major and his wife, on their way to the railway station. " Infernal city, this," said the major; " smells so of onions. I should like, if it was mine, to wash it out, house by house ; 'tain't wholesome, 'pon my soul 'tain't wholesome. Julia, my dear, this is my pleasant travelling companion of last night. By- the* by, just saw that commercial traveller I Sharp business man that: no sight-seeing about him* Bourse and bank all day, — senior partner some day.'' THE NEAPOLITAN LOAN, 135 major. , as be Jrencli Royal le: It ing the rewish- , whom a hired is side, tice me. said my ^er, who inst the railway « smells to wash 'pon my lis is my . By-the* 1 Sharp out him* ler some "And how many more?" said my friend Lefebvre, when we shook hands and parted with the jolly major. " That is a good boy — he super- abounds — he overflows — but he is one of your epicurean lazy officers, I am sure. Your army, it must be reformed, or India it will slip from you like a handful of sand — ^vous verrez, mon cber." Midnight came, and I was standing at the termi- nus, watching the transport of my luggage, when a cab drove up, and an Englishman, leaping out, asked the driver in excellent French for change for a five-franc piece. It was Levison ; but I saw no more of him, for the crowd just then pushed me forward. I took my seat with only two other persons in the carriage — two masses of travelling cloaks and capotes — two bears, for all I could see to the con- trary. Once away from the lights of Paris, and in the pitch-dark country, I fell asleep and dreamed of my dear little wife, and our dear little home. Then a feeling of anxiety ran across my mind. I dreamed that I had forgotten the words with which to open the letter4ocks. I ransacked mythology, history, science, in vain. Then I was in the banking par- lor at No. 172 Toledo, Naples, threatened with instant death by a file of soldiers, if I did not reveal I ^i"; : ! \ I ■^. all < ■ I lilt: 136 LE SOUVENIR. the words, or explain where the boxes ha(" been hid ; for I had hidden them for some inscrutable reason. At that moment an earthquake shook the city, a fiood of fire rolled past beneath the window, Vesu- vius had broken loose and was upon us. I cried in my agony — " Gracious Heaven, reveal to me those words I " when 1 awoke. " Dromont ! Dromont I Dix minutes d'arrete, messieurs." Half blinded with the sudden light, I stumbled to the buffet, and asked for a cup of coffee, when three or four noisy young English tourists came hurrying in, surrounding a quiet imperturbable elderly commercial traveller. It was actually Levison again ! They led him along in triumph, and called for champagne. " Yes I Yes I " the leader said. " You must have some, old fellow. We have won three games, you know, and you held such cards, too. Come along, look alive, you fellow with the nightcap — Cliquot — gilt top, you duffer. You shall have your revenge before we get to Lyons, old chap." Lovison chattered good humouredly about the last game, and took the wine. In a few minutes the young men had drunk their champagne, and had gone out to smoke. In another moment Levi- son caught my eye. THE NEAPOLITAN LOAN. 137 irrete, mbled "when 3 came irbable etually umph, I must games, Come tcap — re your )ut the ninutes ne, and it Levi- " Why, good gracious," he said, " who'd have thought of this ! Well, I am glad to see you. No, my dear sir, you must have some champagne with me. H ^re, another bottle, monsieur, if you please. I hopO) long before we get to Lyons, to join you, my dear sir. I am tired of those youngsters. Besides, I object to high stakes, on principle." The moment the waiter brought the champagne, Levison took the bottle. " No," he said ; "I never allow any one to open my wine for me." He turned his back from me to remove the wine ; removed it ; and was filling ray glass ; when up dashed a burly hearty man to shake hands with me — so awkward in his heartiness that he broke the champagne bottle. Not a drop of the wine was saved. It was the major — hot as usual, and in a tremendous bustle. " By Jove, sir; dooced sorry. Let me order another bottle. How are you, gentlemen ? Lucky, indeed, to meet you both again. Julia's with the luggage. We can be very cozy together. More champagne here. What's bottle in French ? Most shameful thing I Those French friends of Julia's were gone off to Biarritz, pretending to have for- gotten that we were coming — after six weeks with us in London, too I Precious shabby, not to put too fine a point upon it. By Jove, sir I there's the n- 138 LE SOUVENIR. Ill -' 1 i 1 III nil I : ill bell. We'll all go in the same carriage. They will not bring that champagne. Levison looked rather annoyed. " I shall not see you," he said, " for a station or two. I must join those boys, and let them give me my revenge. Cleared me out of twenty guineas I I have not been so imprudent since I was first on the road. Good-bye, Major Baxter — good-bye, Mr. Blamyre." I wondered how this respectable old fellow, who so keenly relished his game at whist, had got hold of my name; but I remembered in a moment that he must have seen the direction of my luggage. Flashes of crimson and green lights, a shout from some pointsman, a glimpse of rows of poplars and lines of suburban houses, and wo once more plunged into the yielding darkness. I found the major very droll and pleasant, but evidently ruled by his fussy, good-natured, mana- ging masculine wife. He was full of stories of bungalows, compounds, and the hills; in all of which narrations he was perpetually interrupted by Mrs. Baxter. " By Jove, sir 1 " he said, " I wish I could sell out, and go into your line of business. I am almost sick of India — it deranges one's liver so infernally." " Now, John, how can you go on so ! You know THE NEAPOLITAN LOAN. 139 They lall not I must evenge. ave not e road, imyre." )W, wbo yoi hold ent that ^age. a shout f poplars Lee more sant, hut d, mana- jtories of ofwhich 1 by Mrs. could sell 5S. I am s liver so You know you never had a day's illness in all your life, except that week when you smoked out a whole box of Captain Mason's cheroots." " Well, I pulled through it, Julia," said the major, striking himself a tremendous blow on the chest ; " but I've been an unlucky devil as to pro- motion—always bad luck in everything. If I bought a horse, it made a point of going lame next day ; never went in a train but it broke down." " Now don't, John ; pray don't go on so," said Mrs. Baxter, ** or I shall really be very angry. Such nonsense I You'll get your step in time. Be patient, like me, major ; take things more quietly, I hope you put a direction on that hat-box of yours I Where is the sword-case ? If it wasn't for me, major, you'd get to Suez with nothing but the coat on vour back." Just then the train stopped at Charmont, and in tripped Levison, with his white mackintosh over his arm, and his bundle of umbrellas and sticks. " No more sovereign points for me I " he said, producing a pack of cards. ** But if you and the major and Mrs. Baxter would like a rubber shilling points— I'm for you. Cut for partners." We assented with pleasure. We" cut for partners. I and Mrs. Baxter against the major and Levison. We won nearly every game, Levison played too ] Il : i 140 LE SOUVENIR. cautiously, and the major laughed, talked, and always forgot what cards were out. Still it killed the time ; the red and black turned up, changed, and ran into remarkable sequences ; and the major's extraordinary luck in holding (not in playing) cards amused us ; we laughed at Levi- son's punctilious care, and at Mrs. Baxter's avarice for tricks, and were as pleasant a party as the dim lamp of a night-train ever shone on. I could think of little, nevertheless, but my precious boies. There we were rushing through France, seeing nothing, heeding nothing, and having as little to do with our means of transit as if we had been four Arabian princes, seated on a flying enchanted carpet. The, game gradually grew more intermittent, the conversation more incessant. Levison, stiff of neckcloth as ever, and imperturbable and punctil- ious as ever, became chatty. He grew communi- cative about his business. " I have at last," he said, in his precise and mea- sured voice, " after years of attention to the sub- ject, discovered the great secret, which the water proofers have so long coveted — how to let out the heated air of the body, and yet to exclude the rain. On my return to London, t offer this secret to the Mackintosh firm for ten thousand pounds ; if they THE NEAPOLITAN LOAN, 141 turned enoes ; ig (not b Levi- avarice lie dim d think I, seeing little to een four ^chanted tent, the stiff of punctil- ommuni- and mea- the sub- tle water t out the the rain. •et to the if they refuse the offer, I at once open a shop in Paris, call the new fabric Magentosh, in honour of the Em- peror's great Italian victory, and sit down and quietly realize a cool million — that's my way !'* " That's the real business tone," said the major, admiringly." *^ Ah, major," cried his wife, ever ready to im- prove a subject, " if you had only had a little of Mr. Levison's prudence and energy, then, indeed you'd have been colonel of your regiment before this." Mr. Levison then turned the conversation to the subject of locks. " I always use the letter-lock myself,*' " he said. " My two talismanic words are Turlulette and Papagayo — two names I once heard in an old Frcr jh farce — who could guess them ? It Would take the adroitest thief seven hours to decipher even one. You find letter-l^ck safe, sir?" (He turned to me.) I replied dryly that I did, and asked what time our train was due at Lyons. " We are due at Lyons at 4.30," said the major, *• it is now five to four. I don't know how it is, but I have a sort of presentiment to-night of some break-down. I am always in for it. When I went tiger-hunting, it was always my elephant that w^ ri I 142 LE SOTTVENIR. the beast pinned. If some of us were ordered up to an unhealthy out-of-the way fort, it was always my company. It may be superstitious, I own, but I feel we shall have a breakdown before we get to Marseilles. How fast we're going ! Only see how the carriage rocks T* I unconsciously grew nervous, but I concealed it. Could the major be a rogue, planning some scheme against me ? But no : his bluff face, and his clear good-natured guileless eyes, refuted the suspicion. " Nonsense, be quiet, major ; that's the way you * always make a journey disagreeable," said his wife, arranging herself for sleep, Then Levison began talking about his early life, and how, in George the Fourth's time, he was travelling for a cravat house in Bond street. He grew eloquent in favour of the old costume. " Low Radical fellows," he said, " run down the first gentleman in Europe, as he was justly called. I respect his memory. He was a wit, and the friend of wits : he was lavishly generous, and dis- dained poor pitiful economy. He dressed well, sir ; he looked well sir ; he was a gentleman of perfect manners. Sir, this a slovenly and shabby age. When I was young, no gentleman ever travelled without at least two dozen cravats, four whale- bone stiffeners, and an iron to smooth the tie, TUB NEAPOLITAN LOAN. 143 cd up ilways n, but get to eehow aled it. scheme lis clear picion. \ray you ' lis wife, m began orge the at bouse ar of tbe lown tbe Ay called. and tbe and dis- well, sir ; of perfect ibby age. travelled ar wbale- , tbe tie, and produce a thin equal edge to the muslin. There were no less, sir, than eighteen modes of putting on the cravat : there was the cravate ^ la Diane, the cravate ^ I'Anglaisse, the cravate au noeud Gordien, the cravate The train jolted, moved on, slackened, stopped. The major thrust his head out of the window, and shouted to a passing guard : " Where are we ?" " Twenty miles from Lyons — Fort Rouge, mon- sieur." '* What is the matter ? Anything the matter ?" An English voice answered from the next win- dow: " A wheel broken, they tell us. We shall have to wait two hours, and transfer the luggage." " Good Heaven 1" I could not help exclaiming. Levison put his head out of the window. ** It is but too true,^' he said, drawing it in again ; " two hours' delay at least the man says. Tiresome, very — but such things will happen on the road ; take it coolly. We'll have some coffee and another rubber. We must each look to our own luggage ; or if Mr. Blamyre goes in and orders supper, I'll see to it all. — But, good gracious what is that shining out there by the station i^mps ? Hei, monsieur 1" (to a passing gendarme whom the major had hailed), " what is going on at the station !" Iffif lii 144 LE SOUVENIR. " Monsieur," said the gendarme, saluting, " those are soldiers of the First Chasseurs ; they happened to be at the station on their way to Chalons; the station master has sent them to surt-ound the luggage-van and see to the transfer of the baggage. No passenger is to go near jit, as there are govern" m stores of value in the train." J- /ison spat on the ground and muttered exe- crations to himself — I supposed at French railways* ** By Jove, sir I did you ever see such clumsy Carts ?" said Major Baxter, pointing to two country carts, each with four strong horses, that were drawn up under a hedge close to the station : for we had struggled on as far as the first turn-table, some hundred yards from the first houses of the village of Fort Rouge, Levison and I tried very hard to get near our luggage, but the soldiers sternly refused our ap- proach. It gave me some comfort, however, to see my chests transferred carefully, with many curses on their weight, I saw no sign of government stores, and I told the major so. " Oh, they^re sharp," he replied, " dooced sharp. May be the empress's jewels — one little package only, perhaps ; but still not difficult to steal in a night confusion." Just then there was a shrill piercing whistle, as THE NEAPOLITAN LOAN. U5 those ^ened ; the i the rgage. overn" id exe- ilways* clumsy jountry I drawn we had e, some village ear our our ap- r, to see y curses ernment jd sharp, package jteal in a rhistle, as if a signal. The horses in the two carts tore iuto a gallop, and flew out of sight. '^ Savages, sir ; mere harharians still/' exclaimed the major ; *' unahle to use railways even now we've given them to them." " Major 1" said his wife, in a voice of awful reproof, ** spare the feelings of these foreigners, and remember your position as an officer and a gentle- man. »> The major rubbed his hands, and laughed uproar- iously, "A pack of infernal idiots,." cried Levison; '* they can do nothing without soldiers; soldiers here soldiers there, soldiers everywhere," " Well, these precautions are sometimes useful, sir," said Mrs. B, •. " France is a place full of queer characters. The gentleman next you anj day at a table d'hote may be a returned convict. Major, you remember that case of Cairo three years ago." " Cairo, Julia, my dear, is not in France." " I know that, major. But the house was a French hotel, and that's the same thing." Mrs. B. spoke sharply. " I shall have a nap, gentlemen. For my part, I'm tired," said the major, as we took our places in the Marseilles train, after three hours' tedious li:^ •!!ll!i iij:!;'i i ( m . t^ii 146 LE SOUVENIR. deky, " The next thing will be the both breaking down, I suppose." " Major, you wicked man, don't fiy out against Providence," said his wife. Levison grew eloquent again about the . Prince Regent, his diamond epaulettes, and his inimitable cravats: but Levison's words seemed to lengthen, and gradually became inaudible to me, until I heard only a soothing murmur, and the rattle and jar of the wheels. Again my dreams were nervous and uneasy, I imagined I was in Cairo, threading narrow dim streets, where the camels jostled me and the black slaves threatened me, and the air was heavy with musk, and veiled fades watched me from latticed casements abo, 3, Suddenly a rose fell at my feet. I looked up, and a face like my Minnie's, only with large eyes like an antelop:'s, glanced forth from be- hind a water-vase and smiled. At that moment, four Mamelukes appeared, riding down the street at full gallop, and came upon me with their sabres flashing. I dreamed I had only one hope, and that was to repeat the talismanic words of my letter- locks. Already I was under the hoofs of the Ma- melukes' horses. I cried out with great difficulty, " Cotopaxo I Cotopaxo I" A rough shake awoke tne. It was the major, looking bluff but stem. THE NtlAPOLlTAN J.OAN. 147 iaking Lgainst prince oaitable ngthen, I heard I jar of jasy. 1 •ow dim ,be Wack avy "with latticed feet. I ly with from be- moment. e street at eir sabres and that my letter- )f the Ma- difficulty, ake awoke )n stern "Why, you're talking in your sleep !" he said- " why the devil do you talk in your sleep ? Bad habit. Here we are at the breakfast-place,'* "What was I talking about?" I asked, with ill- concealed alarm, " Some foreign gibberish," returned the major. " Greek, I think," said Levison ; " but I was just off too," We reached Marseilles, I rejoiced to see its al- mond-trees and its white villas, I should feel safer when I was on board ship, and my treasure with me, I was not of a suspicious temperament, but I had thought it remarkable that during that long jour- ney from Lyons to the seaboard, I had never fallen asleep without waking and finding an eye upon me —either the major's or his wife's. Levison had slept during the last four hours incessantly. Lat- terly, we had all of us grown silent, and even rather sullen. Now we brightened up. " Hotel de Londres ! Hotel de I'Univers ! Ho- tel Imperial!" cried the touts, as we stood round our luggage, agreeing to keep together. A one-eyed, saturnine, half-caste tout shrunk up to us. " Hotel Imperial, sare. I am hotel Imperial ; all full ; not a bed ; no — pas de tout — no use, sare 1' '* Hang it ! the steamer will be the next thing to fail." mv t I Ml )i:iii: immi r 148 liE SOtTVENIR. " Steamer, sare — accident with boiler ; ^on't start till minuit et vingt minutes— half past mid- night, sare.'* " Where shall we go ?'* said I, turning round and smiling at the three blank faces of my com- panions. *^ Our journey seems doomed to be unlucky. Let us redeem it by a parting supper. My telegraph- ing done, I am free till half-past eleven." " I will take you," said Levison, to a small but very decent hotel down by the harbor. The Hotel des Etrangers." " Cursed low nasty crib — gambling place T' said the major, lighting a cheroot, as he got into an open fly. Mr. Levison drew himself up in his punctilious way. " Sir," he said, " the place is in new hands, or I would not have reccommended the house, you may rely upon it." " Sir," said the major, lifting his broad brimmed white hat, " I offer you my apologies. I was not aware of that." " My dear sir, n^ver mention the affair again." " Major, you're a _ t-headed simpleton," were Mrs. B.'s last words, as we drove off together. As we entered a bare-looking saloon with a din- ner table in the middle and a dingy billiard table THE NEOPOLITAN LOAN. 149 at one end, the major said to me, " I shall go and wash and dress for the theatre, and then take a stroll while you do your telegraphing. Go up first, Julia, and see the rooms." " What slaves we poor women are ?" said Mrs. B., as she sailed out. " And I," said Levison, laying down his rail* way nig, " shall go out and try and do some busi^ ness before the shops shut. We have agents hero in the Canabiere." " Only two double bedded rooms, sare," said the one-eyed tout, who stood over the luggage. " That will do," said Levison, promptly, and with natural irritation at our annoyances. " My friend goes by the boat to-night ; he does not sleep here. His luggage can be put in my room, and he can take the key, in case he comes in first." " Then now we are all right," said the major. *' So far so good 1" When I got to the telegraph office, I found a tele- gram from London awaiting me. To my surprise and horror, it contained only these words : ^' You are in great danger. Do not wait a mo- ment on shore. There is a plot against you. Ap- ply to the prefect for a guard." It must be the major, and I was in his hands I That rough hearty manner of his was all a trick. "I 150 LE SOUVENIR. Even now, he might be carrying off the chests. I telegraphed back : " Safe at Marseilles. All right up to this." Thinking of the utter ruin of our house if I were robbed, and of dear Minnie, I flew back to the hotel, which was situated in a dirty narrow street near the harbor. As I turned down the street, a man darted from a doorway and seized my arm. It was one of the waiters. He said hurriedly ,in French: *^ Quick, quick, monsieur; Major Baxter is anxious to see you instantly in the saloon — . There is no time to lose." I ran to the hotel, and darted into the saloon. There was the major pacing up and down in extra- ordinary excitement ; his wife was looking anxiously out of ohe window. The manner of both was en- tirely changed. The major ran up and seized me by the hand. " I am a detective officer, and my name is Arnott," he said." " That man Levison is a notorious thief. He is at this moment in his room, opening one of your specie chests. You must help me to nab hira. I knew his little game, and have check-mated him. But I wanted to catch him in the act. Julia finish that brandy and water while Mr. Blamyre and myself transact our business. Have you got a revolver, Mr. Blamyre, in case he shows fight ? I prefer this." (He pulled out a staff.) THE NEAPOLITAN LOAN. 151 "I have left my revolver in the bedroom," I breathlessly exclaimed. '^ 1 hat*s bad ; never mind, he is not likely to hit us in the flurry. He may not even think of it. You must rush at the door at the same moment as I do. These foreign locks are never very good. It^s . No. 15. Gently r» We came to the door. We listened a moment. We could hear the sound of money clinking in a bag. Then a low dry laugh, as Levison chuckled over the word he had heard me utter in my sleep. '^ Coto- paxo — ^hal ha !'* The major gave the word and we both rushed at the door. *'It shook, splintered, was driven in* Levison, revolver in nand, stood over the open box, ankle deep in gold. He had already filled a huge digger's belt that was round his waist, and a cou- rier's bag that hung at his side. A carpet bag, half full lay at his feet, and as he let it fall to open the win- dow bolt, it gushed forth a perfect torrent of gold. He did not utter a word, there were ropes at the window, as if he had been lowering, or preparing to lower, bags in the side alley. He gave a whistle, and some ve- hicle could be heard to drive furiously off. "Surrender, you gallows-bird! I know you," cried the major. " Surrender, I've got you now, old boy." 152 LE SOUVENIR. i m Levison's only reply was to pull the trigger of the revolver ; fortunately there was no discharge. I had forgotten to cap it. <* The infernal thing is not capped." One fo' you, Bobby," he said quietly. Then hurling i* with sudden fury at the major, he threw open the window and jumped out. I leaped after him — it was a ground floor room — ^raising a hue and cry. Arnott remained to guard the money. A moment more and a wild rabble of soldiers, sail- ors, mongrel idlers, and porters, were pursuing the flying wretch with screams and hoots, as in the dim light (the lamps were just beginning to be kindled) we tore after him, doubling and twisting like a haje, among the obstacles that crowded the quay. Hun- dreds of blows were aimed at him ; hundreds of hands were stretched to seize him ; he wrestled him- self from one ; he felled another ; he leaped over a third ; a Zouave's clutch was all but on him, when suddenly his foot caught in a mooring ring, and he fell headlong into the harbor. There was a shout as he splashed and disappeared in the dark water? near which the light of only one lamp moved and . glittered. I ran down the nearest steps and waited while the gendr rmes took a boat and stolidly drag- ged with hooks for the body. THE NEAPOLITAN LOAN. 153 " They are foxes, ttese old thieves. I remember this man at Toulon. I saw him branded. I knew his face again in a moment. He has dived under the shipping, got into some barge and hid. You'll never see him again," said an old grey gendarme who had taken me into the boat. " Yes we shall, for here he is !" cried a second , stooping down and lifting a body out of the water by the hair. " Oh, he was an artful file," said a man from a boat behind us. It was Arnott. Just came to see how you are getting on, sir. It's all right with the money ; Julia's minding it. I often said that fel- low would catch it some day, now he's got it. He all but did you, Mr. Blamyre. He'd have out your throat when you were asleep, rather than miss the money. But I was on his track. He did'nt know me. This was my first cruise for some time against this sort of a rogue. Well ; his name is off the books, that's oile good thing. Come, comrades, bring that body to land. We must strip him of the money he has upon him, which at least did one good thing while in his possession — it sent the scoundrel to the bottom." Even in death the long face looked craftily re- spectable when we turned it to the lamplight. Arnott told me all, in his jovial way wbeu we re^ M 154 LE fcJOUVENIR. S turned to the hotel, where I loaded him and Mrs. B (another officer) with thanks. On the night I siirt- ed he had received orders from the London heiid. office to follow me, and watch Levison. He had not had time to communicate with my partners. The driver of our train had been bribed to make the engine break down at Fort Rouge, where Levi- sons's accomplices were waiting with carts to carry off the luggage in the confusion and darkness, or even during a sham riot and fight. This plan Ar- nott had frustrated by getting the police to telegraph from Paris to get soldiers to be sent from Lyons and be kept in readiness, at the station. The champagne he spilt had been drugged. Levison, defeated in his first attempt, resolved to try other means. My unlucky disclosure of the mystery of the letter-lock had furnished him with the power of opening that one chest. The break-down of the steamer, which was accidental (as far as could ever be ascertained) gave him a last opportunity. That night, thanks to Arnott, I left Marseilles with not one single piece of money lost. The jour- ney was prosperous. The loan was effected on very profitable terms. Our house has flourished ever since, and Minnie and. I have flourished likewise — • and increased, LEARNING FOR LIFE. 155 LEARNING FOR LIFE. What is the true meaning of this phrase, learn- ing for life ? It implies the direction of our attention to such studies as may be usefully applied to practical life. But this must not be understood in any narrow sense. Life is manifold in its requisitions, and none can tell exactly what aid his future circumstances will require. It must also be remembered that all knowledge is not immediately applicable, and that one portion of edu- , cation must be founded on another. He who would inquire of every particular study proposed to him ** of what use will this be to me in life ?" would have a mistaken view of our meaning. The merchant, when he collects money for future out- lay, does not ask of every dollar, " to what parti- cular use shall I apply this coin?" The ad- monition, " learn for life," must^bear a wider sense than this. To develop our faculties in fair pro- portions one to another ; to exercise, as well as circumstances will allow, the powers of the body and mind with which we are endowed, so that the requirements of society may find us, as far as pos- sible, prepared and educated for our duties, this is the mode of learning for life . This true style of education may be easily illustr^-ted by contrast witl^ Mi 156 LE SOUVENIR. a parHal and erroneous style. One student treats himself as if he were under a delusion, and imagined himself to be a pure incorporeal intel- ligence ; he bends over his desk, and reads old authors until he becomes an invalid, and perhaps a hypochondriac ; another cultivates his memory and his imagination, but neglects the powers of under- standing and judgment ; a third beoomes a great thinker, but, during the process, appears to have forgotten • that he once had a heart ; another despises this cold mode of study, and prefers en- thusiasm and fine sentiment, but has not one clear idea in his head. These varieties of error are all opposed to "learning for life;" for life requires the energy of the undivided man with heart and head, thought, will, and action, and these all exercised in no mere pastime, but in earnest occu- pation. Where is the man who does not feel his deficiency when tried by this standard of edu- cation ? When we look back on our studies, how many necessary preparations for life have we neglected ! Youth, be warned and instructed by our errors! The times in which you will prob* ably live will require something more than merely nominal learniog. Men will be wanted ; men of true insight and sound understanding ; scholars ac(|uainted not only with books, but also with !rHE MARTYR. 157 nature, the world, and the circumstances and necessities of society. The day when Virgilian Pastorals or Anacreontic odes were accepted as proofs of consummate education have passed away. THE MARTYR. Why in wild masses rush the crowds, O'er squares, and streets, and roads ? Where stream they to ? What roar they for 7 Who is that pale and silent man. That on an empty cart doth ride. Whose fiery ignis fr^tuus eyes To heaven so oft uplifts ? Why so surrounded oh all sides ? What means the Dragoon guard that rides ? That hollow sound of tolling bells, Which like a distant death knell rings ? Who is it now? takes leave, of manly looks. Of manly frame ; whose pride and dignity are hushed ? Who goes to that dread spot ? A martyr 'tis who suffers, Whose last hour strikes. Who to eternal rest doth bring his head. He must, he shall — a fearful word 1 In whom exists the right it to pronounce? Who dares make expiate, or take revenge^ On this great sinful globe ? hi! 158 Lfi SOUVENIH. Enough, enough, the brother he must dici For haying, perhaps too much, Perhaps too little counsel given, Unto his fellow men. 'Tis past, the fearful deed is done, Yet how ; is it possible, can it be ? For human dignity's sake say no ; Of all the many thousand eyes That gazed upon the victim. Not one compassionate tear was shed, Not one kind ok was given. Can man no more on man depend ? Whoe'er thou art, my prayer is, That thou may'st sleep in peace, For cold and heartless is the crowd around thee, All seemed turned to stone — Nor, in a single breast of that vast multitude, a heatt That fraternally doth throb for thy last agony. Not one, not one ; cold and frosty they to their homes return. As from their daily occupations. What cruel words do pass from mouth to mouth ? And those who meet them question thus, Is it all over with the rogue ? What crime, then, did the unhappy man commit, For whom no single soul has sorrow felt ? What outrage perpetrated on mankind, Who, so much endure with patience ? Say what has he done. That IhvLB has banished all compassion from their souls ? THE MARTYR. 159 The world the greatest criminal doth pity ]. The parricide, the suicide, the traitor, The robber, the hypocrite, and vile seducer ; Even the slanderer 1 who robs his neighbor Of his reputation, and leaves him poor indeed. As thus I mused, from out the crowd an old man stept, Who on a knotty staflF did lean ; Verging himself upon the grave ; And falteringly, in these words addressed me : Friend, methinks thine earnest looks do ask, What law hath violated, he whose blood Doth now the dry earth moisten ; For T/hom no pitying tear was shed ? Then listen, but betray me not. He for whom no voice did plead, Who fearlessly a martyr's death did meet, Was guilty of the greatest, the most unpardonable crime ; A crime no son of earth forgives, Which alienates and turns to enemies The greatest friends. The best of men will ne'er forgive. Among all nations, and in all times, Has never been forgiven I Like Galileo and other noble souls, Ho dared to tell the truth I Hi ■ i i ■• 1 \;- I t Wi mr 11 ' :;;! j^^' li; ! 160 m LE SOUVENIR. MEDITATIONS. In fine weather, when nay heart is cheered, and I feel that exaltation of spirits which results from light and warmth, joined with a beautiful pros- pect of nature, I regard myself as one placed by the hand of God in the midst of an ample theatre, in which the sun, moon and stars, the fruits also and vegetables of the earth, perpetually changing their positions or their aspects, exhibit an elegant entertainment to the understanding, as well as to the* eye. Thunder and lightning, rain and hail^ the painted bow, and the glaring comets, are deco- rations of this mighty theatre ; and the sable hemisphere, studded with spangles, the blue vault at noon, the glorious gildings and rich colors in the horizon, I look on as so many successive scenes. If the greater part of people were to sit down and draw up a particular account of theii; time, what a shameful bill it would be I So much in eating, drinking, and sleeping, beyond what nature requires : so much in revelling and wantonness ; so much for the recovery of last night's intemperance ; so much in gaming, plays and masquerades; so much in paying and receiving formal and imperti- nent visits ; so much in idle and foolish prating • so much in censuring and reviling of our neigh- MEDITATIONS. .61 '1 and from profi- led by leatre, ;s also inging legant as to [ hail, ) deco- sable 3 vault lors in scenes, t down s time, luch in nature ess ; so erance ; ies; so raperti- rating j neigli" bors ; so much in dressing out our bodies and in talking of fashions, and so much waste 1 and lost in doing nothing at all. Vice is the cruel enemy which renders men de- structive to men ; which racks the body with pain, and the mind with remorse ; which produces strife faction, revenge, oppression, and sedition; which embroils society, kindles the flames of war, takes away peace from life, and hope from death ; which brought forth death at first, and has ever since clothed it in all its terrors; which arms nature and the God of nature against us, and against which it has been the business of ail ages to find out pro- visions and securities by various institutions, laws, and forms of government. When I behold a fashionable table set out in all its magnificence, I fancy that I see gouts and dropsies, fevers and lethargies, with innumerable distempers lying in ambuscade among the dishes. Nature delights in the most plain and simple diet. Every animal but man keeps to one dish. Herbs are the food of this species, fish of that, and flesh of a third. Man falls upon every thing that comes in his way ; not the smallest fruit or excrescence of the earth, scarce a berry or a mushroom, can escape him. "if. II'- 162 LE SOUVENIR. li-i THE TAKING OF MAGDEBURG. Two of the city gates were broken in, and Tilly marched a portion of his infantry into the place, and took possession of the principal streets, planting his artillery ; the alarmed citizens shut themselves up in their dwellings and awaited th'^ir fate, they were not left long in suspense ; a more humane general than Count Tilly would have commanded forbearance to such troops, but Tilly did not even give himself the trouble to attempt it. The silence of the general made them masters of the lives and property of the inhabitants, the soldiers forced open the houses and gave full vent to all their animal propensities ; from the German troops many found compassion, but none from the deaf fury of the Walloons of Poppenheim's army ; scarcely had the sanguinary deed commenced when the remaining gates of the city were thrown open, and the whole of the cavalry, and the fearful bands of the Cro- tians were let loose upon the doomed people. The scene of slaughter which now commenced, no lan- guage can describe, no poet's pencil paint; neither innocent childhood, helpless old age, neither sex, rank or station, nor beauty could disarm the rage of the victorious soldiers. Women in their hus- bands' arms, daughters at the feet of their fathers, %' «» mA. THE TAKING OP MAGDEBURG. 163 I Tilly place, lanting n selves le, they lumane aaanded LOt even I silence ives and ted open • animal ly found y of the r had the 3maining ;he whole the Cro- ►le. The I, no lan- ;; neither ither sex, L the rage their hus- ir fathers, were ru thlessly murdered, the defenceless sex having a double sacrifice to offer. None, however well concealed, no matter how holy the place, could escape the all-searching eye of avarice. Fifty- three women were found beheaded in a single church. Croats amused themselves with throwing children in the flames, Poppenheim's Walloons speared infants at their mother's breasts. Some officers, shocked at the sight of such cruelties, went to Count Tilly and begged him to put a stop to such fiendish deeds. " Come again in an hour," said he, " and I will then see what I shall do ; the soldiers must have some recompense for the dangers they have run, and the fatigues they have endured." These horrors continued with unabated fury until arrested by fire and smoke. To increase the con- fusion, and to break the resistance of the citizens, houses had been fired in different places ; a storm , arose and the flames enveloped the city in an incre- dibly short space of time ; fearful was the pressure of the crowd in its efforts to escape through the smoke and the swords of the enemy, rushing.through ruins and streams of blood, the atmosphere at the boiling point. The insufferable heat at last forced even these ferocious murderers to flee to their camp. In less than twelve hours, this populous and wealthy city — the most beautiful in Germany — was reduced II f liiN 164 LE SOUVENIR. to ashes, two churches and a few small houses ex- cxcepted ; the Governor, Christian Wilhelm, was, together with three Burgermeisters, after receiving many wounds, taken prisoners. Many brave offi- cers and magistrates found a death to be envied, in fighting. Four hundred of the richest inhab- itants preserved their liberty and lives, through some of the officers who mostly belonged to the League, whose avarice was satisfied by the payment of enormous ransoms. The Emperor's troops re- turned with renewed thirst for plunder, before the fury of the flames had subsided, to root for valu- ables uuder the ruins and ashes; many were smothered in the smoke ; numbers made immense booty, the wealth beiuij; concealed in the cellars. On the 13th of May, Tilly himself appeared in the city after the rubbish and dead bodies had been cleared away. Horrible, frightful, disgusting was the scene which now presented itself to the eyes of humanity, — living beings, who had crept under the bodies of the dead for safety, lost children, who with heart-rending cries were seeking their parents, infants sucking at the breasts of their dead mothers. More than six thousand bodies were thrown into the Elbe in order to clear the streets, many thou- sands of the living and the dead were consumed together by the fire. The total number destroyed was over thirty thousand. es ex- was, iving 3 offi- nvied, Lnhab- rough to the lyment ops re- bre the )! valu- y were [umense cellars, ared in lad been bing was the eyes pt under ren, who parents, mothers, own into xny thou- 3onsumed destroyed THE NILE. THE NILE. 105 The Nile presents a marvellous spectacle to travellers ; whether we consider only its immense flow of water, or the phenomena which accompany its course. 1 have seen the Scamander, the Simois» the Grannicus, and other celebrated rivers, but a]] of them would not supply water sufficient to fill one of the branches of the Nile in the Delta. When almost all the other rivers are dried up by the intense heat of the sun, the Nile overflows the land of Egypt and in retiring to its bed covers the country with the richest of all manures, thus ren- dering it one of the most fruitful countries upon . the globe. The Nile, said an ancient Egyptian, may be said in a manner to surpass heaven itself in the distr^'bution of its gifts ; for it waters the earth unaccompanied by storms and rains. The overflowing of rivers is generally looked upon as a calamity, and spreads terror and consternation around. The inundation caused by the Egyptian river is, on the contrary, the source of all the wealth of the land. And when the overflow commences, thanks to heaven are offered up by its grateful in- habitants. This beneficent river, without receiving any tributary in its long course to the sea, supplies in abundance every want of the country, and fills a si ■ > «4 I I 166 LE SOUVENIR. i !»;■ i great r umber of canals, several of which resemble rivers in their magnitude. It divides into two branches, flowing through the Delta into the sea. It has not only rendered Egypt for ages the most productive of countries, but its very soil is derived from the glorious river. The ancient Egyptians venerated the Nile, which they regarded as a divine ebianation of Knouphis, of the blue tunique and Ram's Head. They had in their religious belief a terrestrial and a celestial Nile.* The worship of the river no longer exists, but the grateful people call it the good Nile. For three or four thousand years the source of the Nile was unknown. This ignorance of its origin gave rise to many fables full of poetry : it was supposed to ^ uke its rise in the Gebel-el-Kamar, or the mountains of the moon in Abyssinia, more than two thousand four hundred miles from its embouchure. Nevertheless, the search is not abandoned. But for myself, I shall wait very patiently for the result of these great ex- peditions ; if crowned with success, I shall rejoice at the discovery, and shall applaud with all my heart the discoverers. If they should not discover what they have so vainly sought up to the present, the ignorance we shall remain in will still have its charms. For the Nile with its mysterious source will resemble to us the Divinity, manifested only by his gifts. NIGHT EXCURSION ON THE BAY OF NAPLES. 167 The immense quantity of fertilizing matter depo- sited by the Nile, and forming the Delta of Egypt, would afford (without being missed) a anfficient quantity of the most desirable manure, to render again fertile all those lands in various countries, now so greatly exhausted by continual cropping. — (Jt appears the honor of the discovery of the source of the Nile has recently been acquired by two English travellers, — TRANSLATOR.) NIGHT EXCURSION ON THE BAY OF NAPLES. At the commencement of twilight we slowly sailed along the shore. The landscape appeared as if floating in the sweet evening air ; a fresh breeze swept over the gently murmuring billows. By degrees the sounds from the shore ceased, star after star shone forth in glorious splendor, a heavenly silence dwelt upon the face of the waters, only inter- rupted by the monotonous sound of the oars, or the occasional gambols of some inhabitant of the deep. Now, the reflected light of the fire from Vesuvius played and shone and glowed with intense lustre upon the waves. And now a gorgeous scene commenced. Through the smoke qf the mountain, i ij ii '1 j M 1 I !■ ;■ i 168 LE SOUVENIR. sparks mounted up like fireballs, which either vanished high in the air or descended again in a luminous track; at times the vast volume of smoke assumed the appearance of an enormous flame ; from time to time the crater shot forth a shower of red hot stones, and these glowing masses formed into brilliant sparks. This majestically glorious scene was reflected in the agitated sea, and in appearance the great abyss opened and sent forth immense flames. Occasionally the smoke shone with greater brilliancy, now high in the air, and then nearer the earth, while silvery clouds swept over the inountain. A gust of wind divided the smoke in two parts, and through the opening shone the queen of night — a scene indeed of rapture. Her tremu- lous silvery rays poured upon the bay like light upon the many folds of a mantle. We now glided through the friendly light along the slumbering shore, with its mountains and forests gleaming in the moonlight. We lay tossed by the restless waves under us, above us the everlasting stars and the boundless vault of night. The east becomes redder, the morning star still twinkles brightly, and a light mist ascends from the water. We landed, and felt as if loaded with treasure and newly born, and passed between the dew-bedecked bushes and slumbering huts. By degrees life began to st: -^ THE PLAGUE OP FLORENCE. 169 the shades of night had passed away, and the daily pursuits of men recommenced. But there is no landscape in nature, from the icebergs of Greenland, to the verdant scenes of the torrid zone, in which objects of sublimity or of beauty, in boundless variety, are not presented to the view, in order to stimulate the mind to activity, and to elevate its conceptions of the beneficent Creator, — " goodness infinite, And love that passeth knowledge I words are vain ; Language is lost in wonders so sublime, — Come then, expressive silence, muse his praise." THE PLAGUE OF FLORENCE. In 1348 the plague raged over all Italy, with the exception of Milan, and some of the Cantons at the foot of the Alps, where it was scarcely felt. The same year it crossed the mountains and pene- trated into Provence, Savoy, Dauphiny, and Bur- gundy, and by Aigues-Mortes into Catalonia. The following year it spread westward to the Atlantic Ocean, visiting the Barbary States, Spain, France, and England, Brabant alone escaping the contae;ion. In 1350 it advanced toward the north. 170 LE SOUVENIH. i'i attacking the Frisons, the Germans, the Hungari- ans, the Danes and the Swedes. It was then, and by that calamity that the Kepublic of Iceland per- ished. The mortality was so great in that frigid island, that the few inhabitants who escaped the pest were not enough to form what may be termed a nation. The symptoms were not everywhere the same. In the East a bleeding at the nose announced the malady; at the same time it was the certain presage of death. In Florence it appeared in the groin or under the armpits, in the shape of a tumour, about the size of an egg, afterwards the swelling which they termed gavocciolo, appeared all over the body, and then the symptoms chaP/ged, and the contagion appeared in the shape of black and livid spots, all over the body, and, like the gavocciolo, was a certain indication of death, All the infected places were soon struck with extreme terror, when it mas seen with what inexpressible rapidity the plague spread. Not only in conversing with the sick or approaching them too closely, but even touching things which they had touched, or belonged to them, immediately communicated the disease. Men fell dead in the streets upon touch- ing clothes which they had found. People no longer blushed at displaying their egotism and cowardice. THE PLAQUE OP FLORENCE. 171 The fate of the poor and even of persons toler- well off, was iLOst deplorable, confined by in- Ux^ence, in crowds, living in miserably poor and ill- ventilated houses they were carried off by thousands, without care or attention of any kind they frequently perished to a man. Many perished by day and by night upon the public roads ; others abandoned in their houses ; their deaths were only discovered by the fetid odor emanating from their bodies. The fear that the air would become corrupted? rather than charity, induced the neighbors to vist the apartments and draw out the bodies and place them before the door. Every morning was to be seen a number thus placed in the streets ; a coffin or a plank was then brought to convey them away ; frequently a coffin contained the husband and wife, the father and son, or two brothers ; then preceded by two priests bearing a cross, and chauntlng the burial service, the funeral procession commenced its march, and as it advanced other coffins -were brought out, and the priests who were only engaged for one, often buried seven or eight. Immense trenches were dug in the cemeteries, in which the bodies were placed in layers and covered with a little earth. In the mean time the survivors, per- suaded that amusements and games of all kinds could alone preserve them from the epidemic, n' 1 ill 112 LE SOUVENIR. 1 1 sought for them not only in theii* own houses, but also in those of strangers, whenever they expected to find anything that would please them. Every thing was free, for no one expecting to live gave up all care of his person and property; strangers entered the houses and assumed all the rights of the pro- prietor. Respect was no longer paid to Divine or human laws ; those who should have watched over their execution were dead, or struck down, or deprived of their subalterns, so that they were no longer capable of inspiring any fear in the breasts of evil doers, so that all acted according to their own will and fancy. The country was not spared any more than the cities ; the castles and villages suffered in proportion with the capital. The poor agricultural laborers, who lived in houses scattered over the country, without medical advice or any kind of care, died upon the roads and in the fields more like beasts than men. Be- coming negligent of everything in the world, as if their last day had arrived, they neglected the culti- vation of the land, and devoured everything they had in their barns. The animals driven from the farms, wandered through the deserted fields and the standing crops which their owners had neglected to harvest; and returned in the evening to their stables although they had no longer masters of ^*^W0'' THE PLAGUE OP FLORENCE. 173 shepherds to watch over them. There never had been a plague known to have carried off so many victims before ; out of five people struck with it three died. In Florence and its environs, Boccacc estimates the loss at more than one hundred thou- sand persons, at Pisa seven out of ten perished ; at Sienna, the historian Agnolo de Tura relates that in four months the plague carried off eighty thousand souls, and that he himself buried with his own hands five of his sons in one grave. The city of Traponi in Sicily remained without an inhabitant. Genoa lost forty thousand inhabitants, Naples sixty thousand, and Sicily five hundrec' and thirty thou- sand. It has been estimated that Europe lost three fifths of its population. Citizens avoided each other ; neighbors neglected their neighbors; and relations, if they sometimes visited each other, stopped at a distance, which betrayed their fear. At length the brother was seen to abandon the brother, the uncle the nephew^ the wife her husband, and sometimes mothers forgot their children. Thus the only resource remaining to the innumerable multitudes of sick was the heroic devotion of a small number of friends, or the avarice of servants, who for an immense reward offered to face the danger. The latter, being for the most part coarse peasants, 1,;- 174 LE SOUVENIR. 'I' ' ■; \A I little accustomed to the care of the sick; their attentions were ordinarly confined to the execution of a few orders from the infected, or to carry the news of their decease to their relatives. This isola- tion and the terror which had seized upon all minds, caused the strictness of ancient manners and the pious customs of the living for shewing their affec- tion and resrret for the dead to fall into disuse. The sick not only died without their being sur- rounded by their relatives and neighbors, as was the ancient custom, but frequently departed with- out a single witness to their last moments. 'People were persuaded that sorrow predisposed them for, and that joy and pleasure were preventives against the plague, and women even endeavored to amufce themselves at the sorrowful appearance of a funeral, by laughing and joking. Very few bodies were escorted to the grave by more than ten or twelve neighbors, and the bearers were no longer citizens of the same rank in life, but grave-diggers of the lowest grade. For a large reward they transported the body with precipitation, not to the church designated by the deceased, but to the nearest they could find; sometimes preceded by five or six priests, with a small number of wax candles; but frequently without any religious ceremony what- PENANG. 175 ever, they were liang into the first grave that was found ready. <* It was a chosen plot of fertile land, Amongst wide waves set like a little nost, As if it had by nature's cunning hand, Been choicely picked out from all the rest, And laid forth for ensample of the best," PEXANG. It is here that we realize the dream of perpetual spring, isolated at the sam j time in the midst of the ocean, that it might not be invaded by a greedy and vulgar crowd. The poetical Indian races — Par. sees, Javanse, Hindoos, industrious Chinese, and g, few select Europeans, Cs.nadians and Americans — Priests of foreign missions, and English, those kings of the known world — possess this domain. For them the privileged soil ripens the fruits of every tropical zone, from the banana of the old Indian world to the litchi of To Kien. For them it decks its bosom with flowers of every ountry, the sweet-s oented camelia,, the frangepane the fragrant vanilla, the lotus and the rose. And of climate there is every variety, according as you ascend the volcanic mountains that crown the little . -.J lUMiq^lJJ I 176 LE SOUTENIR. Island, whither invalids from India resort to recover their health, as Europeans sick betake themselves to Madeira. The town of Penang, advantageously situated on the sea shore, is inhabited chiefly by Europeans and Chinese ; the Indians and Malays preferring to dwell in the country under the shade of flowers and fruit trees. The Doctor took up his quarters with a French friend, the chief of the foreig^i missionaries in Malaya. A most hospitable mansion was that of the Rev. M. Bigandet: all that the worthy missionary asked in return for a kindly welcome and good fare, was that once in a week, his countrymen should follow the example of English, Indians, and Chinese, and attend the service of their church. Even this modest desire was not always complied with by the irreverent Frenchmen, some of whom were of a class that sel- dom darkens the doors of a place of worship. Of such was a savage little Corsair, whose acquaint- ance the Doctor made, a mate or boatswain, who had deserted from his ship to seek his fortune amongst the Islands of the East. His name was Martin ; he had bestowed upon himself the rank of captain j he was a short square built,powerful fellow, red faced and red bearded, with quick cat-like grey eyes. He was noted for his intrepidity, and com- manded a small vessel, manned by ten Malays r» f . ■ ■ ■ - :'---vmf\ PENANa. 177 recover mselves ^eously lefly by Malays e shade I up his ■ of the )spitabl^ : all that a kindly L a week, Gaple of end the pst desire rreverent that sel- hip. Of acquaint- ^ain, who fortune lame was ae rank of ful fellow, ■like grey and com- m Malays and Lascars, with which he traded between the islands and the mainland. Many were the tales told of his perils and prowess. Upon one occasion the Doctor relates : " Captain Martin was returning to Penang, after a profitable trip, when his mate called his attention to a suspicious looking Proa bearing right down upon them. His experienced eye at once made it out to be a Malay craft, full of men and carrying small guns, and whose intentions were most unlikely to be friendly. The merchantman moved slowly, the Proa flew over the sea. The captain assembled his crew, and informed them of his intention to resist the pirates, to which end lie would at once serve out the few arms there were on board. To this project Lascars and Malays vehemently objected. They had shipped they stated, to work the ship, not to fight it, and had no notion of getting themselves killed in defence of the captain's dollars ; and having said that much, they lay down upon the deck. Captain Martin did not conde- scend to argue with his crew. He assembled a council of war, consisting of himself and mate : after a brief consultation, the council agreed to fight to the last cartridge. Then without further words, si'^y went down into the cabin. Captain Martin took down two double-barrelled guns, which he U^.i i i ^ / f P M 3 178 LE fiOtJVENIR. handed to his mate, "with good store of ammunitloti. Then he took in one haad a bar of iron, about three feet long, and in the other an enormous cudgel, which had already made acquaintance with the backs of most of his ciew. Thus armed, the two friends returned upon deck. * Load the guns in these fellows' presence ; station yourself aft, and listen to what I say to them.* " The captain threw his iron bar upon the deck, grasped the cudgel with both hands, and thus addressed the crew : * You will not fight,' said he j * you have a perfect right to refuse, but I have a right to beat and belabor you until you obey my orders. I will make jon dance a famous jig, and if you dislike the music and climb the rigging not to hear it, I will pick you off with musket balls 1" Without a moment's delay he attacked them with a storm of blows. The men were so terrified by the suddenness of the attack that they only thought of escaping from the terrible cudgel which drew blood wherever it fell upon them. They ran in all directions, some to the shrouds, some to the masts, one threw himself into the sea, and no one thought of picking him up. In ten minutes' time the whole crew, except the one who was drowned, were pros- trate at Captain Martin's feet, wiping the dust from his shoes wilh their faces, and swearing to defend m w 1?BNANG. 179 the ship till tL y were all killed. ^ Very good, my lads,' said he, ' I see that gentleness is all that is wanted to bring you to a sense of your duty.* " He dropped the cudgel, and took up the iron bar. The crew thought it better to kill the pirates than to be certainly killed by the captain : so they armed themselves with axes, pikes, boat hooks — in short with whatever came to hand. Their prepara- tions were scarcely made when the Proa was along- side. A Malay grappled the merchantman with a boat hook, and six well-armed pirates sprang upon her deck. " *Let none stir,' shouted Captain Martin. And with bis iron bar he struck dpwn the first two Malays who set foot upon the vessel. At the same moment his mate shot the man who held the boat hook, and the Proa drifted from the ship's side, lliis bold resistance frightened the pirates ; they hesitated, uncertain what to do j their hesitation, was fatal to them,* for two more shots fell amongst them, each killing its man. They spread their sails, and fled from Ufee merchantman as swiftly as they had approached it, leaving the boarders to their fate. By that time Captain Martin had but three opponents left ; he had killtjd two, and a third lay upon the deck with both legs fractured ; the others yielded themselves prisoners. Satisfied with i ' r.r 180 LE SOUVENIR. i.. his victory, Captain Martin, like a humane man as he was, first had the Malay with the broken legs thrown into the sea, to save him further suiFering ; then he had the prisoners brought before him. He did not keep them long in suspense. After a phy siognomical examination, he ordered two of them to be hung by the third, who was a youth of nineteen; according to his expression, he gave this young man the benefit of the French law, and considered him to have acted without discernment. " The captain upon his arrival at Penaug, made his report to the English authorities ; an enquiry was instituted, and it was proved that his Malay sailors were in league with the pirates. Two of them were accordingly condemned to be hung.'* - There are several French planters and merchants settled in Penatig, says the Doctor, " full of confi- dence in the efficacious protection of the British flag" — a flag which, in those distant regions, is truly the vigilant guardian of the civil, religious, and com- mercial liberty of all it shelters without distinction of nationality. The Doctor accords just praise and admiration to the general administrative wisdom thai has secured so vast and flourishing an empire to a little European island. ■'▼T- PEAYER FOR ALL MEN. PRAYER FOR ALL MEN. 181 My daughter, go and pray ! See, night is come. One golden planet pierces through the gloom j Trembles the misty outline of the hill. Listen ! the distant wheels in darkness glide- All else is hushed ; the tree by the road side . Shakes in the wind its dust strewn branches still. Day is for evil, weariness and pain.. Let us to prayer ! calm night is come again. The wind among the ruined towers so bare Sighs mournfully : the herds, the flocks, the streams All suflfer, all complain ; worn nature seems Longing for peace, for slomber, and for prayer. It is the hour when babes with angels speak. While men are rushing to their pleasures weak And sinful, all young children, with bent knees, Byes raised to heaven, and small hands folded fair, Say at the self-same hour the self-same prayer On our behalf, to Him who all things sees. . And then to sleep. Oh peaceful I cradle sleep I childhood's hallowed prayer ! religion deep Of love not fear, in happiness expressed 1 So the young bird, when done its twilight lay Of praise, folds per cefully, at close of day Its head beneath its wing, and roostsjat rest, Ji SJ < 182 LE SOUVENIR. Pray thou for all who living tread Upon this earth of graves ; For all whose weary pathways lead Among the winds and waves ; For him who madly takes delight In pomp of silken mantle bright, Or swiftness of a horse ; For those who laboring suffer still ; Coming or going — doing ill— Or on their heavenward course. Pray then for him who nightly sins Until the day dawns bright — Who at eve's hour of prayer begins His dance and banquet light; Whose impious orgies wildly ring Whilst pious hearts are offering Their prayers at twilight dim ; And who, those vespers all forgot. Pursues his sin, and thinketh not God also heareth him. Child ! pjay for all the poor beside ; The prisoner in his cell. And those who in the city wide With crime and misery dwell ; For the wise man who thinks and dreams ; For him who impiously blasphemes Religion's holy law ; Pray then,— for prayer is infinite,— Thy faith may give the scorner light, Thy prayer forgiveness draw. PETBOLEUM. 183 PETROLEUM. A traveller, arrivin^^in the city of Shamakai, at the foot of Mount Caucasus, on the western shores of the Caspian Sea, is generally induced, by the representations of the natives, to visit those little known Phloegraan fields which eternally flame and smoulder in the vicinity of Baku. Probably, up portion of the earth's surface is more replete with natural wonders. The summits and upper valleys of the Caucasus, in many parts as litv^le known as the mountains of the moon, are said, at times, to emit flame and smoke, and to distil strange oleaginous substances which, trickling down through rocky veins and crevices, ooze out of the earth at considerable dis- tances, and are designated by various names. At th^ foot of the vast PaiopairJsan range, on which the Arabs bestow the name of Kaf, and regard as the girdle of the earth, a small peninsula, about nine miles in length, by four and a half in breadth, projects into the Caspian sea, and is known among the natives by the name of Okesra. On this stands the city of Baku, whose origin is lost in remote antiquity. A body of legends, which would fill a volume, clings about the ruins of this antique dwelling of the Medes,.and, modified by credulity t I !%Pf^ 184 hZ SOirVENIU. ','■' 1: m :!i| u) li and sapeiHstition, has worked its way into the Islam- itic mythology of Persia, and been carried by Parsee pilgrims to the shores of India, where it sparkles or glooms about the hearths of the fire-worshippers, many of whom, at the hazard of their lives, ever have sought to obtain a glimpse of the sacred flame, ever burning clear and bright on the margin of the Caspian wave, around which their ancestors once knelt and worshipped in countless multitudes. Along the neck of the Peninsula runs a chain of mountain spurs ; the valleys between which are fertile and carefully cultivated : but as you advance southward, the land becomes barren, consisting, in some parts, of shifting Band, in others of dark mud, while elsewhere the naked rock, porous as pumice- stone, and almost entirely composed of the debris of sea-shells, crops out of the earth. Here and there are small conical hills, crested sometimes with the tombs of saints in ruins, nodding over salt lakes, or crumbling away, particle by particle, into the circumjacent marshes. On one side you behold a cone of black naphtha, looking like a mountain of pitch ; on another a hill of fullers earth, through which, as through an artificial tube, nature forces up the clay in one huge cylinder, which, when it at- tains a certain height in the air, bursts by its own weight, and falls in a shower over the hill, tjje PETROLEUM. 185 'i height of which is incessantly augmented. Down yonder, in a spacious depression in the plain, you observe an expanse of whitish sand, interspersed with heaps of gray ashes, and here and there tall bright flames, like immense gas jets, surging upwards everlastingly, sometimes with a low crack- ling sound, but generally in profound silence. About these fires, men, more or less in number, are congregated, day and night, some for secular pur^ poses, others with motives of devotion. The industrial divisions of the crowd are cooks and limeburners ; the former repairing thither from all the neighboring villages to roast and boil, and prepare pilaus for the wealthier children of El Islam ; while the latter stack up over the flaming fissures heaps of stone, which, when they have been converted into lime, they carry down to the coast to be shipped for Russia, Daghestan, and the country of the Usbeck Tartars. Near the largest of the Salt Lakes stands a vil- lage, which, like many of the temples and cities of the ancient world, enjoys the privilege of sanctuary. Formerly, they say, while the Califs of the race of Omar reigned at Bagdad — a prince of rare sanctity, but who entertained opinion&> somewhat different from those of the commanders of the faithful — fled frora. persecution, and took refujje beyond Kaf, in w I; ^ ^:^>. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) / {/ A O % f,^ 1^ ^tfrt ''S!«*!5r o &>/ A fA 1.0 I.I 1.25 ^ 140 1.4 IIM 2.0 1.8 1.6 .<&. v^ A ^» e. e). ^Z ^ ^1W y /^ Photographic Sciences Corporation 33 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (716) 872-4503 iV &. i^' CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHIVI/ICIVIH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions Institut Canadian de microrerroductions historiquet 1980 m m If w I.I i f 186 LE SOUVENIR. the burning Peninsula of Baku. Here, in a castle on the top of a rock, and surrounded by his at- tached followers^ he lived to extreme old age ; and when he died, was interred among the flags on the edge of the lake. Presently an arched tomb, like those on which the traveller sits at night on the bank of the upper Nile, rose over his remains, and, by degrees, a village was built about the tomb, with wall, and moat, and gates. Public opinion attached the idea of sanctity to this place, so that to pursue any one who took refuge in it was doomed an inex- piable offence. Nothing was required of the fugi- tive but to stoop and kiss the threshold of the gate, or to press his lips against the links of an iron chain which hung suspended from the archway, within reach, and, in time, was almost worn away by the grasp and kisses of the pious refugees, aided, perhaps, a little by the action of rust. Once within the walls, he might taste of the sweet waters, which, through respect for the holiness of the dead Saint, Heaven had bestowed on the village. The good people of Okesra, little versed in geography, could account no otherwise than by miracle for the existence of a well of fresh water in the midst of salt pools and springs, fountains of naphtha, black and white, rocks dripping with bitumen, and veins of fiery gas bursting forth on all sides through PETROLEUM. 187 cracks in the soil. Persons of cool northern tem- perament find it difficult to comprehend the state of mind which induces men to travel from the plains of Multan, or the fertile valleys of Guzerat, ex- pending large sums of money by the way, merely to sit down for weeks or months by an opening in the rockj through which a clear white flame, from fifteen to twenty feet high, ascends into the atmos- phere. Here, however, their ancestors, in the remotest ages, did the same, taught, it is said, so to act by that mighty legislator and philosopher, whose oriental name of Zerdusht was transformed by the Greeks into Zoroaster. But the Parsees, wher- ever they reside, are only exiles in India; they may be beloved and honored for their charity, or knighted by the Queen of Great Britain for their wealth and enterprise ; but the home of their spirit lies westward beyond the the Sublina range, beyond the desert of Khorasan, beyond the peaks and forests of the Elburz, in the land of figs and pome- grantes, of grapes and roses, of naphtha springs and eternal fires. To them the followers of Mahommed are either sanguinary conquerors or base renegades, who may, indeed, be sufficiently powerful to keep them, the true rulers and owners of Persia, far away from their ancestral possessions, but who are dogs and infidels nevertheless, over whom they seem ] 188 LE SOUVENIR. i^BHHf M' IB^K i^ a^^^l M 1 ■^■^H "'l! ' n 1 to triumph when hewing their way through their caitiff multitudes by the force of gold. They come back to the everlasting dwelling-place of fire, and bow and worship with inexpressible reverence before, what to them, is the visible symbol of God. If you go forth, therefore, at night from Bak;\ and approach the plain of white sand, you will behold these disciples of Zoroaster either seated in deep meditation upon the earth, or bowing their tur- baned heads before the mounting flames. In the background, towards the west, rise the peaks of Caucasus, enveloped in snow ; to the east extends the Caspian, heaving gently in summer, as all seas do, deriving, it may be, their tremulous uneasiness from the rotatory motion of the earth on its axis. Listen, and you will hear the accents of an unknown language — that which preceded the dialect of the Zendavesta — muttered by some banker or shipbuilder of Bombay, who, in his own home on the Indian ocean, speaks English, and reads Milton and Shakspeare. But here, inOkesra, in face of the sacred fire, he is another being, agitated by feelings and sentiments which have been wafted dowi to him over the waves of time, from far beyond the deluge. To study Gibbon, Burke, and Bacon, and our philosophical specula- tions, is found by the Parsee by no means incom- PETROLEUM. 18& patiblc with a firm and faithful acceptance of the ancient creed of the Medes. You may tell him what you please about civili- zation, about new faiths, and improvements in ethics. After attending politely to your discourse, his mind goes back at a bound to its belief in that formative principle, heat, caloric, fire, which, in his view, created the world, and still constitutes the soul of all living things. According to his theory, warmth is life, and cold is death. He has never, in intelligible language, revealed to the profane the ideas which float over his mind, when having come wayworn and weary from ifar, he contemplates the surging and brilliant elements, which, escaping from the crust of our planet, points visibly to the stars, with whose substance it is to him obviously identical. Yet these luminous phenomena are only the external manifestations of God to the Parsee,* the elemental sheath, so to speak, in which he in- volves his invisible power and creative energy. The vulgar process of lime burning and cooking, the fir«-wor shipper regards as so many gross misappli- cations, though, perhaps, necessary, of the Divine element which pervades and vivifies everything, and flashes upon him brilliantly as he reclines or kneels on the soft white sand of Okesra. If you remain there all night, you will behold a phenomena hi ! 190 tE SOUVENIR. nowhere seen but in Persia, which the fire-worship- per considers in the light of a confirmation of the truth of his creed. About two hours before day-break, a mimic dawn appears in the east, where the saiffron rays rise in a vast arch, and, shooting up to the zenith, expand and kindle the whole sky, rendering the stars pale, and lighting up the summits of the mountains with a glow and splendor like that of the early morning. This, however, is the false dawn, which, after awaken- ing the birds, and robing the earth with light, again fades away, and leaves the whole hemisphere above, and the face of our globe below, buried in darkness as before. Generally the Mahommedans are held to be a per- secuting people — with good reason, perhaps, in one phase of their character, yet, at times, they are tolerant to a marvel. They despise the Hindus ; they equally despise the Parsees, but they have tra- ditions, more than half fabulous, which attribute to both those sections of mankind — powers acquired by magic or otherwise, which are denied, for good reasons, doubtless, to the believers in the Koran. When a Parsee, therefore, arrives at Baku, on his way to the eternal fires, all the true believers in the Caravansary make place for him — first, because he inspires them with awe, and next, perhaps, because PETROLEUM. 191 wise as he may be in the wisdom of the world, he is ignorant of that saving faith which belongs exclu- sively to their religion. Yet they have no objection to sell him food, or, in exchange, to take his fine Indian gold mohurs cr English minted rupees. As has been seen, moreover, they will repair with him to the place of flame, and convert his divinity into a kitchen fire^ or into the active agent of a lime- kiln. Still, they are not without a certain myste rious feeling on the subject of the inflammable gases, and have invented stories, too long and wild^ to be here related, about the place whence, accord- ing to their interpretation, the brilliant and white jets ascend. It would be useless to explain to them that beneath the thin shell of rock which forms the surface of the Okesran Peninsula, there lie exten sive lakes of petroleum, fed perpetually by subter- ranean streams from the Caucasus, inflammable exhalations, from which, having made their way to upper air, were set on fire by accident, and have never since been extinguished. In cer- tain places, however, where the springs below are small and shallow, you may play with the deity o the fire-worshippers with impunity. Of this the limeburners are fully aware, and, by way of amus- ing or surprising strangers, will pluck a few threads from their cotton garments, and putting them on 'i II - IH ■ ■ 11 I V B ■ m 192 LE SOUVENIR, 4: um' pi the end of a long rake, and setting them on fire, will hold them over a cleft in the jrock, through which they know, by experience, that invisible exhalations ascend. In an instant, the gases take fire and shoot up to a great height in the atmos- phere. The traveller, perhaps, imagines that these flames, also, like those he beholds elsewhere in the Peninsula, will continue burning ; but ere his amazement at their sudden appearance has ceased, they collapse and vanish. The strong and disagree- able smell of petroleum is so great that people are obliged to hold their noses as they pass. What perplexes the inhabitants most, however, is the im- mense number of monuments of remote antiquity existing on all sides, especially the figures of lions, accompanied by inscriptions in an unknown tongue. Though they themselves are dwellers in Okesra, it is past their comprehension that persons, opulent enough to select their own places of abode, should ever have established themselves in their fiery Pen- insula, and amid sand and fuller^s earth, and foun- tains of black and white naphtha and stagnant pools, the fetid smell of petroleum, and the crackling of flames. In spite of all this, Baku, with all the surrounding country, was a favorable residence of tjie Medes, as well of those fierce conquerors from Macedonia, who subverted the Persian monarchy. PETROLEUM. 193 1 and left so many traces of their rule over the whole of Asia, from the mouths of the Nile to the farthest waters of the Punjaub. At Baku, the chisel of Greece was busily at work, and has left upon the face of rocks and the fa§ade of ruined palaces numerous mementos ofits playful character, figures of men engaged in various amusements and games of chance. To the believers in El Islam, all these things are so many abominations. Like all regions impregnated with Sre, this part of Persia produces excellent fruit, which seems to be fuller of refreshing juice than in almost any other part of the East. When you arrive, therefore, at a caravansary on a July noon, the first thing with which the attendant presents you, in a saucer of white porcelain, is a pomegranate. You break it, you inhale the delicious aroma, you sip the pinky juice, and your weariness vanishes like a dream. In the low marshy grounds, close to the Caspian, you find water melons, scarcely, if at all, inferior to those of Calamata, in the Morea, which, when cut into slices, look like sweet water held in suspension by a network of fibres. These, with the apples of Shirwan, and the dates of Irak and Diarbekir, the Parsees prefer to all the fruits of India, the anana, the mango, and the [mangosteen, because they de- tect in them the 'flavor of their ancient fatherland. N I i fg;, 'liJ I:. <■ " ' > x ^m 194 LE SOUVENIR. As they eat, they dream of the past, when the Bword of the Mede was a terror to the world. The people, for many years, were in the habit of amusing themselves by turning a remarkable spring of mineral oil upon the Caspian Sea, and.then set- ting fire to it^ the sea appearing as if in flames. H. B. Baku contains between five and six thousand inhabitants, and was ceded to Russia by the Per- sians in 1813. t THE PYRAMIDS. " Let not a monument give you or me hopes. Since not a pinch of dust remains of Cheops." The higher one ascends the Nile, the more the country increases in beauty, and assumes the appearance of a delightful garden, or paradise. Glorious crops adorn the fruitful plains, as in the days of Joseph ; groves of palms, oranges, lemons, and Adam's apples ; hedges of Indian figs, whose leaves no sooner fall than others immediately replace them ; and immense fields of cotton and sugar-cane, are seen as far as the eye can reach. These all owe their existence to the glorious old Nile, which regularly every July overflows all the THE PYRAMIDS. 195 Q the .bit of spring 311 set- 3S. H. B. 3usaiid le Per- 9S. ops." lore the Qes the >aradisc. ,s in the lemons, i^ whose lediately iton and n reach, rious old s all the land of Egypt, and with the aid of canals, which intersect the country, is conveyed to all parts. During the inundation it has the appearance of a vast sea, towns and villages resemhling islands, and the time is kept as a great jubilee by the inhabit- ants. Upon arriving at Cairo, the first thing we did was to visit the pyramids. Four of us hired each an ass, and proceeding through orange groves to Old Cairc^ we traversed its long streets in one hour through crowds of men, camels, apes and dogs^ until we reached Girzeh, at which place we engaged a couple of Arabs, who spoke a little German, as guides. We then rode across the yellow sandy desert towards the seventh wonder of the world, the pyramid of Cheops, arriving in the evening at the foot of the sand-hills upon which it is exalted. The Egyptians were mighty builders : upon this pyramid one hundred thousand men were employed for twenty years. The expenditure for onions, radishes and garlic, alone amounted to ten millions of dollars. The pyramid has 224 steps, each from three to four feet high, and seven feet long, set together without mortar. After one hour's climbing, and perspiring freely, we reached the summit, a quadrangle of thirty-six feet ; the base of the building is three hundred and : f I r I 196 LE SOUVENIR. HI '! f li 1 ^{ forty paces on each side. The top was originally pointed ; but Napoleon, in expectation of finding, an entrance, had it removed. In the palmy days of Egypt, the pyramids were covered with marble and presented a smooth surface ; but the various conquerors of the country employed the marble in the construction oi other edifices. Without sleep, passed this (to us) memorable night ; the Arabs alone slept. As the day broke, and the sun in his glory arose above the desert, behind Cairo, we beheld a majestic sight. To the East, flowed the Nile, through the rich plains of Egypt; Cairo, with its green palms and acacia trees, in the distance ; to th>3 South of them, on a flat sandy desert, were about twenty smaller pyramids; and between them and the Nile, the vast and extensive ruins of the great city of Mem- phis. It is supposed that the pyramids served as tombs for the dead kings and priests of ancient Egypt, the entrance to which was discovered not many years ago by an Austrian naval captain. POMPEII. At Rome we find little more than the ruins of public monuments, and those monuments retrace only the political history of past ages : but a4 Pom- POMPEII. 197 inally r days larble arious :ble in LoraWe broke, desert, To the ains of acacia oa, on a smaller ile, the f Mem- jrved as ancient ired not ain. ruins of retrace I a4 Pom- peii it is the private life of the ancients which presents itself to us, such as it was, two thousand years ago. The volcano which covered this city with its ashes, has preserved it from the destroying hand of time. Edifices exposed to the elements for that length of time would now appear in a very dilapidated state. But this entombed city has re- appeared in the same state as the day of its burial under the ashes. The pictures and bronzes are in a perfect state of preservation, and every article of domestic use in startling good condition; the empliira, containing the wine for the festival ; the flour prepared for kneading into bread ; the remains of a woman dressed for a ball and the jewels which adorned her — her shrivelled arms no longer filling the bracelets of precious stones. Nowhere can be seen so striking a scene of the sudden interruption of human life and aflPairs ; the marks of carriage wheels are to be seen very distinctly in the streets, and upon the stone borders of wells, are seen the marks made by the cords used in drawing water. On the walls of a guard house are to be seen the rude figures drawn by the soldiers on guard to pass away the time, that time which was advancing so rapidly to swallow them up. Standing in a place where several streets meet, and almost in the same condition as when buried : it appears as if one were f - — f'- i /J, WW. I 198 LE SOUVENIR. ii 1 y waiting for somebody. So natural does everything appear, that it instils into the mind a sorrowful feeling, intensified by the eternal silence. The houses in general are built with lava which another eruption of lava and ashes destroyed ; thus we see ruins upon ruins, and tombs upon tombs. This history of the world where epochs are reckoned by ruins, this life of man traced by the light of a volcano which has consumed him, fills the heart with a profound melancholy. Tl at man has long existed, long suffered and that he has perished ; where can we find his sentiraents, his thoughts? Is the air which we here respire still impregnated with them, or are they for ever deposited in heaven, where immortality reigns ? A few manuscripts, partially burnt, 'which were found in Herculaneum a"d Pompeii, and which have been unrolled and deciphered at Portici, are all that remain to inter- pret the feelings of the unfortunate victims which the eruption of Vesuvius destroyed. POMPEY'S PILLAR. In visiting Alexandria, what most engages the attention of travellers is the Pillar of Pompey, as it is commonly called, situated at a quarter of a league from the southern gate. It is composed of ' r"'">.,f II pompey's pillar. 199 ything •rowful , whicli 1 ; thus tombs, jckoned ;ht of a e heart las long 3rished ; shts? Is regnated I heaven, uscripts, Mlaneura lied and to inter- tns which igages the ompey, as arter of a mposed of red granite, a hard kind of stone, variegated with black and white spots, and very common in Egypt and Arabia. . The capital, or uppermost part of the column, is of the Corinthian order of architecture, the palm leaves composing the volutes not being indented, because of the height for whidi they were destined, which would render the indentation in- visible to the spectator below. The shaft, or main body of the Pillar, together with the upper part of the base, or foundation, is composed of one entire block of marble ninety feet long, and nine in diameter. The base is a square of about fifteen feet on 3ach side. This block of marble, sixty feet in circumference, rests on two layers of stone, bound together with lead. The whole column is one hundred and fourteen feet high. It is perfectly well polished, and only a little shivered on the eastern side. There was originally a statue on this Pillar, one foot and ankle of which are still remain- ing. The statue must have been of gigantic size, to have appeared of a man's proportions at so great a height. To the eye below, the capital does not appear capable of holding more than one man upon it ; but it has been found that it could contain no less than eight persons very conveniently. Nothing can equal the majesty of this monument. Seen from a distance, it overtops the town, and serves as [I- *^1 200 LE SOUVENIR. a signal for ships. Approacliing it nearer, it pro- duces an astonishn. it mingled with awe. One can never be tired wi admiring the beauty of the capital, the length of the shaft, and the extraordin- ary simpliiity of the pedestal. The purpose for which this splendid monument was designed, the time when it was raised, and the artist by whom it was planned and executed, are all equally involved in obscurity. History throws no light which can penetrate Egyptian darkness; nor can tradition aver anything certain with regard to it. By some it is thought to have been erected in honor of Pompey, who, flying from Caesar, after the battle of Pharsalia, was basely assassinated in this place. But the more probable opinion is, that it was raised in gratitude to the Emperor Severus, wh( had conferred great favors on the inhabitants of Alexandria. The Pillar of Pompey, or of Severus, call it by which name you will, is a standing monu- ment of the perfection attained by the ancients, in all the arts on which the science of architecture depends : and proves, beyond dispute, that in what respects soever the moderns may have surpassed the ancients, yet, in grandeur of execution, taste, rich- ness, and elegance of combination, they must yield the superiority. REFLECTION. 201 PASSAGE FROM A SERMON, BY BER- THOLD, A.D. 1272. I will show by an example, how little we can say worthily of the glory of God. What can a child unborn know of the glory of this. world in which we live ? Of the bright sun, the sparkling stars, the splendor of jewels, or the virtues and beauties of plants and trees ; of the music of various instru- ments, or the melodies and beautiful plumage of birds, or of the splendid array of gold and silk, produced by the skill of man ? What can the child say of these things ? And thus we are incapable of speaking worthily of the wonderful pleasures of Heaven. As the moon, the stars and the planets, borrow all their light from the sun, so all the heavenly hosts of saints and angels, from the highest to the lowest, receive all their gladness brightness, honor, majesty and beauty, from the countenance of the Lord. It is because they look upon Him that they become so beautiful. REFLECTION. On Huron's shore upon a stone, Lately in thought I sat alone ; Cooling my weary, aching head, Talking to myself T said ; fi'i lii ¥ ' Ik 202 LE SGTJVENm. ' How, midst study, noise and strife, Pass my expiring lease of life ; Three precious bijoux I require To fill my sorrowing soul's desire ; The first is, piety, holy, dear ; The second, health ; the third 'tis clear (But greater still) is heaven's approving smile And after I had mused awhile, I thought it was in vain to pine For so much wealth in one small shrine. To hold in one sad heart a space For piety, health, and heavenly grace ; Should I, in a world like this, Expect to achieve so great a bliss ? THE ROMANS. The greatness of the Roman people consisted almost wholly in their martial career. There are nations — for instance, the Hindoos — which are Roman rather by their religion, science and poetry, than by their actions ; but among the Romans we find little that can be called great and original, excepting their military exploits. They borrowed their education and their literature from the Greeks ; and if they cultivated religion, science, and the fine arts, it was not with a pure devotion, but chiefly with reference to the glory of the state. ^■ir THE ROMANS. 203 'S'^ This wUs the great object of all Roman ambition — to extend the glory of the republic. For this many heroes sacrificed their lives in battle. But when we ask '' in what did the glory of the nation consist ?" we find that the professed means of adding to national greatness were in reality regarded as the end and object of the nation. As heroes died to defend the republic, so the republic lived only to produce heroes. In short, therefore, military glory was the grand idol of Roman worship. Heroes fought in order to fight again I In this respect we may say that the history of Rome resembles the progress of universal humanity; for all men are born to take theit parts in an unceasing warfare with nature and circumstances ; and every victory opens a new field of strife. But Rome lovcd warfare in itself, without regard to any higher object than the glory of the republic, which indeed was only another name for warfare. The whole nation stood forth, in the midst of the world, like a gladiator living only to fight, or like the modern Napoleon 1st, throwing down an universal challenge. For what purpose, what noble, moral motive can we find united with this love of conquest and victory ? It is true that some material civilization of several countries followed Roman conquests; but "vic- tory," " glory," was the great object; not the cul- ^ -■^•^■"mm 204 LE SOTTVENm. tivation of humanity, not the permanent extension of peace. Kome was a great egotist — a robber — a tyrant on a vast scale ! but she fell under her own pride and presumption. While longing for external greatness, she neglected to guard against internal corruption. In this corruption she would have involved all the known world, but nature now iixose against degenerate civilization, and Rome was not even permitted to fall with glory and dignity ; but was wasted away, partly by internal decline, and partly under the attacks of barbarian tribes from Germany. REVOLUTIONS OF THE GLOBE. When we survey the fruitful plains where the flowing and tranquil waters maintain an abundant vegetation, and the soil of which supports a numer- ous population, adorned with flourishing villages, rich cities, superb monuments, never troubled by the ravages of war, or suffer oppression from men in power, we are not inclined to believe that nature had ever undergone internal commotions, or that the surface of the globe had ever been convulsed and overthrown by revolutions and catastrophes. But our ideas change the moment our search is directed beneath the surface of that quiet soil, or (■i ilii viurar^'f REVOLUTIONS OP THE GLOBE. 205 nsion )er — a ir own ternal ternal have r a. ose as not ; but e, and 1 from 3re the [indant Qumer- illages, led by m men nature )r that ivulsed pophes. arch is soil, or when we penetrate the hills and mountains which border it, we then see them, so to speak, develop themselves to our astonished vision. But we com- mence to see on a larger scale the greatness of the ancient events, the moment we begin to ascend the more elevated chain of mountains, and in following the beds of the torrents which descend from them ; and thus, as it were, penetrate their interior. The lowest and most level lands, shew us, even when we penetrate to great depths, that the horizontal layers we pass through, more or less varied, nearly all envelop innumerable products of the sea. Simi- lar beds, containing the same products, form the hills almost to their summits. Sometimes the shells are so numerous that they constitute almost the mass of the soil; they are found at heights above the level of the sea, and where no sea could be carried, at this time, under existing circum- stances; they are not only enveloped in shifting sands, but the hardest rocks are filled- with them. Every part of the world, all the continents, every island present the same phenomenon. These fossil shells have been deposited by the ocean, which has remained long enough to form these regular beds, so thick, so vast, and in some places solid, and full of the remains of aquatic animals. The sea must therefore have covered what is now dry land. This I 206 LE .SOUVENIR, knowledge is acquired by a merely superficial exa- mination. The traces of revolutions become more extraordinary as we approach the great mountain chains. The greater number of the convulsions of nature appear to have been sudden, which is easy to prove by the last of these catastrophes, which, by a double movement, inundated, and then left dry, our present continents. It has left in north- ern countries the bodies of large quadrupeds, frozen, and thus preserved to the present day, with their Bkins, hair and flesh, fresh as in the day they perished. If they had not been frozen as soon as killed, putrefaction would inevitably have decom- posed them ; and on the other hand, this eternal frost could not have existed formerly in those coun- tries, for the animals could not have lived in such a temperature ; therefore at the moment they perished, the country which they inhabited became glacial. THE EUINS OF PALMYRA. The sun had just set ; a red band marked his track on the horizon upon the distant mountains Of Syria. To the east, the full moon arose upon ^ blue sky, over the Euphrates; the air was calm and serene; the expiring brightness of the day THE RUINS OP PALMYRA. 207 m diminished the approaching gloom ; the freshness of the advancing night cooled the burning heat of the departing day ; the shepherds had retired with their camels ; the eye could detect nothing more in motion upon the monotonous and grey-looking plain ; a profound silence reigned over the desert, except at long intervals, one heard the lugubrious cries of some night-birds and jackals. In the twi- light, I could distinguish nothing more than the white phantom-like looking columns and walls. These solitary places, this juiet evening, this ma- jestic scene, impressed upon my spirit a religious contemplation. The aspect of a great deserted city, the memory of times past, the comparison of its present state, all raised in my heart sad thoughts. I sat down upon the trunk of a fallen column, my elbow resting upon my knee, my head supported by my hand; at times looking upon the desert and again fixing my looks upon the ruins, I aban- doned myself to a profound reverie. There, said I to myself, formerly flourished an opulent city; here was the seat of a powerful empire. Yes, these places, at present so deserted, were animated form- erly by a living multitude ; an active crowd circu- lated through the streets ; to-day as silent as the grave ; here resounded without ceasing the noise of daily life, as at the present day in the great ll 208 LE HOUVENia I , I n\ cities of the world j those marbles, now ia fallen masses, were once magnificent palaces ; those crushed columns ornamented majestic temples j those ruined galleries mark the sites of tkeir public squares ; here existed, fulfilling all the duties of life a numerous people; here a creative industry brought riches from every country ; here they exchanged the pur- ple of Tyre for the precious thread of Syria ; the soft tissues of Cashmere, for the luxurious carpets of Lydia ; the amber of the Baltic for the pearls and perfume of Arabia ; the gold of Ophir for the tin of Britain. And now behold the remains of this pow^erful city, — a sad skeleton; behold the remains of a vast dominion — a vain and obscure memorial ; to the buzzing concourse who thronged through its gates, the solitade of death has suc- ceeded ; the silence of the tombs has taken the place of the murmurs of its public places ; the opu- lence of a city of commerce is replaced by a hideous poverty ; the palaces of kings are the resort of wild "beasts ; and unclean reptiles occupy the sanctuary of their gods. Ah ! how is so much glory eclipsed, how so many splendid works annihilated ? Thus do the works of man perish — thus vanish empires and nations. SUMMER AT BT. PETERSBURO, 209 fallen ushed ruined ; here laerous riches le pur- a; the carpets i pearls for the lains of old the obscure ironged as suc- Ken the he ppu- hideous i of wild actuary eclipsed, Thus empires SUMxMER'S NIGHT AT ST. PETERSBURG. Nothing is more rare, and nothing is more en, chanting than a fine summer's night at St. Peters- burg ; whether it be owing to the length of the winter or to their occurring but seldom, which render them so charming, which I believe to be the case, they are certainly more delightful and calm than in the finest climates. The sun, which in the temperate zones precipitates himself as it were below the horizon leaving but a short twilight, appears here to leave the earth with regret. His disc, surrounded with a reddish vapor, rolls like a fiery chariot over the sombre forests, and his rays, reflected by the windows of the palaces, present to the spectator the appearance of a vast conflagration. Great rivers have generally deep beds and steep banks, which give them a wild aspect. The Neva flows through a magnificent city built upon a dead level. Her limpid waters lave the grass of the islands she embraces, and through the whole extent of the city she is confined between two granite quays as far as the eye can reach. There are also three great canals which traverse the capital, of a magnilude and beauty which we may look for in vain elsewhere. Thousands of vessels furrow the waters in every direction. In the distance f il 210 LE SOUVENIR. I I :i, ! in 5 1 at Cronstadt, are seen the foreign ships, whicti bring to this rigid climate the fruits of the tropics and the productions of the globe. In ascending the Neva the traveller meets from time to time, richly decorated gondolas, the oars withdrawn, de- scending slowly with the current this beautiful river, their passengers enjoying in silence the loveliness of the night. Sometimes a bateau, carrying a wedding party of some rich merchant. A gold fringed crimson canopy covers the young couple and their parents ; a Eussian Horn band sending the sound of its noisy instruments a considerable distance. The equestrian statue of Peter the Great is elevated on the bank of the Neva. At the ex- treme end of the immense square of Isaac, his stern countenance looks toward the river as if to animate the commerce created by his genius. All that is heard by the ear, all that the eye beholds, was brought into existence by that powerful mind, which caused to arise from a swamp so many public buildings and monuments upon these deso- late shores, from which nature appears to have banished every living thing. Peter erected his capital — his terrible arm is still extended over his posterity, who press around his august eflGigyi * One * looks and knows not whether that arm of bronze protects or menaces. As the gondola of the tra- THE SOUTHERN CROSS. ^11 voller recedes, the singing of the boatmen, and the confused noises of the city die away insensibly. The sun is set, brilliant clouds shed a soft, a golden light impossible to describe or paint, and not to be seen elsewhere. Light and darkness mingle, as if by consent, to cover the land with a transparent veil. THE SOUTHERN CROSS. Since we entered the torrid zone, we have not ceased every night to admire the beauty of the southern heavens. As we advanced towards the south, new constellations unfolded themselves to our eyes. A wonderful sentiment of adoration takes possession of our souls as we approach the equator, and particularly as we leave one hemis- phere, and enter another, and behold one star after another set and disappear — stars that we have been acquainted with from our earliest youth. Nothing reminds a traveller sooner of the great distance he finds himself from Europe, than the aspect of a new heaven, the grouping of the great stars, some scattered nebulae, which vie in splendor with the ^ milky way, shining as they do, through an extra- ordinary blackness of the sky, gives to the southern heavens a peculiar physiognomy. This spectacle 212 LE SOUVENIR. !■') ■!■< ^^^HiC < sets one's power of imagination in motion, which without instruction in the higher sciences of the firmament, we contemplate with gladness and plea- sure, as one would admire a beautiful landscape, or a majestic view. Without being a botanist, by the aspect of the torrid zone, and without the celestial maps of Flamstead or La Caille, one feels that one is no longer in Europe. The earth and the heavens assume an exotic appearance, the former in its wonderful vegetable productions, the latter in the immense constellations of the Ship and Southern Cross, and the phosphorescent cloud of Magellan. We beheld for the first time on the night of the 4th July, the Southern Cross distinctly, in the 16th deg. of longitude. It was setting, and appeared from time to time between the clouds. At inter- vals, the lightning reflected from the centre of the cross a silver-colored light, producing a scene of exceeding loveliness. If a traveller may be per- mitted to express his personal emotions, I may say that on this night, I saw fulfilled, with a heart full of gratitude to my Maker, one of the earliest dreams of my youth. Upon viewing these glorious heavens, the sublime passage in Dante recurred constantly to m^ mind, in which that celebrated poet has painted in such glowing colors these won- derful constellations. In the solitude of the sea THE SOUTHERN OKOSS. 21b hich ■ the plea- pe, or y the estial ,t one avens in its n the ithera ^ellan. of the 5 16th peared inter- of the ene of >e per- ay say Lrt full arliest lorious ;'iurred ibrated je won- ^lic sea oue greets a star as a friend, from which one has been a long time separated. To the Portuguese and Spaniards, the Southern Cross is peculiarly interesting, as it reminds them of the emblem of their faith, planted by their forefathers in the wil- derness of the new world. As the two great stars, which denote the head aid foot of the cross, have about the same right ascension, the constellation, at the moment it passes the meridian, stands nearly perpendicular. These circumstances, all those who dwell within the tropics, or in the Southern Hemis- phere, are perfectly well acquainted with. Observa- tions have been taken, at different seasons* of the year, at what time in the night the cross is perpen- dicular or inclined, so that it performs the functions of a clock, which advances pretty regularly, about four minutes per diem, and no other constellation presents so ready an opportunity of observing the time at a single glance. How often have we heard in the savannahs of Venezuela, or in the wilderness which extends from Lima to Truxillo, our guides say : " It is past midnight, the cross begins to set.'* How often have these words brought back to my memory the scene where Paul and Virginia sitting at the foot of the fountain, conversing together for the last time, when the old man, looking at the Southern Cross, reminds thtm that it is time to separate. I I'' -A i I(i 214 LE SOUVENIR* SOUVENIR. I::i \ I think of thee When I see the dove On this distant strand Of the Holy Land ; Fondly I think of thee, love. W hen dos't thou think of me ? I think of thee, In tears I do, When on Huron's Bay, In lovely May, I paddle my light canoe. Where dos't thou think of me ? I think of thee In this eastern clime ; O ! dearest mine. By shady fountain, And lofty mountain. How dos't thou think of me ? Absent cher ami, Toujoura I think of thee, Intensely long to see ; Return again, my love, Who, when he sees the dove, So fondly thinks of me. Owen Sound, Nov. 6, 1866. THE SHARK. 215 F» n THE SHARK. This formidable and ferocious fish of prey some- times attains the length of thirty feet, and fre- quently weighs more than one thousand pounds, indeed it has been asserted that a shark was once killed which weighed four thousand. But size is not its only attribute ; he possesses vast strength and destructive powers ; he is as voracious as fero- cious, rapid in his movements, greedy of blood, and insatiable of prey ; he is in fact the sea tiger^ seeking and pursuing his enemies with obstinacy and without fear, attacking them with the greatest rage, fighting with more fury than any of the other inhabitants of the deep; more to be feared than the whale, who is less powerful, and endowed with very different instincts, scarcely ever provoking either the larger animals or man : swift in his course he is to be found in all latitudes ; he has invaded as it were every sea, appearing frequently in the midst of tempests, easily perceived in the stormiest and darkest nights by the phosphorescent light with which he shines ; menacing with and swallowing up his prey with his enormous jaws., Unfortunate ma- riners exposed to the horrors of shipwreck, he closes all means of escape, and displays to them their open and living tomb j it ig not surprising I 216 LE SOUVENIR, III i that he has received the sinister name which he bears, and which awaking so many sad thoughts, presents before us death, whose minister he is. Re- quin, his French name, is a corruption of requiem, which has signified, for a long time in Europe, death and eternal repose — and what must have been for alarmed passengers, the expression of their- con- sternation upon seeing a shark of thirty feet in length, and the torn and bleeding victims of this tyrant of the seas. Still terrible when caught and loaded with chains, resisting with violence, preserv- ing a wonderful strength even when bathed in his own blood, and able with a single stroke of his tail to spread destruction around, even at the instant he is about to expire. Is he not the most formidable of all the animals on which nature has not bestowed poisonous weapons ? The most furious tiger in the Indian jungle, the strongest crocodile on the banks of an equatorial river, the most enormous serpent in sultry Africa, can they inspire more terror than a requin in the midst of the agitated waves ? THE STORM, AND THE CAVE OF SER- PENTS, PERU. A deep moaning sound was the signal that a war of the elements was about to commence. All at I r ch he aghts, 3. Re- [uiem, arope, ebeen ircon- Peet in of this ht and >reserv- l in his his tail jtant he mid able 3Stowed : in the e banks serpent or than ? SEil- at a war All at THE STORM, AND THE CAVE OF SERPENTS, 217 once its fury was announced by a most fearful howliug of the wind. An Egyptian darkness en- veloped the heavens and the earth ; the lightning piercing at intervals this dark veil, redoubled its blackness ; the thunder, reverberated by the moun- tains, formed apparently one constant roar, resem- bling the continuous noise of the waves in a storm upon an iron-bound coast. From the mountains poured rapid torrents of water; the wild ani iials dismayed, fled from the woods into the plains, and by the lightning's aid the three pale and trembling travellers saw pass before them the tiger, the lynx, and the leopard, trembling with fear like them- selves, in this pitiless storm ; they were no longer ferocious, fear had tamed them all. One of Alonzo's Indian guides had in his alarm climbed to the top of a rock ; a flood carries away both guide and rock ; they are seen no more; the other Indian guide thought he had discovered a place of safety in a hollow- tree, but the lightning consumed them to- gether. Nevertheless Molina exhausted himself in struggling against the violence of the waters. He crawled with hands and feet, seizing upon branches and roots in his way, without thinking of his guides, without any feeling than his own safety ; for there are moments of fear in which all compassion ceases ; in which man, absorbed in himself, has no feeling i 218 LE SOUVENIR. h I I tf-t { for another. At last, crawling thus, he arrived at the foot of a steep rock. Aided by the lightning he perceived a cave, the depth and darkness of which at any other time would have filled him with horror. Bruised and exhausted with fatigue he threw himself down upon the floor of this cavern ; returning thanks to heaven, he fell into a state of half unconsciousness. The storm was over ; the thunder and the winds had ceased to shake the mountain ; the torrents of water, less rapid, no longer roared, and balmy sleep seemed about to take pos- session of Molina. But a noise more terrifie than that of the tempest now struck his ear. This noise, like the grinding together of small pebbles, was caused by a multitude of snakes of which the cave was the refuge ; the roof was covered with them, and their twisting movements caused the noise which so terrified Alonzo ; he was aware that these snakes were of the most deadly poisonous descrip- tion, and persons once bitten by them die in intol- erable agony ; he listens to them ; he fancies they are creeping over him ; his courage is exhausted, he seems paralyzed by fear, he scarcely dares to breathe, he wants to leave the cave upon all fours, and is afraid of touching those dangerous reptiles. Chilled, shivering and shuddering, he passes the long night in dreadful agony ^ wishing, longing, and trembling ved at ng he which . with ;ue he avern ; tate of r; the -ke the ) longer ,ke pos- ie than LS noise, les, was the cave h them, [Q noise lat these descrip- in intol- 3ies they usted, he ) breathe, rs, and is Chilled, )iig night :rembling THE STORM, AND THE CAVE OF SERPENTS, 219 to see again the light of day, reproaching himself with fear that kept him chained to the spot, and making fruitless efforts to surmount his weakness. The sun at length arose and justified hist error ; he saw in reality all the danger that environed him — he must escape or die. He collected the little strength he had left, raised himself slowly, and with his hands resting upon his trembling knees he left the cave, as pale as a spectre from the tomb. The same storm which had thrown him into so much danger, had likewise been the means of preserving him from it, for it had caused the serpents as much fear as himself, and the instinct of all animals is; when in peril, to cease to be hurtful. A serene day consoled nature for the ravages of the night ; but the earth was covered with ruins in all directions. Forests, which the evening before stood erect in all their strength and beauty, were prostrated ; the hills which Alonzo had admired in their verdant beauty, were turned into precipices, exposing to view their lacerated sides ; noble old trees thrown from the hill tops, the pine, the palm, the gayac, the caobo, the cedar, lay scattered over the plain, covering it with their broken trunks and limbs; detached rocks, marking the places where the tor- rents had flowed, the deep beds they had formed, bordered with the dead bodies of tanie as w^ll aa i ':' 220 Ir£ BOUV£NIR iiiK wild beasts of every kind, submerged by the floods, and again cast out. Nevertheless the country, re- animated by the power of the glorious sun, seemed as if heaven had made peace again with the earth, and to smile as a sign of favor and love. All that still breathed recommenced to enjoy life — the birds, the beasts had forgotten their terrors; for the prompt forgetfulness of evil is a gift, nature has granted them, and which she has refused to man- kind. i. i V 'if ;r H4 A STRUGGLE AT THE BRINK OF A PRECIPICE. Capt. Leopold D'Auverney relates how Habi- brah, his enemy, a Mulatto of diminutive stature, but extraordinary strength, being on the point of falling into an abyss, implores him to save him, and then endeavors to draw him to destruction along with himself. It is impossible to describe to you that lament- able and fearful cry of terror and suffering. Upon hearing it I forgot all ; he was no longer an enemy, an assassin, but unfortunate wretch, whose exist- ence I could preserve from a frightful death, by a small effort on my part. He implored me so pite- ously, help was so urgent. I went down upon my floods, ry, re- eemed earth, .11 that 3 birds, ibr the are has ;o man- )F A Habi- stature, 3oint of lim, and n along lament- Upon 1 enemy, se exist- ith, by a J so pite- apon my A STRUGGLE AT THE BRINK OP A PRECIPICE. 221 knees at the brink of the precipice, one of my arms round the trunk of a tree, to the root of which hanging over the abyss was the unfortunate Habi- brah ; the other I extended to the miserable creature, who instantly seized it with prodigious strength ; but far from aidiag himself to ascend by means of my assistance, he endeavored with all his power to drag me along with him. If it had not been for the trunk of the tree, I must infallibly have been in- stantly lost through the violent and unexpected shock which I received. " Villain," I exclaimed, " what are you doing ?" "I am going to be avenged," replied he, with a diabolical laugh. " I have you, imbecile ; you have delivered yourself up to the jaws of the crocodile j I am now satisfied, for in dying, I can take my revenge. I have entrapped you, and shall have a human companion with me among the fishes of the lal:e." "Ah! traitor," said I, ''is it thus you would repay me for endeavouring to save you from peril ?" " Yes, he continued, " I could save myself by your means, but I prefer that you should die with me ; I love your death better than my own life. Come along." At the same time his bro zed and callous hands grasped mine as in a vice ; his eyes resembled two living balls of fire, he foamed at the mouth, his strength seemed to redouble, excited by rage and revenge; his feet, placed against the per- * I Si I Hi I S^^^H? 222 LE SOUVENIR* Hi H 1 1 1 ?fi : J. i: It 'I' II 2fi i:i ! pendicular rock, served him as a lever, and his bounds were like those of a tiger, upon the root, which, intertwined amongst his clothes, supported him in spite of himself; his object was to break it so as to bring the whole of his weight upon me, and so draw me down quicker. Sometimes he ceased his fearful laugh in order to bite iv his fury the root by which he was suspended. One would have taken him to be the horrible demon of the place, into which he was endeavoring to drag his victim. One of my knees was fortunately stopped by an an- fractuosity of the rock, and my arm was in a manner tied round the tree to which I clung. I struggled against the efforts of the dwarf, with all the energy that self-preservation can prompt in such a fix. From time to time I called out as loudly as I was able upon Bug-fargal, but the noise of the falls and the distance gave me but faint hopes of being heard. In the mean time the dwarf, who had not expected so much resistance, redoubled his furious eiforts. I began to lose my strength, my arm felt paralyzed, my sight was growing dim, livid and confused lights danced before them, my ears tingled, I heard the roots cracking, and the laugh of the monster — the gulf appeared as if ready to swallow me up. Before abandoning myself to despair, I made one more desperate call, '^ Bug-fargal "—a bark SICILY, 223 answered mc, T recognized Rusk, and turning my eyes I beheld Bug-fargal and his dog at the edge of the chasm. He saw my danger. " Hold good," cried he. Habibrah fearing I should be saved, roared, foaming with rage; "Come then, come,'* and collecting all his supernatural strength for one more desperate effort. My wearied arm let go the tree ; it was all over with me, when I felt myself seized from behind. It was the dog Rusk, at a sign from his master : he had seized me with his power- ful jaws by the skirts of my coat— -this unexpected succour saved me. Habibrah had consumed all his strength in his last effort, his cramped fingers were constrained to let me go. The root which had held out so long broke at last ; and while Rusk drew me away, the miserable dwarf, venting maledictions upon me, was carried away by the roaring waters of the abyss. SICILY. It IS strange that so few travellers, comparatively speaking, visit Sicily. It would le impossible to find a spot uniting in itself more of interesting association. Every portion of it is crowded witn^ memories that carry us back to the earliest period through a series of event that reach down to our 224 LE SOUVENIR. 1. m own day. It was tho scene of many a story of early mythology ; it was tlie battle field of the Phoenicians and the Greeks, of Carthage and Rome, of the Sara- cens and the Normans. To recount at full length the stories with which it is connected would fill the pages of a cyclopaedia. The rape of Proserpine, the victory of Hercules over Eryx, the story of Acis and Galatea, the wanderings of Ulysses, the flight of Daedalus, the voyage of i^neas to Italy — all find their fabled scenes on shores or valleys of this island. What a mass of literature is interwoven with its history ! The masters of Greek and Roman song — Homer and Virgil — sang its adventures j Theo- critus described its pastoral life ; Pindar wrote his noblest odes to commemorate the victories of its rulers. Sophocles was born in it, and ^schylus retired to it to die. Plato spent a portion of his life at the Court of Dionysius, and Cicero not only filled the office of Questor on the island, but com- posed his Verrine Orations in its behalf. It was the birthplace of Empedocles and Gorgias. Frag- ments of its annals were written by Diodorus, Po- lybius, Livy, and Thucydides. The traveller in Sicily must not expect to find those items of com- ^rt and luxury to which he has been accustomed. Everywhere are to be met with the signs of a ty- ranical Government, and of a poor, neglected people. m early ciaDS Sara- ngth lithe -pine, ' Acis flight 11 find sland. th its L song Theo- te his of its jchylus of his ot only it corn- It was Frag- us, Po- eller in 3f com- stomed. of a ty- [ people. SICILY. 225 This is true, to some extent, e\ on of Palermo, the capital city, and the port by which the island is most commonly reached from Naples. Yet it would be difficult to find a more magnificent site than that on which Palermo stands. A marine walk stretches along the shore, bounded on the right by the rock of Monte Pellegrinu, ^vhich rises abruptly to the height of two thousand feet out of the sea. In the.- rear the town is surrounded by an amphitheatre of hills. You land and are at once in that strange mixture of squalor and splendor, dignity and dirt, so common in southern towns. Like every other locality in Sicily, Palermo at once reminds you of the varied fortunes of the island, The name of the principal street, the Cassaro, carries you back to the Saracen occupation, being derived from Al- Cazar, the bazaar of the Moslems. The Chapel lloyal and the Cathedral present a strange blending of the mosque and the church. The language of the people is corrupted by the introduction of Greek and Eastern terms. And the Monte Pellegrino was the scene of an obstinate resistance by the Carthaginian Hanri^bal, who had entrenched him- self upon it, against the ai ^^ of Rome. A curious custom prevails in some of the monasteries, of pre- serving the dead bodies by carefully drying them, and then placing them in cells, in an upright pes- ■ l 1, i 226 LK SODVENIU. m 1 :S. I i IS- J w N ture, clothed as tliey were wont to be when alive. Thus the remains of a soldier may be seen dressed in his military uniform, or a female in fine gar- ments and white kid gloves — the grinning skeleton, in such array, presenting a ghastly picture. In con- trast to this treatment, the Campo Santo contains a number of large tombs, one for each day in the year, into which the bodies of the poor are thrown promiscuously; quick lime is then cast upon them, and the grave is not reopened for a twelvemonth. The morning at Palermo is spent by the men in their business, if they have any, or in loafing about. Ladies set out for their devotions to the Churches. Long lines of convicts, chained together, and in yellow dresses, march along to their appointed tasks. Young gentlemen start forth on their morn, ing ride, and scholars to their class. The sun reaches the meridian, and the thoroughfares are deserted. You might fire a cannon through the streets without injuring an inhabitant : all are va doors ; they dine and take a siesta. The cool of evening returns, and the fashionable world comes forth; and now appears one of the striking ano- malies of life at Palermo. At the gateway of some large mansion stands an elegant equipage, and a well dressed couple come forth and enter it. Look at the filthy staircase by which they have descended, ^r JBICILY. 4mf^ f m alive, ressed gar- Bleton, n con- ntains in the :hrown them, month, nen in about, urches. and in pointed r morn, he sun ires are ugh the il are ^a J cool of d comes ing anc- of some e, and a t. Look scended, and the dirty entrance through which they pick their way to the carriage ! They let the best part of the house, and live in discomfort in a small back room, that they may keep up the appearance of this handsome equipage. Such is fashion at the Siciliun capital. The Macira is thronged with carriages and pedestrians, and hour after hour is passed on the shore of its beautiful bay. Among other no- table objects in Palermo, we may mention the Clubs or Casinos, to which strangers are courteously ad- mitted on the introduction of a member. The views in the neighborhood are magnificent, espe- cially from the Convent of . Santa Maria. The building is buried amidst the most luxuriant vege- tation; cypresses of immense growth, with their dark foliage, masses of pines, olives and oleanders, aloes and vines, clustered together in rich profusion ; whilst a few palm trees still survive to remind the spectator of the Moorish rule. A ridge of moun- tains incloses at each corner the beautiful curve of the bay on which the city reposes. Messina is the most important town in Sicily after Palermo ; and the excellence ofits harbor, combined with superior accommodation for commerce, has rendered it a place of more bcstle and activity than the capital. Im- mediately T/ithout the projecting point vfhich bounds the harbor, 4ies the far-fumed whirlpool of in m if 228 LE SOUVENIR. b ^ Charybdis. Its fabled terrors have long since been fully appreciated ; and it has been acutely remarked, that as the Greeks did not hesitate to fight in the straits, they would not have been considered ss fearfully horrible by ancient sailors as they were by ancient poets. In certain states of the current, Charybdis possesses sufficient power to endanger small craft, and will whirl round a seventy-four gun ship. Within the harbor there is magnificent anchorage, and a noble quay has been built. The resemblance to a sickle is plain enough to recall its Greek name Z ancle. The view from the heights above Messina is at once striking and characteristic. The port, like most of those in Sicily, lies embosomed in a circle of hills. Across the bay are seen the jagged and rugged cones of the Lipari Islands, whose fantastic forms, from Stromboli to Alicudi, rise in marked outline against the sky; their tossed and broken sides and smoking summits revealing their volcanic origin. Across the Faro the stern mountains of Calabria are seen ; whilst the environs of the city are broken into conical hilk and deep ravines — that bear testimony to the mighty agencies at work beneath the surface. The city has been subject in all ages to earthquakes. The most disastrous of those on record occurred iu 1783, and its influence !!:« SICILT. 229 ! been irked, m tlie ed B*j ere by irvent, ianger iy-four . Lificent The call its a is at rt, like a circle ed and [intastic marked broken olcanic itains of the city ivines — at work ibject in itrous of influence extended over a space of twelve hundred square miles. Colletta has given an animated description of it and the terrors which accompanied it : ^' Whirl- winds, tempests, volcanic fires and conflagrations, rain, wind, and thunder accompanied the earth- quake ; all the powers of nature seemed shaken ; it appeared as if her bonds were loosened, and the hour had arrived for the commencement of a new era. On the night of the fifth of February, whilst the earth was still convulsed, a meteor burst, and swept away the highest part of several buildings ; a bell tower in Messina had the top carried ofi" ; an ancient tower in Radicena was cut across above the base. Many roofs and cornices, instead of falling upon the ruins of the buildings to which they be- longed, were carried away by the whirlwind, and fell in distant places. Meantime the sea between Charybdis and Scylla was raised more than twenty feet, invaded the shores, and, in retreating to its own bed, swept away with it men and cattle. Thus perished about two thousand persons in Scylla alone, all of whom had fled to the sandy beech, or had taken refuge jn boats, to escape the^ dangers of the land. The Prince of Scylla, who was amongst them, disappeared in a moment, and neither the efibrts of his servants and relatives, nor the promise of ample rewards, could lead to the discovery of the f ' J It ri 'Ifff^p 230 LE SOUVENIR. r> m I body, whicb they wished to honor with a tomh. iEtiia and Stromboli emitted a larger quantity of lava and inflamed matter than usual ; but this cala- mity did not excite much attention at the time, from being far the least disaster. Vesuvius remained quiet. Conflagrations worse than any fire from the volcano were the consequence of the earth- quake; for in the fall of houses, the beams came in contact with the burning stoves, and the flames fanned by the wind, spread so vast a fire around, that it appeared to issue from the bosom of the earth, which gave rise to false stories, and the belief in subterranean heat. This was confirmed by the loud noise and rumbling sound, like thunder, which was sometimes heard preceding, and sometimes accompanying the shocks, but more frequently alone, and very terrific. The sky was cloudy, yet serene, rain falling, the weather variable, and there were no signs of the approaching earthquake ; the indi- cations observed one day were missing on the mor- row, and others were discovered, until it was found that the earth shook under every aspect of the heavens. A new calamity appeared ; a thick cloud, which dimmed the light of day, and increased the intense darkness of the night, which was pungent to the eyes, oppressive to the breath, fetid and mo- tionless, hung upon the atmosphere of Calabria for SICILT, 231 ty of cala- time, lined from jarth- iie in lames ound, )f the belief }y the which etimes r alone, aerene, e were le indi- le inor- j found of the : cloud, Bed the mngent md mo- bria for more than twenty days, and was followed by me- lancholy, disease and shortness of breath, felt by man and beast." Whilst such were the physical concomitants of the earthquake, its moral consequences were fai* more poignant. Tae cries of the dying, the shrieks for help of those who were half buried beneath the ruins, the waitings of friends at the loss of those dearest them, the terror universally inspired, com- bined to form a scene of horror such as seldom marks even the direst calamities. Some who escaped from the fallen dwellings, after a long agony of suspense, were never known again to smile. As is invariably the case at such periods of dire and uni- versal suffering, human nature came out in its strongest contrasts of dignity and degradation. Self- denying love in many instances exhibited the noblest heroism in behalf of others, and rushed into seeming destruction to save a wife or child. Others, in despair at the loss of their whole fortune, be- took themselves to plunder. Murder, rapine, and lawless pillage reigned among the smoking ruins. " Were I," says CoUetta " to relate all the instances of kindness and savage cruelty, of gratitude and ingratitude, which occurred, I should fill many pages, merely to prove the truth of the old adage, that man is the best and worst of created beings." f\ 232 LE SOirVENlR. te*.!;!*-' I The principal objects of interest to travellers in Sicily are the remains of classical antiquity, and the mighty volcano of Mount ^tna. There are vestiges of the former to be traced in almost every part of the island; but Girgenti, the ancient Agri- gent 71, is in this respect the chief centre of attrac- tion. The site of the town, founded about B. c. 578 by a Doric colony from Gela, was admirably chosen, on a magnificent platform, surrounded by precipitous rocks on every side, save that which is open to the sea. So rapid was its progress, that in the days of Empedocles it contained eight hundred thousand souls; and was celebrated for the massive structure of its walls, the splendor, size and beauty of its temples, and the luxury and affluence of its citizens. It were no easy task to attempt to picture the condition of the old town in its palmy days. Stories almost incredible are narrated of the prodi- gality of its citizens, who were said to build as if they thought themselves immortal, and to eat as if they never expected to eat again. In the pride of his ostentatious hospitality, Gellias, one of the opulent townsmen, used to plant his servants at the gates of the city, with orders to invite to his house all strangers who were unprovided with a lodging j and none were allowed to depart without a liberal gift. Nor was his wit inferior to his magnificence ; 8 m and are ivery ^gri- trac- B. 0. rably jdby ich is lat in ndred assive >eauty of its )icture ■ days, prodi- l as if ,t as if ride of of the 1 at the \ house dging } liberal icence : SICILY. 233 for when the senate of a neighboring state, to -which he went on an embassy, laughed at the insignificanca of his person, Gellias replied that though he himself was thought a suitable ambassador for theci, yet nobler men were sent to nobler cities. Another citizen, on returning victorious from the Olympic Games, was followed by a procession of thret^ hun- dred chariots, each drawn by four milk white steeds. Astronomy, history, poetry, philosophy, rhetoric, and music, all flourished, and were pusued with siiccess. Sculpture aiid painting reached the climax of ancient art in \he temples of Agrigentum. It was here that Zeuxis determined to exhaust his skill upon a painting of the goddess for the temple of Juno Iiucina; and 'having selected five of the most beautiful maidens in the City, combined their charms in his picture. Another work of the same artist represented the infant Hercules in the act of strangling the tv70 serpents, whilst Amphitryon and Alcmena looked on in terror. So high was the esti- mation of this pitcure,' that Zeuxis refused to put a price upon it, and presented it as a gift to the temple of Hercules. It is well thus to be mindful of those who have gone before us, that we may not overestimate our own attainments, nor forget that we, too, are figures in a shifting scene. So much wealth became an object of cupidity to the Cartha- < s genians. * ■ % i 'if 234 LE SOTTVENIR. The Siege of Agrigentum is thus described : "After having destroyed Selinunte and Imera, Amilca, the Carthagenian general, next turned his arms against Agrigentum. The citizens had made every preparation to receive him. They took into pay Decippus, the Spartan, with fifteen hundred mercenaries, and also eight hundred Campanians, who had deserted from the Carthagenians, and who were posted on the rock Atenea. Amilca surrounded the city with his troops, and erected wooden towers to storm the weakest part of the wall, but the be- seiged made a nocturnal sally Snd burnt them. They next began to pull down the tombs, in order to erect some stonework against the walls. Whilst thus demolishing the sepulchre of Theron, a thun- derbolt fell on them, which, with a malignant dis- ease . that broke out in the camp, appeared to the panic stricken Carthagenians as a judgment against them. They left off therefore destroying the tombs, and sacrified a hoy to Saturn, to turn aside the anger of the gods. Meanwhile the Syra- cusans marched with a strong force to raise the siege ; a battle was fought in sight of the walls ; the Carthagenians, were routed, and besieged in their own camp, where they were soon reduced to the utmost extremity for provisions. From this they were relieved by the activity of Imilco, who, learn- SICILY. 235 t" t \ ing from a deserter that a Syracusan fleet was ou its way to carry succour to the besieged, intercepted it, with forty of his galleys from Panormus and Motya, and gained a complete victory. The tables were now turned, and after a siege of eight months the downfall of Agrigentum could no longer be averted. Decippus, and the other mercenaries, seeing this, and being bribed by Tmilco, passed over to the Carthagenian service, alleging as a pretext the scarcity of provisions. This induced the Agri- gen tines to institute an examination, when it was found that there remained only enough for a few days' supply. The crowded and luxurious popula- tion could not bear the idea of any stint. It was resolved to abandon the city under cover of night. On the publication of this decree, the streets and houses resounded with cries and unavailing lamen- tations. It was a mournful spectacle to see two hundred thousand citizens, of every age, sex and condition, abandoning with tears their 1 ousehold gods; while matrons, beautiful virgins, innocent children, the old and the young, the slave and his master, the plebeian with the patrician, passed in- stantaneously from the summit of luxury to the extreme of wretchedness. The whole body, escorted by the military, retired to Gela, whence the Syra- cusans conducted them to LeontinumJ^ iBB «^iinMi|i'iif i I " rr t i iMBHi — "P^ 236 LE SOUVENIR. h 'h W 1 1 i There were some few inhabitants who would not survive the fall of their state, or consent to desert ^heir beloved city. Of this number was Gellias, who retired with his family and his property to the Temple of Minerva, hoping that the Carthagenians would respect the sanctity of his asylum. When he saw, however, that the other temples afforded no protection to the fugitives in them, he set fire to that in which he was, and perished, with all that belonged to him, in the flames. Despite the destruc- tion that ensued upon its sack, an immense booty fell into the hands of the conquerors. Gold, pic- tures, statues, vases, and other furniture of a price- less value, was carried off to Carthage. Among the trophies was the brazen bull made by Perillus for Phalaris, the exquisite workmanship of which was such as to excite universal admiration, notwith- standing the cf uel purpose for which it was con- trived.* When Carthage fell beneath the power of Rome, Scipio sent back the bull to Agrigentum. We will now invite the reader to wander awhile with us, in peace, amid the ruins of Girgenti. There is a peculiar charm to all minds, save those • The bull was hollow — criminals were let into it through a door in his back ; fire was then kindled un- derneath him. The shrieks of the miserable victims, issuing from his mouth, resembled the roaring of a bull. SICILY. 237 insensible of einotioD, in visiting the relics of a by- gone age. The distance which separates us from the period thus recalled has toned down its harsher features, and the memory dwells upon an ideal picture, which is softened as is the hard outline of the stony fragments by overgrowing lichens, or the mouldering hand of time. The very imperfection of the building, as the eye rests upon it, allows imagination to fill up the deficiency, and the fancies of our own brain mingle pleasantly with the facts of history, and the feelings they tend to excite into activity. The thought insensibly steals over us, that the decay which we witness will in time exert its power over ourselves; and thus a cord of sympathy is struck, the effect of which is at once profitable and pleasing. The past, the present, and the future unite in their influence over us, and produce the mingled sensations we experience in gazing on a ruin. And how powerfully is the impression height- ened which the artistic beauty , of a fragment would make, when the whole is viewed beneath the sun of Sicily, and in the striking natural theatre on which Girgenti stands. Nine temples, baths, tombs, and other buildings arc enumerated as still existing at Girgenti. The ruins of the Temple of Concord are the most complete, nearly all the columns being left standing. Of the fane of Hercules but one solitary J ' I - i\ I,*: !j ■ ♦ ! 238 LE SOUVENIU. I' ' If ■': i: f Ki i II M^ ' W^' m column mourns over its prostrate bretlircn. The mingled remains of these ancient shrines, as they are grouped together with varied combinations of light and shade, from different points of view ; the picturesque confusion in which the columns are massed — some still standing erect, others lying idly by; the deli' ie tints of ^ii** masonry, " a pale gold amber" r( 3d by the soft, brillant sunshine, which brings into outline every architectural detail, — are features which invest the ruins with an inde- scribable beauty. We cannot omit all mention of Syracuse, although its present condition is un- worthy of its former renown. Its principal remains are the ruins of a theatre, which existed before the Athenian invasion; the Templo of Minerva, now incorporated into the Cathedral ; the curious exca- vation called the Ear of Dionysius, and the vast Catacombs, which have never been thoroughly ex- plored. What heart-stirring scenes in the world's history has that city witnessed. It was from its walls that the army marched under Gelon against the Ciirthaginians, in the same year in which the battle of Salamis was fought. It was in that harbor that the proudest fleet which had ever started from Athens cast anchor ; an expedition the success of which might have mcde Athens, and not Rome the master of the world. Only eight years rolled by. SICILY. 239 The hey s of the are idly gold hine, ctail, inde- lon of s un- mains re the 1, now 3 exca- le Tast hly ex- 9^orld's om its against Lcli the harbor id from ccess of ome the >lled by, and a CarthagcuiaQ fleet was agaiu gathered to be- siege it, and onco more the same story of defeat was borne home by the feeble remnant of the be- siegers, who were almost annihilated by Dionysius. An interval of two centuries, and a more obstiuate race has become its foe. In vain thd master of science, Archimedes, reduced the Roman ships to ashes with burning glasses raised on the walls — the day of doom is come, and the city is subdued by the arms of Marcellus. We must now speak about Mount iEtna. Take the map of Sicily, and describe a circle, having the volcano for its centre, with a circumference of about one hundred miles; this will define, accurately enough for our purpose, the boundary of the dis- trict over which the influence of the mountain ex- tends. The whole of this region is one vast bed of lava, varying in character according to distance from the central object, and rising with so gradual a slope to the summit of the cone that the spectator can hardly believe the highest point to be more than ten thousand feet above the sea level. ♦ The town of Catania lies at the extremity of the region of iEtna, and afibrds a sort of epitome of its history. In its rugged and jagged fields of lava, where they jut into the sea, there exists a memento of former convulsions, just in the form in Hi 240 LE SOUVENIR* !h US' J which the heated mass gradually cooled. The town itself is superimposed upon a former city of the same name, but which was overwhelmed by an erup- tion in 1669. The city had been completely de- stroyed several times before ; but on the ashes of each predecessor a new town has constantly risen with the same title, the present Catania being built upon ground some sixty feet higher than the city of the seventeenth century. The following descrip- tion of the view from the summit of Mount Mina is given by a recent traveller. ** Just as the day began to break the whole party was assembled on the summit. It was between three and four ; the stars were beginning to disap- pear, while the eastern horizon began to faintly redden with the dawn. Those who have never witnessed, can scarcely realize by any description the strangeness of such a scene —everything in the vast gulf below was dark and formless — the sea barely distinguishable from the land, vast whitish clouds hke wool sacks floating solemnly above it. A few bars of crimson soon appeared on the eastward horizon, the sea line became defined, the jag^^^ edges of the distant mountains of Apulia cut against the sky. At this moment our guides shouted to us to stand on the edge of the crater mid look out over the interior of the island, which stretched away to SICILY. 241 own the rup- de- s of •isen 3uilt city jcrip- Etna party tween diigap- ■aintly never [•iption in the he sea vhitish ^e it. A Lstward against id to us )ut over away to the westward, like a sea of jagged summits, blended in the shadowy mist of dawn. Just as the sun rose, an immense shadow of the most exquisite purple was projected from the volcano half over the island, while without its range the light struck with magic suddenness upon the tops of the moun- tains below — a phenomenon so admirably beautiful that it would have more than tepaid us for the labor of the ascent — vastness and dreary sublimity predominate, relieved by some few touches of ex- quisite beauty. Wandering on the dread summit of the volcano, the eye takes in with astonishment the immense extent of the region at once desolated and fertilized by its eruptions. Wide beds of lava — black — abrupt and horrid, winding half concealed among the extensive forests below, until they pour into the sea; and interspersed with these are broad, dismal beds of scoria and ashes— the seat of eternal desolation. Beyond, in all directions, extend the fertile plains and mountains of the island. The range of the view is almost boundless — Catania, Syracuse, and even, when clear, Malta itself is visible. Castro Giovanni stands on its rocks, con- spicuous in the centre of the island. The expanse of sea is most magnificent, with the distant moun- tains of Calabria and Apylia, and the entrance to the Faro di Messina." Q 242 LE SOUVENIR. E,?E THE SCHOOLMASTEIt. There is no fortune to be made, there is no fame to be acquired, in the difficult duties which the schoolmaster has to accomplish. Destined to see his life pass away in a monotonous employment, surrounded by ignorance, sometimes even to meet with both ingratitude and injustice; he would sink into despondence and perhaps succumb if he were not supported and encouraged by principles and motives more powerful than those which arise from the prospect of personal interest. A profound sense of the moral importance of his occupation must sustain and animate him ; the heartfelt plea- sure of having served mankind, and silently con-, tributed to the public good, is for him an adequate reward, which his conscience alone affords him. It is his glory to pretend to nothing beyond his obscure and laborious occupation ; to exhaust him- self in making sacrifices scarcely recognized by those who profit by them; in short, to work for man, and to look to God for his reward. it n SPAIN UNDER THE SARACENS. Cordova, under the Saracens, boasted of more than two hundred thousand houses, and more than SPAIN UNDEH THE SARACENS. 243 ime the see ent, neet ould f he iples arise bund ation plea- con-. quale n. id his him- ed by rk for if more re than a million inhabitants. After sunset a man might walk through it, in a straight line, for ten miles by the light of the public lamps ; seven hundred years after this time there was not so much as one public lamp in London. The streets of Cordova were solidly paved ; while in Paris, centuries subse- quently, whoever stepped over his threshold on a rainy day, stepped up to his ankles in mud. The Spanish Mahometans had brought with them all the luxuries of Asia. Their residences stood forth against the clear blue sky, or were embosomed in woods. They had polished marble balconies over- hanging orange gardens ; courts with cascades of water ; retiring rooms, vaulted with stained glass, speckled with gold ; the floors and walls were of exquisite mosaics. Here a fountain of quicksilver shot up in a glistening spray, the glittering par tides falling with a tranquil sound like fairy bells ; there, apartments into which cool air was drawn, in summer, from flower gardens. Clusters of frail marble columns surprised the beholder with the vast weights they bore. In the boudoirs of the Sultans they were sometimes of verd antique, and encrusted with lapis lazuli. Through pipes of metal, water, both warm and cold, to suit the season x)f the year, ran into baths of marble ; in niches, where the current of air could be artificially di- M 1^ P 244 LE SOUVENIR. ^mmH m I- 1 rectcd, hung dripping alcarazzas. There were whispering galleries for the amusement of the women ; labyrinths and play-courts for the children, and for the master himself grand libraries. At this brilliant focus barbarian Europe lighted its lamp of civilization. THE MYSTERIOUS SKETCH. Nearly opposite the church of St. Sebald, in Nuremberg, stands an ancient inn, narrow and loftly, with an indented gable, small dusty case- ments, and the roof surmounted by a plaster image of the Virgin. Many years ago, when beginning the world as a young artist, I took up .my abode in this quaint hostelry. I had come to Nuremberg in order to study the works of the old masters ; but my funds running short, I was obliged to take portraits — and such portraits I Stout old ladies, each her cat on her lap ; rosy burgomasters, wigged and cock-hatted, all plentifully and impartially illu- minated with ochre and vermillion. At length this resource began to fail ; and mine host, who had at first been all civility, began to importune me in a somewhat insolent manner for the amount of the bill. One evening as I was passing up stairs to my attic. Master Rapp called THE MISTERIOUS SKETCH 245 in igged illu- after me : " Hallo ! youngster, when are you going to pay me ? Your bill now amounts to one hun- dred and sixty florins, ten kreuzers. Pray, when am I likely to see the color of your money ?" I muttered some sort of indistinct reply, and hastening to my room, locked the door, and threw myself, dressed as I was, on my bed. Revolving my miserable position in my mind, all the genuine feeling for art, all the high aspirations after excel- lence that had hitherto buoyed me up, seemed to forsake me, and a sordid, hungry craving for money took their place. At length my eyes grew heavy, and my thoughts confused, and I slept soundly for some hours. About two o'clock, I awoke in a strange sort of excitement. — Having lighted my lamp, I seized a piece of paper and a crayon, and drew a rapid sketch in the Dutch style, feeling all the time as if the composition was not mine, as if each stroke was suggested by some one, who merely used my hand and pencil as unconscious and un- resisting instruments. The sketch thus traced represented a gloomy court, surrounded by lofty but crumbling walls, which were furnished with large hooks at the height of seven or eight feet from the ground. On the left was a trellis of laths, through which one saw an ox cut in quarters, sus- pended by strong pulleys from the roof of a shed 246 LE SOUVENIR, I: Streams of blood flowed across the pavement, and met in a trench filled with refuse and rubbish. At one end of the court was a cart-house, through the open door of which were seen a pile of wood and some bundles of straw. Pieces of ragged rope, an old hen-coop, and a broken rabbit hutch littered the ground. On the right, one corner of the sketch remaining blank, I hesitated what to put there ; something seemed to move, to hover around it. Suddenly a foot, turned up and detached from the ground, appeared to my mind's eye. — Following the inspiration I sketched on rapidly, and beneath my crayon grew a leg, joined to the foot, then a floating garment, at length the entire figure of an old woman, pale, emaciated, with dishevelled hair, thrown down against the low parapet of a well, and struggling against a hand which clutched her throat. I was drawing the scene of a murder ; the crayon fell from my hand. I shuddered as I looked at the woman^s face, contracted by terror, while both her hands convulsively grasped the arm of her murderer. But Ms face I saw it not, it was hidden from me as by some veiling shadow — I could not finish the sketch. '' I am fatigued," I said, passing my hand over my damp forehead ; ^^ to-morrow I will finish the THE MYSTEaiOUS SKETCH. 147 design ; there remains but that one figure to put Hastily undressing, I went to bed, and before five minutes had elapsed, I was sunk in a profound slumber. When I awoke it was broad daylight, I hastened to dress, and was preparing to resume my task, wben I heard two knocks at the door. "Come in I" The door opened, and a tall old man, dressed in black, stood at the threshold. " Herr Heinrich Kapff, the painter ?" said he. *^ At your service, sir." He bowed his head, and said, introducing him- self: " Baron Frederick Von Spreckdahl." That the rich amateur Von Spreckdahl, who was also judge of the Criminal Tribunal, should conde- scend to visit my poor attic, was indeed an unlooked- for event. I oast an embarrassed glance at the mean, scanty furniture, the low ceiling and the worm-eaten flooring ; but my visitor seemed to pay no attention to these details. Seating himself near my small table, ^'Herr Kapff," he said, " I come jj At that moment his eyes fell upon the unfinished sketch, and he gazed at it fixedly for several moments. ^^^^re you the author of this drawing?" I I I UV •^m 248 LE SOUVENIR. K n L-t J- asked, looking at me with the same attention which he had bestowed on my work. *• I am, sir." " What is its price ?" " I do not sell my sketches; it is merely a design for a painting.'* "Ah!" said he, taking up the pap^r delicately with the tips of his long sallow fingers ; and with the aid of his eye glass he studied the sketch closely. A ray of sunshine entered obliquely through the small dormer window. Yon Spreckdahl's long nose became more hooked, and his thick eyebrows con- tractedj lending a sinister expression to his lean wrinkled face. The silence was so profound that I could hear distinctly the plaintive buzzing of a fly caught in a spider's web. "And the dimensions of this painting, Herr Kapft," said he, at last, without looking up. " Four feet by three/' " And its price ?" " Fifty ducats." My visitor laid the sketch on the table, and drew from his pocket a long, well-filled purse of green silk. "Fifty ducats," he repeated j "there they are. ii And throwing down the pieces, the baron saluted me, and was gone, before I had sufficiently recovered - I THE MYSTERIOUS SKETCH. 24i) from my amazement to utter a word of thanks. I heard his walking-stick strike on each stair as he descended, and I ran down quickly after him, but when I reached the door of the inn he was already gone , I looked up and down the street, but he was not to be seen. " Well, this is odd enough," I muttered, and having remounted the five flights of stairs, I sat down to the table, brightened by the unwonted gleam of gold, and resolved to finish the sketch with- out delay ; a few more touches of the crayon were all that was required, but these few touches, try as I would, I could not give. I had lost the clue to the design ; the mysterious personage would not come out of the limbo of my brain. It was of no use to draw and efface, and draw again and retouch ; the creature of my pencil was as discordant with his surroundings as one of Kaphael's pictures would be in a village ale-house by Teniers. I threw down my crayon in despair, and the perspiration stood in large drops on my forehead. At that moment Rapp opened the door, and entered abruptly : he stood transfixed at the sight of the pile of ducats. *' Ha ! ha ! I have caught you, master painter," he cried ; *^ tell me again that you have no money." Enraged at the man's insolent look and inoppor- tune entrance, I suddenly seized him by the should- 1 ■ ' 1 *J,f}0 LE SOUVENlll. :-^ ers and pushed him violently outside the door. The landing-! ^ ace was very narrow; he missed his footing and rolled down several stairs, shouting as he bumped along ; " My money, you rascal — my money !'' Retreating into my room, I locked and double- locked the door, while bursts of laughter from the other lodgers, saluted Herr Rapp's downward pro- gress. This little adventure roused me ; I resumed my crayon, and was in the act of making another attempt on the impracticable corner of the sketch when a clash of arms grounded on the pavement opposite caught my ear. I looked out of the win- dow and saw several policemen, fully armed, sta- tioned, and keeping guard outside, " That old villain Rapp," I thought, *^ can he have met any serious injury?" Confused voices, and heavy steps mounting the stairs : my door was violently shaken. *^ In the name of the law open!" Trembling, though I scarce knew why, I obeyed. Two muscular hands instantly grasped my collar, and a fat little man in green uniform, who smelt strongly of beer, came close to me and said : " Hein- rich Kapff, I arrest you." " For what crime ?" I inquired, as I recognized the chief of police. THE MYSTERIOUS SKETCH. 251 ^' Come along," ho cried, roughly, and made a sign to one of his men to handcuff me. Resistance was of course useless. I was effec- tually secured and conveyed down stairs by some of the party ; while the others ransacked my room in every corner, probing the furniture, and turning over on the floor my poor wardrobe and other scanty possessions. My captors turust me into a covered carriage, and two of them entered after me, and took their places one at each side. *^ What have I done ?" I inquired again. " Hans," said one of them to the other, with a sour smile, " he asks what he has done." Soon a dark shadow enveloped us as the carriage drove under the gloomy archway which leads to the Raspel Haus, or city prison. The jailor, with a grey woollen cap on his head, and a short pipe between his lips, received me from my conductors, and having silently introduced me into a cell, locked and barred the door, and left me to my reflections. The room was small, but tolerably clean, and the walls .being newly whitewashed, presented no inscriptions or drawings, save a rude sketch of a gibbet, probably executed by my predecessor. It was lighted by a small window, nine or ten feet from the ground, and the furniture consisted of a bundle of straw and a bucket. I seated myself oa 11 --^vpMMaui 252 LE SOUVENIR. i; 1 1 , ' "1 ' B 9 I 1 '^ IB the straw, and remained, I know not how long, plunged in a gloomy reverie. What if the fall down stairs had inflicted some mortal injury on my landlord? The fellow was a miser and insolent; but, after all, he had done nothing to justify his receiving such rough treatment at my hands. — What would be the upshot of it all ? While revolv- ing this uncomfortable question, the door grated on its hinges ; my jailor appeared, and desired me to follow him. Twl turnkeys placed themselves one on each side of me, and we walked on. We traversed gloomy corridors, feebly lighted by inte- rior windows, I saw behind a grating a noted robber and assassin, who was sentenced to be ex- ecuted on the following morning. He wore a strait waistcoat, and was singing with a hoarse voice? " I am the king of these mountains !'* As I passed, he shouted after me — " Ha ! com- rade, I'll keep a place for you to-morrow on my right r^ The turnkeys looked at each other with a sinister smile, and my flesh crept with horror. I wafj conducted into a gloomy sort of judgment- hall, at the upper end of which were seated two judges, one of them being my late visitor. Von Spreckdahl. A clerk employed in tickling his ear with the feather of his pen, sat before a tabkt THE MYSTERIOUS SKETCH. 253 Von Spreckdahl, raising his voice, addressed me : '' Heinrich Kapff, how did you become possessed of this drawing?" He showed me the nocturnal sketch ; I examined it, and replied : " It was done by me." There was a silence, and the clerk wrote down my reply. I thought within myself: "What is the mean- ing of this? .What connection can the sketch have with my pushing Kapp down stairs." "It was done by you?" repeated Von Spreck- dahl. " Whiit is the subject of it ?" " It was a fancy sketch." " You have not copied the details from any paint- ing or engraving ?" " No, sir ; I invented them all." " Prisoner," said the judge, in a severe tone, " I advise you to reflect. Do not lie." I reddened with anger, and said emphatically : " I have spoken the truth." " Write, clerk," said Von Spreckdahl. "And this woman," continued he, ^'who is being assassinated at the edge of a well, have you imagined her figure also ?" "Certainly." " You never saw her ?" "Never." i i 254 LE SOTTVENlIi. tt n With an indignant gesture, Von Sprcckdalil rose from his chair, then resuming his seat, he appeared to consult, in a low tone, with his colleague. " What can it be all about ? What have I done ?" murmured I to myself. Addressing my guards. Von Spreckdahl said : " Conduct the prisoner to the carriage. We are going to the Metzger Strasse, Heinrich KapiF," he continued, *'you are pursuing a deplorable path. Consider that if the justice of men is inflexible, the mercy of God may yet be obtained by a full confession of your crime." I could not reply ; I felt as if under the influence of some frightful dream, pud prepared to follow my guards in silence. " Two policemen and I entered the carriage, which rolled along through several streets. One of my guards took out his snuflp-box, and ofi'ered a pinch to his companion. Mechanically, I also ex- tended my finger and thumb towards the box, but its owner drew it back with a gesture of aversion, and quickly replaced it in his pocket. I felt the hot tingling blood mount to my fore- head, but before I could speak the carriage stopped. One of the policemen got out, while the other held me, fettered as I was, by the collar, until, seeing his comrade ready to receive me, he thrust me rudely out. tHE MYSTERIOUS SKETCH. 255 Be Bd id: are lie ath. ible, full lence bllow riagc, One ered a so ex- but ersion, fore- Lopped, er lield seeing ust uie All these precautions to secure my person augured no good, but just then I was given no time for re- flection. My guards hurried me along a narrow, filthy alley, bounded by high walls, and through which trickled a fetid stream of some thick, dark liquid. Arrived at the end, they opened a door, and pushed me before them into a square court. During our progress, a strange horror had taken possession of me, not arising from the uncertainty and mystery of my position, but rather like the effect of a nightmare. I seemed to be walking in a frightful drerm, seeing and acting without my own volition, and under a haunting conviction of the unreality of all the objects round. But this horror became very tangible and real when I looked around the place where I now found myself. There was the very identical court which I had drawn the night before — the walls furnished with hooks, the brokan hencoop, the rabbit hutch — not a single detail, not even the most trifling, was want- ing! Beside the well stood the two judges. Von Spreck- dahl and Rechter. At their feet lay the corpse of the old woman, her long gray hair dishevelled, her face livid, her eyes starting from her head, and her tongue protruding from beneath her clenched teeth It was a horrid spectacle. I r 1 25^ LE SOUVENIR. ^1 " Prisoner !" said Von Spreckdahl in a solemn voice, " have you got anything to say ?" I made no answer. " Do you aieknowledge that you threw this woman, Theresa Becker, into this well, after having strangled her and taken possession of her money ?" " No !" I cried — " no ! I do not know this woman j I never saw her until now. May God help me !'* " It is enough,'* said he in a dry tone, and then, without adding another word, he and his colleague took their departure. My guards conducted me back to the Raspel Haus, and left me alone in my cell. I fell into a profound stupor, and when but half aroused from it, my conscience awoke to a sort of morbid activity, and T began to ask myself if I had not really assas- sinated thfl old woman ! Ah, the horrors of that night in prison ! Seated on my bundle of straw, I watched a moonbeam struggling through the narrow window, and lighting up the sinister outline of the gibbet on the opposite wall. I heard the watch man crying through the silence of the night — ** Sleep, inhabitants of Nuremberg, the Lord watches over you ! One o'clock — two o'clock — three o'clock I" People say that it is better to suffer death as an innocent man than as a guilty t] d( asl (I thi a onl m tiis ing ■r this hen, ague aspel tvto a I from ivity, assas- ' that :aw, I arro^ ^f the jvatch Ight^ Lord llock— uter to guilty THE MYSTERIOUS SKETCH. 257 one, and as regards the state of the soul, it cer- tainly is ; hut the poor injured hody, suffering un- justly, rehels, and its transports of recoiling horror at its undeserved, inevitahle fate, are terrible. Day dawned, and slowly lighted up my gloomy prison. The window looked on the street. li was a market day, and I heard the rolling of the carts with fruit and vegetables. I could distinguish the cackling of the live poultry, and the animated dis- course of the butter-women. As the morning ad- vanced the noise became greater, and the buzz and movement of life around me seemed to restore cou- rage to my heart. I felt an irresistible desire to see what was going on around me, and to look once more on the faces of my fellow-men. My prede- cessors in the cell, animated no doubt by a like desire, had scooped holes in the wall, to facilitate their mounting to the window. I climbed up, and holding the bars, managed to seat myself on the narrow ledge. Once there, I gazed entranced on the crowd, the. life, the movement; tears flowed down my cheeks ; I felt an intense longing for life as life, simply to breathe, to more, to feel the sun. *' Ah I" I exclaimed, ^' to live — only to live ! Let them sentence me to hard labor ; let them attach a weight to my leg. What does it matter, provided only that I live !" ipapp 258 LE SOUVENIR. 4 The fjuaint old market on which I looked offered a gay and animated appearance. The peasant women in their Bavarian costumes were seated behind their" baskets of eggs, fiuit, and vegetables, and their cages filled with poultry ; butchers with naked arms chopping meat on their blocks; pea- sants with their large-brimmed felt-hats set far back on their heads, leaned on their stout holly- sticks, and smoked their pipes. The changing^ animated scene captivated my attention, and, in spite of me, abstracted my thoughts from my sad situation. As I continued to gaze on the crowd, a butcher passed by, his back bent under the weight of an enormous quarter of beef which he bore on his shoulders. His arms were bare, his elbows raised, his head bent down in front. His hair falling down, in a measure concealed his face, and yet at the first glance I shuddered. '' It is he !" I exclaimed inwardly. All my blood flew back to my heart. I leaped from the window down into my prison, shivering, my teeth chattering, while the rebellious blood flowed back again, and mounted hotly to my cheeks and forehead. " It is he ! He is there — there — and I — I must die '0 expiate his crime ! my God, help me ? What am I to do ?" THE MYSTERIOUS SKETCH. 259 A sudden idea, an inspiration, as I believe, from heaven darted through my mind. I put my hand into my coat-pocket and found my case of crayons. Kushing to the clean whitewashed wall, I sketched the scene of the murder with marvellous force and rapidity. No more uncertainty, no more wavering attempts, I knew the man who grasped the luckless woman's throat ; I saw him, as if he were sitting to me for his portrait. At ten o'clock, the jailor entered my cell. " What is this?" he said, looking with surprise at my sketch. " Go. ask my judges to come hither," I cried, still pursuing my work with feverish ardor. " They await you in the Hall of Judgment," replied he. ** Tell them to come ; I have a disclosure to make," said I, as I put the finishing- touch to the murderer s figure. It looked as if ho lived and breathed; foreshortened on the wall, the features stood out with wonderful force and reality. The jailor went out, and in a few minutes the two judges appeared. With my hand extended, and trembling in every limb, I said to them : " Be- hold the assassin !" Von Spreckdahl carefully and quietly examined the sketch. ^* His name !" he inquired. ff :^y I 2G0 LE SOUVENIR. p. l It 1 1 U } . 1/ ' 1 1. M ■ i . : t if ■ i • ^ 1 ^ -a '! 1,1 " I know it not," I replied ; '' but at this moment he is in the market, cutting up meat at the third stall on the left, as you enter from the Trabenten Strasse." "What do you advise?" said my judge to his colleague. " That we should instantly send for the man," . replied he, in a grave tone. Stepping out into the corridor, he gave his orders to the policemen stationed there. During their absence, the two judges remained standing, con- templating the sketch. Suffering from strong re- action, I sank on the ground, and buried my head between my knees. SocTn steps resounded from far along the vaulted passages. Those who have not waited for an hour of deliverance, and counted the minutes, then as Ions as centuries — those who have not felt the poignant emotions of suspense, terror, hope, and doubt — they cannot conceive the sharp agony of that moment. I could have distinguished the footsteps of the murderer, marching between the guards, from a thousand others. They approached ; the judges themselves appeared moved. I raised my head, and my heuvt felt as though it were grasped by an iron hand. My eyes were fixed on the closed door ; it opened— the man entered. His THE MYSTERIOUS SKETCH, 261 .checks were red and swollen ; his large jaws were contracted, causing the muscles to stand out even up to his ears ; and his smallj restless, tawny- colored eyes sparkled beneath a- pair of thick red- dish eyebrows. Von Spreckdahl silently showed him the sketch. ,Then this powerful, sanguine-complexioned man turned pale — pale as*death. * Uttering a roar which startled us all, he opened his immense arms, and bounding backwards, succeeded in overwhelming two of his guards. There was a terrific struggle in the corridor : we could hear the panting respira- tion of the butcher, deep imprecations, broken words, and the stamping and shuffling of many feet. At length the assassin was brought in, his head sunk on his breast, his eyes blood-shot, his limbs firmly fettered. Again he looked fixedly at the drawing on the wall, seemed to reflect, and muttered, as if to himself: "Who, then, could have seen me — at midnight ?" I was saved. Many years have passed by since that terrible adventure. Thank heaven, I have no longer occa- sion to dread the importunities of creditors, or to dra^v the portraits of burgomasters. I have gained for myself a recognized place in the great world of i': 262 LE SOUVENIR. > « ■ -it art. But the recollection of that strange nocturnal sketch has never become less vivid ; sometimes I lay aside my brush and pallet, and muse on it for hours together. How was it that a crime committed by a man whom I did not know, in a place which I had never seen, was produced by my pencil, even in its minutest details ? Was it by chance ? No. And yet, and after all what is chance but the effect of some cause which escapes us ? Perhaps Schiller was right when he said : — " The immortal soul does not share the exhaustion of matter ; during the sleep of the body, she unfolds her ardent wings, and fiies forth, God knows whither I What she then does, none can tell, but inspiration now and then betrays the secret of her nocturnal wander- ings." Who knows ? Nature is more daring in her realities than imagination in her fancies. i« li ^ ' .; SCHOLARS AND MECHANICS. After receiving a common rudimental education,^ our children are divided into two classes, destined to follow extremely opposite avocations. One class is devoted to mechanism, the other to scholarship. Jfupils of the j&rst class leave the elementary school, and imramediately go into the workshop ; t SCHOLARS AND IvrECHANICS. 263 while youths of the second class go to complete their Studies at the universities. After this division, they meet no more, but proceed in opposite direc- tions — one being devoted to practice, the other to learning. The youth who is to enjoy a learned education neglects the training of his limbs and senses. He sits and reads books, or listens to lec- tures. He must derive his knowledge of the world from words, and, therefore, a great portion of his time is spent in the acquisition of languages. Geo- graphy and history give him a theoretical acquaint- ance with many nations. In pure mathematics he learns the laws of the material world, but is not re- quired to practise the application of these laws. He lives chiefly in thought, and his study or library is the only world with which he is truly acquainted. Of the ideas and progress of society around him, he knows little ; and, if required to take some part in its affairs, his theoretical training would exhibit its defects. He knows more, perhaps, of Athens and Rome than of his own native town, and understands the Attic, the Ionic, and the Doric dialects better than his own language. He could describe the re- treat of Xenophon better than the way to some villages in his own neighborhood. He has studied pure mechanics, and can give a fair account of the laws of mechanics, but cannot give directions for ? 264 LE SOUVENIR. ^ I f setting up a common harid-mill, to say nothing about making one. This is a description of our model man of learn- ing. On the other side we may exhibit our model mechanic. He is confined to present realities. He lives not in thought and intelligence, but rather as an animated machine for certain uses. Condemned to some monotonous toil for daily bread, he has no intellect to explore life beyond his immediate occu- pations. His workshop, his cottage, and the town or village in which he lives, constitute his world. He has not learned to relieve the toil and care of common life by expanding his mind in the contem- plation of higher subjects. He does not even inquire how the art which he practices originated, but uses it as mechanially as if he was part of a machine, and cannot even explain what he does in intelligible language. These are fair sketches of our exclusive men of scholarship and ignorant mechanics j but, happily, such extreme characters are now diminishing in number. Practical life now enforces its claims on the attention of men of learn- ing. Men who leave our universities ar^d enter into actual life as doctors, or preachers, or local autho- rities, find a necessity of opening their eyes to present realities, and adapting themselves to the circumstances of the people. Our literary men SOCIAL INTERCOURSE. 265 have neglected to cultivate the powers which prac- ticL. ety urgently demands ; but lately there have ^oen signs of an approaching union between learning and life. Even our mechanics have made some advances in intellectual culture, and we may now hope that the two extremes of education which we have described may be brought to a reasonable intercourse with each other. I SOCIAL INTERCOUESE. " It requires some art and good taste/' said Lo- thario, " to make a dinner or supper agreeable." *' There must be harmony," said Antonio." " What- ever the viands and the display may be, they should correspond. I do not like different dishes and bad wine with costly services ; and the case is still worse when your host insists on making you acquainted with the full value of his hospitality, and when he will not let you empty a flask of wine without drink- ing in at the same time the information that it cost so much per butt, or so much per dozen in bottles. This naturally lea^s to a valuation of the splendid sideboard. But if your host possesses pictures and varieties of art, alas for you I He will lead you all over the house, will tell the structure and cost of every picture-frame, and will give you no rest until I I I it III •j 2G6 LE SOUVENIR. he finds that he has produced in you a profound sense of comparative poverty."- " Then, in another party/' said Lothario, " you may always expect the grand maternal scene to close the performance. The dear little children are introduced, though we have not had the pleasure of their company during dinner or tea. Now we have the most touching narrative of their ideal virtues, and the T)athos of the scene sometimes draws tears ^ from the good mother. But these are trivial errors. What shall wc say of the terrible great assemblies now in fashion ? — of parties so called, where the known and the unknown, little and great, friends and foes, the clever and the dull, young ladies and antique dowagers, are arranged together at a long table, or series of tables, covered with a banquet — a prodigy of profusion and bad taste, the result of eight days of incessant study on the part of the hostess, who has apparently endeavoured to discharge all her debts of hospitalities by this one vast payment ? What do you say of conversation that reminds us of nothing but siich noises as we may imagine to be mingled in chaos ? How do you like this new barbarian style, which threatens to destroy all social intercourse and rational hospi- tality ?" " Why, " said Manfred, " if we may com- pare our friendly little parties, in old times, with k I OPENING OP THE MUSEUM OF VERSAILLES. 267 neat and pleasant miniature paintings, I suppose we must call this fashion— the Michael Angelo style of hospitality — for it is certainly very terrible, if not very sublime. OPENING OF THE MUSEUM OF VERSAILLES. From 1832 Louis Philip had conceived the pro. ject of bequeathing to future ages, painted upc n canvas, cut in marble, and collected in the splendid galleries of Versailles, the divers epochs c f French History. It was a noble idea. And the King pursued it with an ardor worthy of the greatest praise. The hour had arrived for him to enjoy his work : on the 10th June, 1837, was seen throng- ing to the Palace, which had been abandoned long to solitude and silence. Marshals of France, minis- ters, peers, members of parliament, generals, poets, and artists ; at ten o'clock the doors of the Palace were thrown open, displaying to the sight an im- mense series of paintings — in fact, the History of France written by the arts. How shall we describe the effect of such a view ? Here a succession of admirals and generals, from Marshal Pierre to Grouchy ; there the age of Louis XIV., these salons through which had promenaded so many bold cap- 268 LE SOUVENIR. I •? tains, so many men of genius, so many beautiful dames whose smiles were invincible ; gilded apart- ments in which the great age appeared to havu left the reflection of its wars and its arts of civiHzation, the military glory of France from its commencement ; the battles won, the cities taken by assault, the rivers crossed under the fire of the enemy, the naval victories, all that was accomplished by the sword between Talbiac and Wagram ; and again you sec represented the rising en masse of the French people, intoxicated with their independence, rushing to de- fend the liberty of the world, then the incomparable epoch of the Empire ; again, the restoration and its vain pomps, and the revolution of 1830 and its prodigies. Thus how many old men are able to follow, from gallery to gallery, their own history. How many, after recognizing themselves in the uuiform of private soldiers, discover themselves again as generals in the republican armies, follow- ing their Emperor in his fiery course, or assisting at his coronation, or in mourning his departure from France. The inauguration of the Museum of Ver- Bailles was a day of general excitement. The king had spared nothing to render it gratifying, and to imprint upon it a monarchical character. The banquet prepared for the visitors presentel a mag- nificence with whicli they were as much pleased as i 5nt; I VALUE OF LIFE, OR THE COST OF AMBITION. 2G9 * surprised. At eight o'clock in the evening a repre- sentation of the Misanthropif:!t was given in the theatre of the Palace. VALUE OF LIFE, OR THE COST OF AMBITION. Antolne, opening the breakfast room door, an- nounced to us the arrival of the post chaise. My mother and sisters threw themselves into my arms. " It is not too late to renounce this journey," said they." " Eemain with us, mother, I am a gentle- man and. twenty years of age ; I must make my mark, either in the army or at the Court." *' And what will become of me when thou art gone ?'* '' Thou wilt be happy and proud in hearing of the success of thy son." ^' And if thou art killed in some battle?" '* What will it signify — what is life that one should think of it ? A gentleman at twenty thinks only of glory. Thou wilt- see me return in a few years Marshal of France, or in a high position at court. Well, then, the result will be that I shall be respected and held in conside- ration ; I shall marry my dear Henriette ; my young sisters will marry, and we shall live with thee in peace upon our estate in Brittany." '^ And what is there to prevent thee doing so now ? Hath n 'ii 1 270 LE SOUVENIR. is I I not thy father left us a large fortune ? Is there a richer domain, a more splendid castle than Roche Bernard within a circle of thirty miles ? Art thou not beloved by thy tenants? Leave us not, my son, remain with thy friends, thy sisters, thy old mother, whom, at thy return, thou mayst see no more. Go not to spend and shorten thy days, which pass away so swiftly, in anxious cares of every kind ; life is so sweet, my son, and the sun of Brittany is so beautiful." Upon saymg this, she showed me, through the windows of the salon, the beautiful avenues of the park,, the old chestnut trees in blossom, the lilacs, the honeysuckles, the per- fume from which embalmed the air, and their ver- dure glistened in the sunlight. In the ante-room was the gardener, with all his family, sorrowful and silent. They looked as if they would also say — leave us not. Hortense, my eldest sister, clasped me in her arms, and Amelie, the youngest, who was occupied in a corner of the room, looking at the pictures in the fables of Lafontaine, came and presented me tlie book, saying " Read, read the two pigeons." I pushed them gently from me. " I am twenty years of age ; I am a gentleman ; I must seek honor and glory; let me go," and I hurried into the court yard. I was getting into the post chaise when a female appeared at the foot of the ' 1 VALUE OF LIFE, OR THE COST OF AMBITION. 271 stairs — it was Henriette. She neither cried or uttered a word. Pale and trembling, she supported herself with difficulty. With her white pocket handkerchief she made me the last sign of adieu, and then fell in a swoon. I ran to her and raised her up. I folded her in my arms, and vowed eter- nal love , and leaving her to the. care of my mother and sisters, I ran io my carriage without turning my head. Had I looked at Henriette again, I should never liavu left. In a few moments after, the post chaise was rolling rapidly over the high, way. For a long time I thought only of Henriette, my sisters, my mother, and all the happiness I had left behind me ; but these thoughts fled as the towers of Roche Bernard disappeared from my sight, and dreams of ambition and glory took sole possession of my mind. Y/hat projects ! What great actions ! What castles in the air did I not build ! Riches, honors, dignities, success of every kind — had T not gained them all ? 1 rose in rank as I proceeded on my journey. I was a duke, a peer, a governor of a province, and a Marshal of France. When I arrived at my hotel, my servant's voice, who modestly called me Mens. Le Chevalier, re- stored me to my senses, and forced me to abdicate. The following days the same dreams ; for my jour- ney was long; I was going to the environs of M jl \^^::l 272 LE SOUVENIR. Sedan J to the castle of the Duke dc C , an old friend of my late father, and the protector of our family. He was to take me to Paris and present me to Hif? Majesty at Versailles, in order to obtain for me a company of dragoons. It was late in the evening when I arrived at Sedan, and could not, at that hour, proceed to the castle. I took up my lodgings for the night at the Arms of France, the best' hotel in the town, and the rendezvous of the officers — for Sedan is a garrison town. The streets possess a military aspect, and the citizens a martial air — as much as to say to strangerss, we are the compatriots of the great Turenne. At supper I inquired what road I was to take the next day to find the castle of the Duke — a distance of nine mile3 from the town. I was told that it was so well known that everybody could direct me. It was there that the great warrior and celebrated Marshal Fabert had breathed his last ; and the conversation turned up.>n the deceased marshal — a thing quite natural among young military men. They spoke of his battles, of his exploits, of his modesty in refusing titles of nobility offered to him by Louis X^Y. They spoke, above all, of the inconceivable good fortune he had of rising from tho position of a private soldier to the rank of Marshal of France, It was the only example they could cite at that « c * m 4 I « VALUE OF LIFE, OR THE COST OF AMBITION. 273 epoch which, even during the life-time of Fahert, appeared so extraordinary, that many attributed it to supernatural causes. They said that, from his childhood, he had studied magic — that he had made a compact with a certain personage — and the tavern-keeper, who joined a large amount of stu- pidity to the credulity of a peasant of Brittany, attested, with the greatest sang froldj that at the castle, when the Duke had died, a black man had been seen, whom no one knew, enter his chamber and disappear, carrying with him tha marshal's soul, which he had formerly bought ; and even at the present time, in the month of May, on the an- niversary of the death of Fabert, there was seen, in the evening, a black man, carrying a small lamp. This story enlivened our dessert, and we drunk a bottle of champagne to the health of Fabert's black man, be^ng him to be so kind as to take us under his protection, and make us gain some battles like CoUioure and La Mafr^e. The next morning I rose early and went to the Duke's castle — an im- mense Goiiiic building — to which, at any other time, I should probably scarcely have paid much attention ; but I must confess, after the story T had heard the evening before from the hotel-keeper, I looked at it with curiosity, mingled with emotion. The valet, to whom I addressed myself, an- 274 L3 SOUVENIR. rH- swered that lie was ignorant whether his master were visible or not, or whether he could receive any one. I gave him my card ; he went away, leaving me in a sort of '^salle d'armes," decorated with the attributes of the chase and family portraits. The carreer of honor and glory which I had dreamed of " commences, then with the ante-chamber," said I to myself. Discontent and impatience began to take possession of me. I had already counted two or three times the family portraits, when I heard a slight noise.. It was a door badly closed, which the wind had just caused to open'. I looked, and saw a very beautiful boudoir, lighted by two large win- dows and a glass door, which opened into a magni- ficent park. I advanced several steps into the apartment, and stopped at the sight of a man, whom I had not at first perceived, with his back turned to the door by which I entered, lying upon a sofa. He rose, and, without perceiving me, ran quickly to the window. Tears flowed down his cheeks ; a deep despair appeared impressed upon his features. He remained some time motionless, Lis face concealed in his hands. He then commenced to walk back- wards and forwards in the room. He saw me and trembled. Grieved and annoyed at my indiscretion, I endeavored to retire, uttering some words of ex- cuse. " Who are you ? What do you want ?" : > VALUE OF LIFE, OR THE CO«T OF AMBITION. 275 said he in a strong voice, sei'zing me by the arm . ** I am the Chevalier de la Roche Bernard, and I come from Brittany." " I know," said he, and, throwing himself into my arms, made me sit down beside him. He talked, with emotion, of my late father and all my family, whom he knew so well, that I doubted not that he was the master of the chateau. " You are the Duke de C — —," said I to him. He rose, and looking proudly at me, answered,'^ I was; but I am now no longer any thing." And, seeeing my astonishment, he said, " not a word, young man, do not interrogate me." *' If, sir, I have been an unwilling witness of your grief, pardon me ; and if my devotedness and friendship can alleviate your sorrow " ^' Yes, yes, you are right ; not that you can, in the remotest degree, change my fate ; but you will receive at least my last wishes. It is the only service you can render me." I listened to his words. There was something grave and solemn in themi. His physi- ognomy, above all, wore an expression I had never before beheld in any person. His face was pale, and his large black eyes full of fire, and, from time to time, his features, although changed by suifer- ing, contracted into an ironic and fearful smile. " What I am going to relate to you," said he, " will confound your reason. You will doubt ; you will 27G LE SOUVENIR. not believe. I frequently doubt it myself, or rather would wish to do so, but against proof 'tis impossible. There is, even in everything by which we are surrounded, many mysteries to which we are obliged to submit without being able to understand." He stopped a moment, as if to collect his ideas.- Passing his hand across his forehead, he continued, " I was born in this castle. I had two elder brothers, to whom was to descend the wealth and honors of our family. I had nothing to expect but to enter the Church, my only prospect. Neverthe, less, thoughts of ambition and glory fermented in my brain, and made my heart to beat. Unfortu- nately, in my obscurity, greedy of renown, t dreamt only of the means to acquire it, and that idea ren- dered me insensible to the sweets and pleasures of jife. The present was nothing to me. I existed only in the future, and the future presented itself to me with the most sombre aspect. I was thirty years of age, and literary men were appearing in the capital, whose reputation and works spread their lustre over our province. Ah 1 said I, often to myself, if I could only achieve a name as a man of letters, that would be fame, and that alone is hap- piness. I had, for confidant, in my grief, an old negro servant, who was in the castle before my birth. He was certainly the oldest person in the ii « VALUE OP LIFE, OR THE COST OP AMBITION. 277 f i house ; for no one remembered when he came. The country people even pretended that he had known Marshal Fabert, and had been present at his death." At this moment my interlocutor saw me make a gest of surprise, and asked what was the matter with me. I replied nothing ; but I could not help thinking of the story of the black, as re- lated the evening before by the tavern-keeper. He continued — " One day, in the presence^ of Yago — was the name of the negro servant — I gave vent to my despair upon the obscurity and uselessness of my life, and exck'imed, * I would give ten years of my life to become celebrated as one of our best authors.' * Ten years,' said he, coldly, ' that is much to pay for so little;' but never mind, I accept them, and will, in return, cause you to achieve your de- sire ; remember your promise, and I will keep min3.' " I will not endeav^or to picture to you my surprise at hearing him sneak thus. 1 thought that age had weakened his reason. I shrugged my shoulders and smiled, and a few days after left the castle for Paris. There I soon found myself launched into the society of men of letters. Their example encouraged me, and I published several works. All Paris was eager to read them, and the newspapers and reviews were full of my praises. The new name that I liad assumed became celebrated, 278 LE SOUVENIR. ■^1 and yesterday, young man, you admired it." Here I made another gest of surprise, which interrupted the recital. " You are not, then, the Duke de C ?" said I. " No," answered he, coldly ; and I said to myself, '* a man of letters — is he Mar- montel, D' Alembert, Volney, Moliere, or Voltaire ?'' Tha unknown sighed ; a smile of contempt and regret passed over his lips, and then he recom- menced : " This literary reputation which I had so much envied I soon discovered was insufficient to satisfy an ardent soul like mine ; and my aspir- ations rose higher. I said to Yago, who had fol- lowed me to Paris, and never left me, ^ there is no real glory, no true fame to be acquired except in the career of arms. What is a man of letters — a poet ? Talk to me of a great captain, of a generah of an army — that is the destiny I covet, and for a great military reputation I would give another ten years of my life.* * I accept them,' cried Yago ; * I will take them ; they are mine.' " Do not forget that at this part of his history the unknown stopped again ; and seeing the kind of hesitation and trouble that were painted in my countenance, said, ^' I told yuu, young man, that it would appear to you like a dream, a chimera. So it did to myself ; but, never- theless, the rank and honor T attained was no illu- sion. The soldiers I led to the cannon's mouth, the T^ •c d »'» VALUE OP LIFE, OR THE COST OP AMBITION. 279 batteries carried, the colors taken ; those victories which resounded through France and all Europe — all that was my work ; all that glory be- longed to me." While he was talking thus, with enthusiasm, my senses became, as it were, frozen; and I said to myself, " who is he ? Is he Coigny ? Is he Richelieu? Is he Marshal Saxe ?" From ghis state of excitement, the unknown fell into a ttate of exhaustion, and, approaching me, said, in a sorrowful tone, " Yago had told me the truth ; and when I became disgusted with the vain smoke of military glory, I aspired to what is real and posi- tive in this world, which, at the cost of another five years of my existence, he accorded — gold, riches, Yes, young man, I have had wealth surpassing my desires — estates, castles, forests. This morning I still possessed all these things ; and if you doubt Yago, wait, wait I he is coming, and you will see with your own eyes that which will confound your reason, and my own is only too true." The un- known then approached the chimney piece, looked at the clock, and then said to me, in a low voice, ** This morning, at day-break, I found myself so low and weak that I could scarcely rise. I rang for my valet de chambre ; it was Yago who appeared. * I know not what is wrong with me,' said I. ^ Master, nothing is more natural. Your hour approaches j ^, o^A^ o. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 110 l!i I.I 1.25 Jfi^ IIIM ^ 1^ 1 2.2 1.6 1.4 % V] ^1; 7 ^ Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14SS0 (716) 872-4503 CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHM/ICMH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical Microreprouuctions institut Canadian de microreprfiductions historiques 1980 280 LE SOUVENIR. M :i f i the moment arrives.* • * What moment ?' said I * Do you not divine it ? Heaven had destined you to live sixty years. You were thirty years old when I commenced to obey you.* * Yago,' said I, * areyou speaking seriously ?' ' In five years you have squan- dered twenty-five years of your existence. You gave them to me ; they are mine, and the years of which you have deprived yourself are added to mine.' * What I was that the price of your services ?' ' Others have paid dearer — for instance, Fabert, whom I patronised also.' * Silence, silence,' said I ; * it is not possible, it is not true.' * Very \/ell, as you please ; but prepare yourself, you have only half an hour to live.* ' You are joking ; you are deceiving me.' * Not at all. Calculate yourself — thirty five years during which you have really lived, and twenty-five that you have lost ; total sixty — that is your account ; everybody his own,' and he was going away. I felt my strength diminishing » I felt that I was dying. * Yago ! Yago !' I cried, * give me a few hours.* ' No, no,' replied he ; that would be to deprive myself of them, and I know better than you the value of life. There exists no treasure that can purchase two hours* existence.' I could scarcely speak. My eyes grew dim ; the coldness of death froze my veins. * Well,' said I, with a great effort, ' take back the wealth and honors VALUE OF LIFE, OR THE COST OF AMBITION. 281 V for which I sacrificed everything. Give me four hours more, and I will renounce the gold, the wealth — all that opulence I so much desired.' * Be it so ; thou hast been a good master, and I will do something for thee ; I consent 1 I fetlt my strength return, and said four hours is so little. '• Yago, Yago, four more, and I will renounce all my liter- ary fame, all my works, all that placed me so high in the esteem of the world.' * Four hours for that, exclaimed the negro with disdain ; ' it is much ; never mind, I will not refuse thy last request.* * Not the last,' said I imploringly. * Yago, Yago, give me until the evening, and I shall be content to renounce my victories, my military renown ; all shall be for ever effaced from the memory of maij — until the evening, Yago.' *Thou abusest my goodness,' said he, * I am making a bad bargain.' Never mind ; I will give thee till the setting sun. After that ask nothing more. This evening I will come for thee;' *' and he left," continued the unknown, in despair, " and this day is my last j" then approaching the glass door, which was open and led into the park, exclaimed, ^^ I shall see no more that beautiful sky, those green lawns, those bubbling fountains. I shall breathe no more the balmy air of spring — madman that I was ; those blessings which God has given to all, of which I knew not the value, the sweetness ■7 282 LE SOUVENIR. \ .of which I have only just learned. Twenty-five years longer might 1 have enjoyed thsm, and I have* spent my days, I have sacrificed them for a vain glory, which did not render m e happy, and dies with me. Look, look," said he, pointing to the pea- sants who were passing through the park in going to their work, singing, " what Vould I not give to partake with them their labor and their misery, but I have nothing to give, nothing to hope for here below— not even misfortune." At this moment a ray of sun threw a light upon his pale and wan features. *' See, then, how beautiful is the bun, and I must leave all that. Ah I let me enjoy it in its fulness this day, so pure, so beautiful, but which to me will, bring no morrow." He ran into the . park, and disappeared before I could detain him. To tell the truth, I had not the strength. I had fallen upon the sofa, stunned, overcome with what I had just seen and heard. I got up and walked about to convince myself that I was awake, and not under the influence of a dream. At this moment the door of the boudoir opened, and a servant an- nounced the Duke de C , a man of about sixty years of age, of a distinguished physiognomy, ad- • vanced and held out his hand, begging me to pardon him for having kept me so long waiting. '* I was not in the castle," said he ; "I have just returned r VALUE OF LIFE, OR THE COST 0? AMBITION. 2r-'^» m es f I from Paris, where I had been to consult a physic i.n about the health of the Count de C , my ycn>ig- est brother." " Is he dangerously ill ?" aB)x i I. ** No, sir, thank Heaven," replied the Duke but in his youth thoughts of ambition anr glory had greatly excited his imagination, and i. serious iljness, which he has lately suffered, in v aich he expected to die, has left upon his brain a 'pecies of delirium or mental hallucination, whicL makes him believe that he has only a day to live That is what is the matter with him." Thus evf ythingwas ex- plained to me. ^* Now," continued the Duke, *^ let us talk about yourself, and let s see what can be done for your advancement. ^7e will set out at the end of the month for Yorp:/ries. I will present you to His Majesty." " lar. aware o^y^j^jojd laten- tions with v^.^rrd to r. d. It is ?^^ them I came to thank you." *' V7nat ! would you renounce the Court and the brilliant prospects you might ex- pect ?" " Yes, sir." *'But reflect that my inter- est will enable you to make rapid strides, and that, with a little assiduity and patience, you may, in ten years' time" " Ten years lost," said I. " Well," repHed he, with aetonishment, " is it too dear to pay for glory, fortune, and honor ? Come, young man, let us set out for Versailles." ** No, sir. I shall return to Brittany, and I beg you to iy n 28^^ LE SOUVENIR. r^ ceive the thanks of my family, together with my 'ivwn, for your kindness." " What folly," said the Duke ; but I thought to myself, after what I had just heard, it was wisdom. The next morning I was on the road to the beautiful old castle of d(5 la Roche-Bernard, the old trees in the park, and the sun of Brittany. I returned to my tenants, ipy sisters, my mother, and to happiness, which has never left me since ; for a week afterwards I mar- ried Henriette. N ' WOOD NYMPHS. We entered here a shady wood, Where trees of spreading foliaga stood, And twined their branches so together As to shut out the sultry weatlier. Below, cool fountains bubbled out, And, winding playfully abou'D, Moistened the mossy roots, and then Together flowed into a glen Beside the pleasant wood, and here Was spread a lake as crystal clear. Shining birds, with tuneful throatj, Cheered the forest with their notoy; And on the mossy turf there grow Large rosebuds, beautiful to view- Some as white as mountain snow : Others had a ruddy glow, WOOD NYMPHS. 285 i We gazed with wonder there, beholding Each its fragrant leaves unfolding ; For out of every flower-cup there Stepped a maiden rosy fair — Rosy as evening skies, and bright In youth and joy as morning light ! Among the forest trees they played, And danced together on the glade ; And when these fairy-damsels sung, Within the wood their carols rung More tunefully than any bird, Or instrument we ever heard ; And lulled by their melodious strain, We all forgot our toil and pain — Our life was like a pleasant stream,, Or like a sweet, enchanting dream ; We longed forever there to stay — • Alas, that joys «hould pass away i Our forest-brides, who rose from flowers. Faded with t'ae fading bowers j Buds that were so bright In May, Died vfhen sanimer passed away ; And, like the) fiowers that once were bright, Our fairies faced from our sight. 'Mid withered leaves the breezes sighed. The crystal fjun tains all were dried. The merry bi:ds were dead or banished. And all our forest pleasures vanished. 286 LE SOUVENIR. THE WANDERING JEW. i 1 One glass of water, Christian true To him that's weary — gracious Heaven Reward thee — 1 am the wandering Jew, , By the eternal whirlwind driven ; By years not worn, but sore oppressed, And longing for the judgment day. Pray for repose, and find no rest, Dreading each moon's returning ray, Ever, ever Earth revolves, I rest me never — Ever wandering — Ever, ever. And eighteen centuries, now have sped On the dark wrecks of Rome and Greece j I have seen the ashes scattered Of thousand shifting dynasties ; Seen good, unfruitful good ; and ill Prolific, while the tempei't rolled ; Seen two new worlds the circle fill, Which one world occupied of old. Ever, ever The earth revolves, on Y*^hich I run Ever, ever, I rest me never. it THE WANDERING JEW. The ceaseless change is heaven's decree,— On dying things I fix my heart, And scarce I love them ardently Ere the wild whirlwind cries " depart." The poor man asks relief, my hand Is stretched the debt of love to pay — But ere sweet charity's demand Is granted, I am whirled away, — Ever, ever Earth revolves, I rest me never. On the soft grass, in flow'rets drest, Near the fresh stream beneath the tree, If from my misery I would rest, The whirlwind howls and summons me. One moment — one of sweet repose ? But, the silence of the grave Alone will rest me from my woes. Ever, ever Earth revolves, I rest me never. Those laughing girls, those sporting boys, Remind me ormine own at play ; My heart would revel, in their joys — The whirlwind hurries me away, Ye old, who die, envy not My miserable fate forlorn ; For I must tread upon the spot Where yet shall sleep the child unborn— Ever, ever ^ Earth revolves, I rest me never. 287 4; iW 288 LE SOUVENIR. I seek the venerable walls Which in my early youth I knew,— I stop— the eternal whirlwind calls, Tyrannic : " Onwards, onwards Jew I" Onwards 1 'Erst while all around Is perishing : in this thy home- Where all thy forefathers have found A tomb— for thee there is no tomb ; Ever, ever Earth revolves, rest thee never. awl" und