Wit Wisdom & Folly . YiJHn Marmeru RATED RED TOUCHEMOL1N Ex Ltlms C. K. WIT, WISDOM AND FOLLY WIT, WISDOM AND FOLLY pen ant) pencil jflaebes BY J. VILLIN MARMERY AUTHOR OF 'PROGRESS OF SCIENCF.,' AND 'MANUAL OF THE HISTORY OF ART Illustrations by ALFRED TOUCHEMOLIN AUTHOR OF 'MONT STE ODILE,' 'STRASBOURG MILITAIRE,' 'REGIMENT D'AI.SACE,' ETC. ' Se non e vero ben trovato lonDon . LOXC, & CO., PUBLISHERS 1 8 Bouverie Street, Fleet Street, E.G. [The Authors reserve (he /tight of Translation and Reproduction abroad.] AI FANCIULLI SUOI L'AUTORE JDefcica d&uesto Xibro 2015313 PREFACE IN these times of ours the general reader has no leisure to take up long or serious books. The days of three- volume novels are over. The busy man or woman of our Jin de siecle has enough to do to keep pace on the path of life abreast with the multitude crowding every road, and hours of relaxation are devoted to light reading or outdoor exercise. When a person has per- used the newspaper, which supplies indispensable daily information, he leaps into the cycle saddle after his work, and rides out into the country through highways and lanes to enjoy the reposing sight of green fields, and inhale the healthy air of fresh breezes. Or, if the weather be too unpro- pitious to allow this invigorating pastime, he reluctantly sits at home and indulges, rather against his inclination, in desultory reading of the lightest sort. This goes far to explain the extraordinary number of beautiful Magazines which flourish at the present day. These publications, got up as viii PREFACE they necessarily are, regardless of expense, offer the ordinary reader precisely what he wants short stories of a more or less sensational char- acter, enlivened almost at every page by pictures which make the text exceedingly attractive. The publishers, alive to the change that has taken place of late years, were not slow in understand- ing that, in order to 'bait' the subscriber and ' land him,' it was imperative to draw his eye and his mind in an equal degree, and they supplied him with the only nourishment which could satisfy his sluggish mental appetite. And the food presented to him is, in consequence, often 'gruel and treacle,' fit for babes, and just as often 4 pickles and spice,' fit for rowdies. The writer of these pages, taking up a magazine from a railway bookstall not long ago, was not a little astonished to count twelve ghost and spirit stories out of the fourteen which made up the number. Magazine tales are by no means always of this description, it is true. Many are tales of adventures and war ; many are tales of love ; some are good studies of life, well-thought-out and elegantly written, and some are idyllic or romantic tales of fiction, delightfully told ; but a great number too many are blood-curdling, ' dagger-and-poison ' stories, written with the view of depicting base instincts and unfolding hideous crimes -- the only object being, apparently, to arouse no nobler sensation than morbid curiosity PREFACE ix or feverish terror. Under such circumstances it has appeared to us that there was plenty of room for a wholesome work, which, satisfying the desultory reader by its varied topics and abundant illustrations, and conveying to him subject-matter interesting enough to rivet his attention and tickle his fancy, would, at the same time, now and then stir up his heart, light up his imagination, awaken his thought, furnish his mind, lift him up 'above mortal clay,' if only for a moment, and inspire him, perhaps, with noble aspirations. Hence this book a mere collection of anas, some original, some culled from the past and the present, from all countries and people ; a book recording rapidly, for the benefit of ' readers in a hurry,' the wit, or wisdom, or folly of ages. 4 Very old-fashioned ! ' ' Not up-to-date ! ' some fast young sparks may exclaim. To this we reply that the ' up-to-date ' firework is essenti- ally ephemeral. To-morrow cares not for Yester- day's pun. But a more forcible answer by far is, that what is good is long-lived and never old- fashioned ; that anas, besides, have a great ad- vantage over talcs, inasmuch as, being easily remembered and easily told, they supply us with means of enlivening our homely talk, convivial meetings and postprandial conversation. For this reason anas will live for ever, and if told a propos seem for ever fresh. Is this publication a bold or an idle venture x P REPACK on our part considering that extensive readers are as well acquainted as we are ourselves with what we reproduce? We think it is a common- sense one. For if those who know think this a book of oft-told tales, it will certainly appear to many people of our generation a storehouse well worth exploring, containing, as it does, rich and rare gems radiant with ennobling light, or o o o curious and quaint oddities evoking mirthful smiles. We are well aware that books of anecdotes are numerous. But as the charm of an anecdote depends very much upon the manner of telling it, many anecdotal collections are spoilt by the abruptness with which the stories are pre- sented. Compilers of anas, fancying that, in order to please the public, it was sufficient to give the pith of a tale, have generally neglected to ' frame ' their picture with those local-colour details which would enable the reader to realise the situation to the full. They give him a bare bone and they are surprised he does not enjoy it ; they wonder how it is that a heap of bare bones does not delight him ; they marvel that, after a few pages of bare anas, the reader puts their book aside and opens it no more. The result could hardly be different. The anas soon pall because they are too dry. The bone, full of marrow though it be, is not surrounded with muscles ; it has no loveliness of form ; it has no variety of complexion, and it is thrown away. We have seen this so often that PREFACE xi we have made every endeavour to avoid the error of judgment just described. We have, therefore, in most cases, by way of preparing one to 'realise the situation,' prefaced each anecdote by a descrip- tion, or exposition, or sketch, or disquisition, or essay all of them of the slightest possible kind indeed, but sufficient, we think, to enable all sorts and conditions of readers to see and apprehend in its full light either the conversational sally, the striking thought, the lofty sentiment, the heroic saying or the comical absurdity it was intended to recall. Set forth in this novel form, we think the collection we now offer readers will afford them matter for amusement, information, and perhaps meditation. Our stock is mostly public property ' old wine in new bottles ' and if we are not mistaken it will be palatable to everyone to the young and the old, of whatever sex and station. Should this light work meet with success, it is our intention to make it the first of a series, and bring out several volumes under the same title. J. V. M. October 1896. 1. The Captain of Musketeers, ..... i 2. Indian Women's Shrewdness, .... 3 3. Paddy Takes the Cake, ..... 9 4. Haman and Mordecai, . . . . .12 5. Truth at Court, . . . . . .15 6. Poet and Pastry- Cook, . . . . .18 7. Blue Beard and the Princess, . . . ' . 21 8. Jack's Patriotism, .... .24 9. The Hero King and His Dogs, . . . .29 10. Cockney Sportsmen, . . . -33 n. The Hermit's Rebuke, . . . . . . 37 12. Medicine and Nature, . . . . ... 40 13. The Chinese Miser, ...... 43 14. Boo !...... .46 15. A Royal Author and His Critics, . .49 16. The Jolly Poodle, . . .54 17. Tips, . . 58 1 8. Defeating the Enemy, . . . . .61 19. The Learned Man's Success, . . .65 20. The Villagers' Patron Saint, ..... 67 21. Psyche and Venus, ...... 70 xiv CONTENTS PAGE 22. Friar and Bishop, . -73 23. The Mummy, . .... 79 24. The Cardinal's Teeth, . 81 25. Lord Chesterfield and the Chatterbox, . . 85 26. The French Tourist in London, . 87 27. The Flute, ... .90 28. Calumny and Its Royal Victim, . 94 29. The Mississippi Swimmer, ... .98 30. General Wolfe and His Sovereign, . . . 102 31. Royal Fare, ... ... 105 32. Rubens and Van Dyck, . 108 33. Auntie's Canary, . . . 112 34. Thieves, . 115 33. Flattery, . . 119 36. News from the Court, . 123 37. The Siamese Twins, . .126 38. The Wind and His Friend, . . .129 39. Memorable Preachers, . . . . . 134 40. The Present and the Future, . . . . 137 41. Lady Gower's Wisdom, .... 140 42. Curious Challenges, . .... 143 43. Force of Wit, . . . . 149 44. Unkind Critics, . . . . . .152 45. Tommy Atkins's Ancient Brothers, . . . 155 46. Chivalrous Nelson, . . . . . .158 47. Princess dc Talleyrand astonishes Her Guests, . 161 48. Count Gourville and the Shooting Party, . .164 49. The Blind Man of Damascus, . . 167 50. The Beauty of English Law, . ' . 169 51. Florian's Pastorals, . . . . 176 52. Satire in Action, . 179 CONTENTS xv PACE 53. Gracious Speeches, .... .183 54. The Revolutionary Tribunal, . . .187 55. Asparagus, ..... .190 56. He would not Fight, . . . . . .194 57. Conceit versus Genius, . . . . .197 58. Wit and Beauty, . . .201 59. Laconic Speeches, ...... 205 60. Extempore Oration, ...... 209 61. A Very Severe Cold, .... .211 62. The Lazy Aide-de-Camp, . . . .214 63. A Frugal Dinner, . . . . . .216 64. The Sea, ..... .219 65. Sheridan's Rival, ...... 224 66. Sheridan at the Theatre and at Home, . . . 228 67. Henry IV.'s Deliverer, ..... 231 68. Amenities and Roars of Laughter ' . . 234 69. Whose are the Stakes ?..... 236 70. Hat in Hand, .... . 240 71. The Veteran and the Two Emperors, . . . 243 72. Have Pity upon the Poor Blind, .... 246 73. The Marriage License, ... . 249 74. Hard Work on Board Ship, . .251 75. Ancient Barbers, . . . . . .254 76. Royal Politeness, . . . . . .257 77. Heroes' Jests, ....... 259 78. A Happy Utopian, . . . . . 263 79. Halfpenny a Day, ...... 266 80. A Royal Masquerade, .... . 269 81. A Narrow Escape, ...... 273 82. The Portrait, .... .276 83. Ancient Retorts, ...... 279 xvi CONTENTS PAGE 84. Modern Retorts, . 282 85. The Testator and His Steward, . 288 86. 'Twixt Wolves and Hrigands, . 291 87. Voltaire's Niece, . . 298 88. Tit for Tat, . . 302 89. Prawns, . . 304 90. Free-Spoken Preachers, . 307 91. Paris Neighbourhood, . 310 92. Alexander in India, . 313 93. Fearless Men and Women, . 317 94. The Don and the Student, . . 321 95. A Watch for the Best Story, . . 325 96. The Ambassadors' Toasts, . . 329 97. French as She is Spoke, . . 333 98. Quakers, 336 99. The Ladies' Revenge, . 340 100. Ancient Wisdom, . . . 346 77/ CAPTAIN OF MUSKETEERS IN the reign of Louis XIII. during the government of Cardinal de Richelieu, the greatest statesman of the seventeenth century, who founded the Great Monarchy, reduced the powerful nobles to obedience, and prepared the Age of Louis XIV. there was once a dangerous riot in the St Paul ward of Paris. The Cardinal at once sent a company of Musketeers to restore order, and as he generally gave very precise instructions himself to his agents, he recommended the captain to use tact, and, if possible, to avoid bloodshed. The Musketeers were, as the reader may recollect, the King's bodyguard ; everyone of them was a noble- man by birth, and, private Musketeer though he was, held officer's rank in the standing army. It was an honour to fight them, a favour to approach them, a delight to see them. The gallant horsemen went off as they were ordered, rode proudly through the busy streets A 2 /r/y; WISDOM AND FOLL y of Paris, and arrived at the Place Royale, which was the centre of the disturbance. The Musketeers, by their sudden appearance, caused a lull in the tumult and a partial hush in the uproar, not unalloyed with emotion and fear. The elegant captain, after stopping his squadron, advanced some few paces in front, removed his hat and saluted the people with the most smiling courtesy an unexpected act, which had the effect of hushing the clamour. Then the captain, bowing a second time, addressed the multitude in a clear, ringing voice, ' Gentlemen,' said he, ' I have had orders to shoot down mischievous vagabonds, low scoundrels and law- less ruffians only ; before we fire, therefore, let every honest man retire.' In the twinkling of an eye the extensive square was empty, the crowd hastening away by every thorough- fare leading from it, everyone in the rabble wishing to give the Musketeers the impression that he was a member of the gentry at least. When the Musketeers returned, the Cardinal reported what had taken place to the King. The Prince, who was of a melancholy disposition, seldom indulged in mirth. So cheerless did he consider life that he never appeared to take the least pleasure in those amuse- ments which afford keen enjoyment to most men, and he expected his favourites to share his despondency at all times. Once he took one of his friends aside, and said, with a sad smile, ' Come to this window with me and let us be weary together.' When he heard the Cardinal's report, however, the clever feat of his beloved Musketeers so de- lighted him, and the easy rout of the rioters so tickled his fancy, that for once he burst out laughing merrily, then sent for the captain, and giving him a purse for his company, said, ' You see, sir, that in all things wit is better than force ' a suitable speech, and the only pretty thing Louis XIII. ever said. JI IXDIAN WOMEN'S SHREWDNESS BEFORE the abolition of Suttee in India (1834?), widows thought that they were obliged to immolate themselves on the funeral pile of their husbands. Suttee was optional ; but to satisfy public opinion, and gain the reputation of an exemplary relict, or, frequently, to in- dulge in a mere inclination to vanity, most well-to-do widows underwent the sacrifice and suffered a cruel death. A pretty young widow, on the morning of the fearful rite, was lamenting her fate, sobbing her heart out, and shedding sorrowful tears ; but no one knew whether her intense grief was due to the dread of the stake or the loss of her lord. A good Brahmin, who came to prepare her for the ceremony, said to her, with unction, ' Don't cry, dear child, you are going straight- way into happiness.' 3 4 /r/7*. ll'/SDOM AND FOLLY 1 Pardon me, Father,' replied the pretty widow between her sobs, 'but I do not see it.' 1 My dear, you are going to be united again to your husband.' ' United to him again ? ' ' Yes, indeed. Within a few hours you shall see him once more, and for ever ! ' ' Is it really true, Father?' ' As true as you now see me.' ' I can hardly believe it ! ' ' Nothing, however, is more certain, my child.' 'Is there then no doubt at all about it?' inquired the pretty widow again, lifting up her lustrous, tearful eyes, lighted this time with a faint gleam of hope. 'Is there no doubt at all about it?' she repeated. ' Doubt ? No ; absolutely none ! You shall see him again.' ' Oh ! then,' she burst out, with rapture, as if a charm had been suddenly cast upon her, ' in that case I don't burn myself alive, if you please.' And quickly drying up her tears she bowed the Brahmin out of the house with ecstatic smiles. The holy man wondered whether the delight she showed came from her escaping the fire ordeal, or escaping the embrace of the departed one. On this point, too, the neighbours were divided ; but the shrewdest suspected that both escapes had an equal share in causing her extraordinary joy. As to the pretty widow, she lived a long life of quiet and happiness, without ever showing the least impatience to have the realisation of her eternal bliss hastened. The above story is probably a make-up, to show that in India itself, where women are held in pitiable subjec- tion, there arc some who are shrewd enough to take good care of themselves, and this fact is shown better INDIAN WOMEN'S SHREWDNESS 5 still in an Hindustani tale, of which we may give an abridged version : A poet, in one of the Moslem kingdoms in India, was like many poets elsewhere exceedingly poor. To better his condition he vainly endeavoured to be heard at Court where he knew that minstrels, singers and ex- tempore poets, attached to the person of his sovereign, led, if not a wealthy, at least a quiet and happy life. Wandering from one village to another might give him sustenance and garments, but it was a precarious exist- ence at best, and he resolved to carry out a plan he ingeniously devised to approach his Prince, and obtain an honourable pittance such as his brother poets were enjoying in the King's retinue. He made himself ac- quainted with the customs of the palace, and soon learnt that if he could come into contact with the chief gatekeeper, he might have a chance of making himself heard by some of the courtiers, and possibly by the Sultan himself. He also heard that the gatekeeper had a beautiful marriageable daughter, and he thought that, if he could only speak to her, he might touch her heart, and, through her, succeed in forwarding his purpose. With a view to see her, he managed to scale the wall of the palace garden, and, hiding among the shrubs, he watched the keeper's lodge. After a few hours he was rewarded for his patience, for he saw the handsome girl coming out of her father's house, with a pitcher, for the purpose, no doubt, of fetching fresh water from the clear stream that ran through the grounds. She chanced, happily for him, to take a path which lay close to the shrubbery that concealed him, and, as she passed by, he began reciting as melodiously as he could, a piece of his composition in honour of a lovely maiden. The girl listened, and then stopped. ' Who is there,' she said, ' telling a tale of love ? ' 6 //'/7; WISDOM AND POLL Y The poet showed himself, and saluting the maiden, he extemporised a few stanzas addressed to herself, in which he conveyed an ardent wish to renew his happiness of seeing her again. She graciously assented to hear him next day at the same hour and in the same way. After a few days he formulated his desire to speak to her father in order to carry out his ambitious scheme. 'I will manage an interview/ she said, 'if you will swear by Allah and his Prophet and the Koran, that you will marry me. Not that my father will easily consent to bestow my hand on a poor minstrel, for he has other views distasteful to me ; but he is so fond of me that, if you are patient, I shall in time obtain his acquiescence.' He took the oath required of him. The girl then gave him directions as to the mode of proceeding, in accordance with which he presented himself to the dreaded doorkeeper at a certain hour next day. The doorkeeper, before hearing a \vord, made a sign to the guards to have him ejected, when the girl, who was on the watch, suddenly appeared on the scene, and caress- ingly asked him to let the man speak. The father roughly inquired of him what he wanted. Then the poet begged of him to use his influence in his behalf. ' I am poor,' he said. ' I am starving. I am a poet. I have composed a poem of great beauty, and if I only could recite it to the Sultan my fortune would be as good as made.' At all this which was told very rapidly the door- keeper flew into a rage. Fancy the impudence of a vagabond, who presumed to be introduced into the palace and see the Sultan ! But again the girl interposed, and merely said, ' Why not, father dear ? ' ' Never,' he loudly ejaculated, ' shall I be guilty of I. \DIAN WOMEN'S SHXEll'DNESS 7 such a breach of duty ! The palace is sacred ground ; and I am here to guard it from being polluted by the presence of beggars and vagrants.' ' Sir,' expostulated the poet, ' Heaven would reward you for befriending a poor poet was not the Prophet a poet, too? And not Heaven only would repay you, but, I myself would also reward you by a substantial gift if I succeeded.' Upon this the doorkeeper softened down some- what, and, after sending his daughter away, so as not to appear too greedy before her, he gradually assented. But he imposed the condition that, after his audience with the Sultan, the poet would give him, not half, but three-fourths of whatever the Prince might bestow as u gift. It was agreed ; and in due course the poet, by the assistance of some officers, was smuggled into the audience chamber, where other people were paying their court to the Sultan. His Highness, as it happened, was rather cross on that da}% and having eyed the new-comer, he com- manded him to speak. The poet obeyed, with a beating heart ; and in a stanza which cleverly opened his verses, told the Prince the happiness and pride he felt at beholding one of the holy descendants of the Prophet, and begged to be allowed to recite a poem of his own. A nod of assent permitted him to proceed. When the poem was over, the Sultan expressed the desire to reward the reciter as he deserved. ' And may it please Your Highness,' asked a chamber- lain, 'what shall he have?' ' One hundred strokes of the bastinado,' replied the Sultan, ' and let him have them here at once. That will make him sing in a key that may divert us more than his musical verses.' The poet knelt down submissively, and the operation began without his uttering a groan. When he had 8 WIT, WISDOM AND FOLLY counted twenty-five strokes, he shouted, ' In Allah's holy name, stop, and hear my petition ! ' At the sacred name of Allah which at once stays any kind of proceeding among the Moslems they paused, and the Sultan asked, ' What is thy petition ? ' ' Your Highness, I have a partner in this business, and it is only just I should not rob him of his share.' ' What meanest thou ? Explain this matter quickly.' The poet briefly related the agreement he had been compelled to make. The Sultan, much amused at the episode, said, 'Justice is justice, let the gatekeeper be fetched.' When this official arrived, full of greedy expectations, he was not a little surprised to get more than he had bargained for. When he had got his share on his back, and had been carried home, the Sultan said to the poet, ' Thou shalt now be rewarded for thy fortitude and ingenuity, first with a hundred pieces of silver, and then with a place among my minstrels.' ' May it please Your Highness, how shall your humble servant make his peace with the gatekeeper?' ' He shall be ordered to forget and forgive.' ' A plan Your Highness's humble servant would prefer, as safer and more gratifying, would be to compel me to marry his daughter.' ' That thou shalt do if she agrees.' ' She does, Your Highness. I have her word for it.' 1 Then thou shalt take to her five hundred pieces of silver as a dowry, for we like thee for thy wits, which have cured us of melancholy to-day.' Thus did the poet accomplish his vow to marry the maiden, and the beautiful maiden accomplish her desire to marry the man of her choice. S^ ^ r c PADDY TAKES THE CAKE LOVE for our native land is the most unwavering feel- ing which animates us. We front dangers, we, face death itself, we cheerfully sacrifice our lives in defence of our country, and, as a corollary to our devotion to it, we naturally extol it to the skies, and deny that other people are entitled to speak of the richness of their soil, the beauty of their climate, and the loveliness of their scenery with that legitimate pride which we feel for our own. And this prepossession is necessarily more en- grained in the stay-at-home population than in those who have travelled. In the smoking-parlour of a temperance inn in the Highlands, a mixed party of Scotchmen, Englishmen, Welshmen and Irishmen were arguing about their respective greatness and countries. A Scotchman after laying down that England had been annexed by the Scots under James I., wound up by boasting of the scenery of Scotland. ' Look at our lakes and moun- tains where can you match them ? ' 'You are fine fellows to talk like this,' a Welshman 9 io 1177', WISDOM AND FOU.Y shouted. 'It is no use recalling that England is chiefly inhabited by the Welsh that is, descendants of the ancient Britons, among whom there is a sprinkling of Romans, Dutchmen, Danes, Anglo-Saxons and Frenchmen for you would deny it ; but as to scenery, if we have no large lakes, we have hills and mountains enough to sell to Scotland, if she had money enough to pay for them,' The Irish laughed merrily at the ignorance of the Scotch and Welsh when speaking of national greatness and scenery. Had not the Irish been the backbone of England in war on the land and on the sea? Had they not given her splendid soldiers and commanders, with- out whom Great Britain would now be nowhere? And as regards scenery, Ireland has every kind hills, valleys, glades, glens, caverns, grottoes, caves, woods, lakes, eternal verdure all of which make it the most romantic land in the world, and this is so well acknow- ledged that she is called " The Emerald Isle." ' England, then,' eagerly replied an Englishman, ' is no country at all ! You are cool, all of you, and no mistake ! Have not we English made you all our humble subjects and servants? Have we not peopled America? Have we not spread all the world over, built the greatest empire history can record, made our language the universal tongue of commerce and civilisation, and organised the most workable of the political systems ever tried ? ' ' And if we condescend to speak of scenery,' continued he, ' why, look at our beautiful rivers, our lovely lawns, our grand New Eorcst, our undulating hills and downs, and our natural harbours ! The fact is, you are nothing at all as compared with ourselves.' ' Get along with you and your tall talk,' the Scotchman retorted. ' Why, we made you what you are. Where would you be without us? We can beat you in things great and small. Where, outside Scotland, will you find J'ADDY TAKES THE CAKE u an echo such as we have, which magnifies the voice of the speaker like thunder ? ' ' Oh, as to that, there is an echo in Wales,' a Welshman replied, ' that does not only increase the loudness of the voice, but will also give back six distinct times what has been shouted to it.' ' That is as common as blackberries in England ! I know of two," said an Englishman, ' that repeat eight or nine times.' ' Then that is nothing to one I know in Ireland,' rejoined an amiable Hibernian. 'Where?' ' Why at Killarney.' 1 Blarney, you mean ? ' ' No, Killarney. I would not tell you an untruth to save my soul.' 'Well, what is it like?' ' You all speak of a common thing. Your echoes repeat what you say and nothing more ; but the one I speak of replies to you. If you shout "Well, Paddy, how are you ? " it answers, " Pretty well, thank you." ' A good-humoured roar met this boast. 'No wonder Ireland is called "The Emerald Isle," shouted an Englishman. 'How so?' inquired the son of Saint Patrick. ' Why, because it is inhabited by green people.' 'You seem to doubt it?' Pat said. ' Not at all ; I believe it, and so do you, don't you, gentlemen?' shouted the Englishman. ' \Ve do, indeed ! ' was the loud reply. And as there was at last general agreement, the friends parted, each claiming the victory HAMAN AND MORDECAI IN matter of ingenuity and invention we are very fond of imagining that we excel our ancestors by far. We cer- tainly do in many spheres. It is, however, by no means certain that we surpass them in originality and wit, how- ever superior we may be in our smart modes of expression. When we consider that the majority of our fables, fairy tales, and many of our stories of adventure can be traced to the East ; that Europe merely dressed them up in a new garb, when, after the Crusades they began to spread' in the West, we are bound to own that the question of pre-eminence might, after all, be decided in favour of our forefathers. Italy, at all events in this as in all else preceded all the other European countries, as soon as //.-M/.-/.V AXD MORDECAI 13 imagination awoke from its long, mediaeval sleep. The following is upwards of five hundred years old. In Florence, a little street beggar was in the habit of daily repairing to a certain busy street at mid-day, when the eating-shops and inns were full of customers. He had cleverly remarked that his bread crusts were far more enjoyable if they were savoured by the rich fumes which escaped in whiffs from the full, blazing kitchen of a particu- lar general roaster. This house was the best frequented of all the eating establishments in the street. So, in order to make a meal worth having, the poor little mendicant came opposite the roaster's shop, and there envying the busy scullions and cooks going to and fro, looking at the hams, ducks and chickens adorning the entrance, viewing the geese and turkeys revolving on their spits before a glorious fire, inhaling the delicious vapours floating out of the elysian hostel he munched his bread with keen relish. The master roaster had seen him many a time, and many a time had looked at him askance. The little street beggar was an eyesore, which, just at the busy time, defaced the splendid show of his model roasting- house. Customers poured in, certainly scores of them. Each day added to his savings. He was already rich enough to retire. But still this beggar boy spoilt his pride in time, almost his sleep and day by day aroused his ill-temper, just as the presence of Mordecai at the king's palace gate angered the wicked Haman. At length the nuisance was too great for him, and, one day, unable to control his wrath, he rushed out of the shop, determined to put an end to the poor boy's persistent visits. ' Now then, boy,' he shouted threateningly, ' give me twopence for that smoke of mine thou stealest every day. Out with the money at once.' ' I have none,' replied the little one, in a tremble. ' Out with it, quickly,' roared the great cook, ' or ta prison thou goest.' i4 / r/ / ; / vis DOM AND POLL Y ' Pardon me, master,' whined the poor wretch, and he began to cry. From the first appearance of the master cook, the passers-by had begun to stop, and in a few seconds there was a ring of loiterers around ihe two dis- putants. By the time the boy cried, there was quite a crowd. A gentleman, now arriving, asked the irate cook what the disturbance was about ; and being told, with due Italian volubility, he said to the boy, 'That is only right, little man, thou must pay.' ' I have no danari' the boy sobbed out. ' Well then, I will pay for thee.' And, taking two- pence out of his purse, the gentleman dropped them on the pavement, picked them up, and said to the great cook, ' You are paid.' ' How so paid ? ' quickly asked the roaster. ' As you have fed the boy,' replied the gentleman, ' with the smoke of your joints, he pays you with the ring of his coin. The one is as good and pleasant as the other.' Sudden shouts of laughter at once discomfited the fiery cook, and he was only too glad to sneak back to his turning-spits. The gentleman, meanwhile, gave some silver to the little man, an example which was followed with gladness by the witnesses of the scene. 'It is an ill wind that blows nobody any good.' c rt J* TRUTH AT COURT TIIK sensitiveness of writers was just as proverbial in olden as in modern days, and the higher the rank of the poet, the more intense was his touchiness and irritability. Did not Richelieu, great man as he was, feel very angry with the public because his tragedies were not appreci- ated? Did he not descend to petty jealousy against Corneille because the latter's immortal plays were greeted with universal applause? If there ever was a prince free from prejudices and gifted with rare common sense, that was Frederick the Great. His soundness of judgment and sense of dis- crimination were almost unique. He admired intellect and wit to such a degree that he never rested until 5 1 6 /r/r, WISDOM AND POLL Y Voltaire had consented to go to Prussia and live in close friendship with him. The intimacy seemed absolute and unshakable. The rock on which it split asunder was literary vanity. Voltaire dared speak his mind about his royal friend's verses, and the royal friend at once shuffled off the ordinary mortal's garb to don again his robe of regal authority. Voltaire fled ; but his bosom friend soon showed him that a king is a stronger man than a poet, and a sceptre a longer and more effective weapon than a sharp quill, for Voltaire was arrested, and thought himself lucky not to be shut up in a fortress for life ! But even a Frederick must yield the palm of literary resentment to another prince. Dionysius, the tyrant of Syracuse prided himself upon his poetical compositions, and was conceited enough to believe himself equal to the best poets. On one occasion he showed that his vanity would not bear much criticism. Having recited some of his verses to Polyxenes, he pressed this philosopher to tell him what he thought of his production. ' What good will my opinion do to you ? ' said Polyxenes. ' I wish to experience all the emotions of an author,' replied the king ; ' and I will, if necessary, order you to tell me what impression my verses make upon you.' ' Well, then,' asked Polyxenes, ' am I to speak as one ought to speak to the master of many legions or to a poet ? ' ' In this matter speak as you would to your equal,' Dionysius replied. ' In that case I cannot help acknowledging your poetry to be of the feeblest kind.' ' The feeblest kind ! ' exclaimed the tyrant. ' What do you mean ? ' ' I mean,' replied the other, ' that you can arrange soldiers in line of battle better than words in poetical array.' TRUTH AT COURT 17 'Well, then, if this be your idea,' said the king, 'it is plain you have yet to learn what taste and politeness are like, Polyxenes. Do me the pleasure to repair to the marble quarries to qualify yourself in both.' The philosopher went away with equanimity and worked in the quarries. Dionysius, about a year afterwards, recollected him and had him reinstated in his former position. Wishing to see how far his lesson had taken effect, the tyrant one day at dinner recited a new piece of verse of his own, and asked all the guests their personal opinion as to the beauty of his creation ' Exquisite ! ' said one. Very beautiful indeed ! ' said another. ' Never was there anything like it ! ' said a third. And so it went round the sycophants praising the royal author with their usual servility. When Polyxenes's turn came, he got up from his couch and quietly walked towards the door. 1'olyxenes, where are you going to?' cried Dionysius, ' To the quarries," answered the candid critic. POET AND PASTRY-COOK ' QUICKLY throbbed her pulse. Was she to be dis- appointed ? She tried to be more composed, but her emotion was too violent. Hopes and fears flitted through her heart. Doubt was her torment. . . . The train steamed in. She trembled. People poured out of the cars . . . and she saw him not. Had he broken his promise ? A tear quivered on her eyelid. Then, like lightning, a sudden joy illumined her lovely countenance ; and though the crowd was too dense to recognise a face afar off in the bustling throng, long before she could see his features : " It is he ! " she cried in ecstacy. " There is the elegant and glossy two-dollar Broadway hat he got at Magu ire's ! " An advertisement of this kind can be daily read in American newspapers. Puffing has become one of the fine arts. The draughtsman is called into requisition to display his inventive imagination by the side of the sensational penman and their composite production stares us in the face on walls, boards and newspaper broad sheets. Competition has developed this means of success as it has developed everything else. Until the present century advertising remained very primitive. A shop attracted customers in bygone days by some striking 18 POE T AND PASTR }'- COOK 19 curiosity exhibited at the window, or in an inner room, such as a young tame bear going up a ladder, a cat trained to wind up wool, a chameleon climbing up a string. When the bear, cat or chameleon died a painted board or sign represented it outside. The shopkeepers who had no such allurements to bait the unwary were content to walk up and down outside their shop frontage, and to shout the names and prices of their \vares. Smaller traders were, as they are still, obliged to hawk and cart about their goods with the accompaniment of deafening cries. Some of the London cries were very quaint and very curious. The more genteel sort of tradespeople, as early as two hundred and fifty years ago, endeavoured to entice purchasers by refined devices. They would pay a versifier to compose a piece of poetry or a song, extolling the excellence and cheapness of their merchandise, and they distributed the composition gratis a style of advertising which still flourishes amongst us. Sometimes a versifier, in order to find employment for his genius composed a poem for nothing, being certain that the shopkeeper he praised would at least make him a present. This mode of puffing was originated by a poetaster, who like many inventors, had the mortification to see around him highly successful imitators, while he himself reaped nothing for his ingenuity but mockery and starvation. Such is the caprice of fortune. This rhymster had written some high-flown stanzas in praise of a celebrated confectioner's patties, as an allurement to other pastry-cooks to bribe his muse. Unfortunately, however, the verses were read by no living soul except the eulogised patty-maker himself, who, in his enthusiasm, bought all the copies. After a while, when his vanity had been fully gratified by daily perusal of the poetry in his honour, the idea struck him that he might make some use of the printed leaves by laying his patties upon them. A bright thought, indeed ; for, besides his money not 20 ////; WISDOM AXD FOU.Y being entirely lost, some customer might chance to glance at the madrigals and see his name in print. It happened, however, that the first person who remarked the poetical clucubrations thus applied was the versifier himself. He entered the shop and indignantly exclaimed, ' Your patties are on my verses ! ' 4 Ves,' said the confectioner, 'just as your verses were on my patties: and I am sure we shall all be gainers, for that is the only way your poetry will sell.' VII BLUE BEARD AND THE PRINCESS IF Henry VIII. was the prototype of Blue Heard, as Perrault himself allowed it to be believed, it must be owned that the hero of the tale conveys a pretty good idea of the original. Blue Beard's pride and fierce demeanour, his freezing commands and consciousness of brute force, his cold cruelty and savage look, impress the young reader with the terror of a power from which there is no earthly escape. It is felt that unless Heaven itself intervenes between the tyrant and his victims, his order and their doom must follow as night follows day. His castle is strong enough to defy an army. His frown terrifies ordinary mortals. A wife appears as a feather in his hand, and as defenceless and quivering in his grasp as a linnet in the talons of a falcon. And so it was with Bluff King Hal, a nickname which suggests something human, and colours its owner with a false tinge of romance in reality, the synonym of Ogre. In his fortified despotism, as Blue Beard in his fortress, he could defy 22 /r/7', WISDOM AND FOLLY a nation and deal in wholesale murder. Louis XI., by his side, seems a gentle prince who hangs and de- capitates in self-defence. The Ogre holds nothing sacred. He knows no divine or human laws. His wayward passion and caprice he gratifies at all costs whether it involves the subversion of a creed with the death of fifty thousand of his subjects, or the violation of marriage vows with the divorce of a virtuous queen, or the murder of another. The rope, the stake, the axe are his means of satisfying his passions. Richard III. was not such a scourge. It is with a feeling of delight that we find, for once, his craving frustrated, and the manner in which it was disappointed adds much to our pleasure. After the execution of Catherine Howard, which followed that of Anne Boleyn within a few years, Henry VIII. saw the splendid portrait of the Princess of Parma, by Titian, and he was so much struck with the beauty of that princess that he determined to marry her. The picture which was sufficient to inspire him with love is not known to us ; but those who have seen the portraits of Caterina Cornaro and Delia Bella can easily imagine the loveliness of a painting that had the power to captivate the English King, who certainly was a good judge of beauty. Titian had the genius to transfer to his canvas the liquid beam of the eyes, the smiling sweetness of the lips, the richness of round forms, the warmth of living and palpitating flesh, the enchanting grace of attitude, that could enhance the charm of a handsome and pretty woman ; and Henry VIII. fell in love once more. For the purpose o^ making an offer of marriage he sent to Italy a special ambassador, who acquitted himself of his mission with diplomatic tact and zeal, expecting great favours from the King if he was successful. The Princess received the envoy with exquisite grace : but when he had delivered his delicate message BLUE BEARD AND THE PRINCESS 23 she said to him, with the most affable smile, ' My lord, you will convey my sincere thanks to His Majesty the King of England, Defender of the Faith, and you will tell him that if I had two heads I should most gratefully lay one at his feet ; but having one only, he must not think me selfish if I keep it for myself.' The beginning of the speech had so elated the envoy that he could hardly contain himself, but within ;i few seconds the joy that shone in his countenance made room for the gravest expression that bitter dis- appointment could depict. We may be pretty sure that the ambassador returned home rather crestfallen, and garbled the reply he had to give so as to spare his master's feelings and save his own head from the Ogre's anger. For once Blue Beard did not get his own way, and was laughed at for his pains. JA CK 'S PA TRIO TISM IT is not easy to understand the conditions of heart and mind of those advanced socialists who pro- claim the negation, and advocate the extinction, of all patriotism as a progress in civilisation, and a duty to humanity. ' Let there be no more frontiers, no more nationalities, but one universal brotherhood,' they say. It may be that we shall in time become so perfect and unselfish, so fraternal and loving, that there will be no longer any rivalry among nations; there will be emulation only for the common good. But we arc very far from that dream- land ; for how many centuries would it not take to obliterate what we now consider natural feelings? How are people, speaking different languages, and having different modes of thinking, brought up in various re- ligious creeds, living under multiform institutions, viewing everything from diverse standpoints, to arrive at uni- 24 J.ICK'S PATRIOTISM 25 formity of thought and sentiment, is more than we can imagine. \Ve might, we likely shall, have in time the United States of Europe, but such a political federation would not extinguish patriotism ; it would only extend its area and probably deepen its intensity. Universal brotherhood is an irrealisable dream. What number of revolutions - political, military, social, religious, nay scientific will there not be before we establish equality an amiable Utopia; before we regard competition, that powerful spring of progress, as an evil ; before obligatory education is everywhere the same, and produces men and women of level mediocrity ; before, in short, individu- ality of character, which hitherto has promoted the welfare of our race, has been made impossible and has disappeared. \Ve see what want of individuality can do for a nation by looking at the Chinese stagnation, corruption, effeteness are the results. And even they cherish their own country, their own people, their own institutions. Hut when a man tells us that patriotism is a sign of retrograde imbecility, has not that man left his native town or country, and felt uneasy feelings on finding himself in the midst of strangers, speaking an unknown tongue and having odd customs ? And when he returned home, did he not feel a pleasure at seeing faces whose type was familiar to him ? a delight on perceiving the old roofs, the fields, the orchards, where he spent his childhood ? a thrill at hearing his mother tongue again ? a quiver of emotion at hearing a national air ? and a tear of joy at hearing a national song ? Let the socialist speak on the platform ever so much, he, too, knows that blood is thicker than water. But we must not be too solemn. Patriotism may also verge upon the ludicrous ; yet, even then, we cannot help admiring it. A man-of-war had been cruising in the Mediterranean for three years. During that time she had repeatedly sailed in the lovely blue sea, under a spotless heaven, in 26 WIT, WISDOM AND FOI.L Y and out of the Greek Archipelago. The isles of that enchanting region had shown those curving shores and undulating lines which had inspired poets for ages. The dawn, the sunset, had clothed the amphitheatre of remote slopes in robes of iridescent hues spangled with shots of gold. The milky-azure sky tinged with pink ; the distant peaks sparkling like so many carbuncles and topazes ; ranges bathed in dazzling roseate tints, glazed with silver, crossed with opal reflections and ruby transparences, had often produced prodigious effects which no painting or description ever approached. Towards night, the eye had oft and again seen the lower slopes melting into deep grey, and successively disappearing, while the sun- light, leaping from crest to crest, so as to escape the gloom which was drowning everything in its sombre waves, crowned with a silver diadem the last sparkling range. Those sights, that ever-changing panorama mantled in vivid splendour, the British crew had seen for three years when the ship was ordered home to take some new guns on board. The sailors, naturally, were not a little pleased to re- turn to their native shores after their long absence and their somewhat monotonous life. The ship entered the Thames on a typical November morning. The weather was rather heavy. The half-gale, which was blowing was dashing the sea against the hull, and now and then sending a sheet of spray over the ship, while the rain, driven obliquely by the sharp gusts of wind and accom- panied by hail, made the deck a most unenviable station. A cold mist, which might at any moment turn day into night, completed the November picture. A patriotic Jack -Tar, recognising by these character- istic signs his beloved native land, so superior to foreign countries, was so elated to breathe the congenial air, that he shouted, in his uncontrollable delight, ' Ha ! this is the weather ! None of your blue skies here ! ' In his exclamation the izood fellow revealed his love JA CA' "S PA TRIOT1SM 27 for his country and his contempt for the rest of the universe. It has often been remarked that people are generally indifferent to those beauties of nature which are familiar to them. Few days in the year pass away without a new display of unrivalled magnificence at sunrise and at sunset; and yet people can travel from America to the Rigi to witness a rise of the sun, who pay no atten- tion to a like phenomenon at home. If this be true of many educated people, it is far more true of the lower classes. A rustic or an artisan never condescends to look at such a common thing as the sun. Once the writer of these pages was returning home in the evening, when he saw a sunset of marvellous grandeur. It lasted nearly an hour. The greatest effect painted by Turner can give only a faint, I had almost said a dull, idea of that sublime view. Most gorgeous clouds were stretched out in the western horizon, and masses of woolly clouds, in detached groups, covered the whole sky to the east, The sun, like a divine fan, shooting its golden beams through the intervals, displayed an inconceivable spec- tacle. From the most intense crimson to the most translucid sapphire, through every tone of warmth, ideal colours and forms rivetted the eye, stirred the imagina- tion and moved the heart. Limpid, rosy mountains of vapours, shaded with lilac ; purple undulations, fringed with silvery and golden trains of lace ; pearl-grey fleeces, touched up with orange ; glacier-like heights of glitter- ing whiteness, traversed at their base by rich flaming streaks, and higher up by phosphorescent cloudlets, pre- sented in its whole majesty the harmonjous pomp of the heavens. The glowing and blushing ocean reflected the loveliness of which we are giving a feeble sketch. Along the sea shore, crowded with promenaders, I did not see a person turning round to look at the inde- scribable scene. Desirous of sharing my admiration with 28 1177', WISDOM AND FOLLY some one, I stopped close to a bronxed fisherman, lean- ing on his arms over the parapet lining the cliff, and vacantly musing. 'Here is a sky for you!' said I to him. 'Did you ever see anything more beautiful?' He turned his head to the west for a second, and said in a gruff voice, 4 Rain to-morrow ! ' after which he resumed his former attitude. That was his way of looking at the glories of creation. IX THE HERO KING AND HIS DOGS Tin-: philanthropist, longing as he does for an ideal humanity, deprecates warlike spirit and hates war. Yet, when he remembers that without force nothing great could ever have been, or ever was, founded ; when he reflects that the survival of the fittest nations and the progress of civilisation have been secured by force, he must arrive at the conclusion that, so long as barbarism in any form exists in the world, war is a necessary evil. We may love peace as the first of all blessings. But, if an uncivilised nation attacks us, we must be able to repel it ; and war, though we detest it, must be our ultimate resource. We have no choice, when it is forced upon us. Very remote, therefore, is the desired Millennium. This being an undeniable truth, warlike 29 30 II7T, WISDOM AND FOLLY spirit is not an unmixed evil : it is rather an indis- pensable good. And what is an army if not a nation within a nation ? At once the heart, the buckler and the glory of a people, it constitutes its living and movable frontier. If the army is expensive and deprives a country of laborious hands for the cultivation of its fields, it compensates the nation for the loss of pro- duction by the acquisition of new qualities. It not only tempers, but often regenerates, the national character. Love of arms and military enthusiasm exclude selfish passions. The soldier practises self-denial for the benefit of his fatherland and its defence against aggression. It is true that, whereas the bulk of a nation loves peace beyond all things, the army, indeed, loves war, so strong is the influence of warlike exercise. The recruit may shed tears on leaving his home, but military training soon transforms his spirit. His regiment is a new home to him a new school the school of public virtues, where he prepares himself for the life of a good citizen. He acquires there habits of duty and dis- cipline, obedience and devotion, order and punctuality, endurance and fortitude. His physique is strengthened his courage becomes valour, his sense of rectitude becomes honour. If old warriors have not any longer the dash of young soldiers, they have steadiness, ex- perience, indifference to present hardships, and teach these to their young comrades. The soldier is proud of his regiment, and the repute of his regiment is enough to excite him to deeds of bravery ; the glory of the flag inspires with heroism all those who fight round its folds. If then an army is expensive and unproductive, the moral virtues which shine in its ranks are those which make a great people. And looking at the inspir- ing influence of its beautiful actions, we are inclined to believe that, after all, the army is the most beneficial component of a nation. For when a leader evokes THE HERO A'/.Yi; .LVD HIS DOGS 31 glorious names from the past, and calls upon his soldiers to emulate the deeds of their fathers, to guard their fame from being tarnished by defeat, he presents to them an ideal from which it would be disgraceful to swerve, and he compels them to maintain it, pure and undefiled, by deeds equally meritorious. What a noble heritage, then, a valiant army bequeaths to its country ! With what jealousy this heritage is kept in- tact and is increased ! What material advantage can compare with this moral greatness? A noble chief is necessary to a noble army. A host may be small, but when led by an Alexander it con- quers a world and spreads civilisation ; led by a Caesar it ends civil strife and founds an empire ; led by a Napoleon, it restores order and insures the foundation of a new society ; led by a Frederick, it creates a nation and prepares the restoration of an ancient power as well as the unification of a whole race. Modern Europe has witnessed this transformation. The Great Frederick, with the small army which his inflexible father had formed, changed in a few years a nation of two-and-a-half millions of souls into one of ten millions, and raised a revenue of a little over one million sterling into one of four millions. He made modern Prussia ; so that his army was the instrument both of power and of greatness. That small Prussia, again by the deeds of its army, has since become the German Empire, and the first military State in the world. And not this only, but the military system of training has given an energy to the Germanic race that the Romans themselves did not exceed. The schooling of the Prussians has not been a mild one. The iron hand of the second Prussian King turned the whole country into a camp. Men to him were so much food for cannon, which a sovereign had a right to use as, and for what, he liked. The only soldiers he valued at all were those of his select guard, and he valued them 32 /F/7; WISDOM AND FOU. Y for their high stature and the price they had cost him each of them having been kidnapped by his recruit- ing agents in foreign countries. They were precious, not because of their lives, but because of the difficulty of replacing them. His son, the Great Frederick, in whom heroism and cynicism were equally blended, held the lives of his soldiers very cheap. He used them unsparingly with immense results ; but, though he un- doubtedly loved his army as much as he could love anything, he was very hard upon his men when they failed to achieve impossibilities. At Kolin, probably the most sanguinary battle on record, his troops, unable to carry the enemy's position, mowed down as they were by musketry and artillery, wavered, and even showed signs of terror. The king again and again tried to rally them, but each charge only aggravated the situation. Finally, the battle was hopelessly lost. The few troops which survived the terrible execution of the enemy's fire, remained deaf to the order to advance, and ceased to hold together. Even then, Frederick would not give way, and once more endeavoured to make the soldiers face the storm. Seeing them halt and hesitate, he struck some in anger, and shouted, ' Charge ! and die, if necessary ! Ye dogs! do you wish to live for ever?' But death had carried too many of their comrades, and the 'dogs,' heroic as they all were, preferred to 4 run away, and live to fight another day.' The hard words of Frederick are not pleasant read- ing, for us of the nineteenth century, but we have to recollect that heroic kings do not make heroic nations with velvet hands and honeyed speeches. If the means were harsh, the results were proportionately great and durable. COCKNEY SPORTSMEN ' I PREFER it jugged/ he said. ' But where is the hare ? ' she asked. I will go and catch one for you,' he answered. 4 Catch one ? ' the cook replied. ' You will have to run hard then.' 1 Not at all. Don't you know hares are mad on sugar ? ' 4 No ; but what then ? ' ' Ha ! ' he answered, ' a week ago I spread moist sugar on a flat stone lying in the path of a hare which I detected. Next morning when I came I saw the hare had gobbled it up.' 'Well?' 4 Well, for the last six days I have been spreading sugar on the stone, and the fool has eaten it. He must be so used to this fare by this time, that he doubtless comes at a gallop to the stone, and sets eating what is C 34 WIT, WISDOM AND FOLLY upon it without looking or smelling, so accustomed is he to find there what he relishes, and this morning I am sure to have him.' ' But the moment he hears you, said the cook, he will be off.' ' Not at all. For last night, instead of sugar I spread snuff and pepper on the stone ! ' ' How silly of you ! ' ' Why, don't you see what is sure to have happened ? ' ' What ? ' ' W r hy, the idiot, early this morning, came running as usual and began to lick.' 'Well, then, I suppose he ran away?' ' Not a bit. He sneezed on the stone so tremendously that he broke his jaws and skull ; and now I'll go and fetch him.' He went, and to be sure there lay the victim of his heartless trick with his head smashed. This is a French tale invented to delude unsportsman- like townsmen into the belief that, without a gun or a shooting license, they can eat jugged hare whenever they feel inclined. Such a result, hunting in the course of its future evolution may possibly bring about ; but we do not believe that, though man loves tobacco and contrives many a snare for birds and beasts, hares will ever become so degenerate as to take snuff. Hunting, during the period of man's wild state, was almost the only means of procuring food. But it ceased to be a pursuit of the first importance when pastoral and agricultural life began, and in time it gradually became a pastime instead of a necessity. The hunting- field was once a stage for heroism. It is seldom so now ; for, putting aside the few great sportsmen who make a name in Asia and Africa, there is not much danger attached to shooting grouse not lions or pur- suing, not a bear, but a fox. It is no longer a sort of military apprenticeship, as it was in the Middle Ages. COCKNEY SPORTSMEN 35 The daring demanded at present is reduced to the pulling of a trigger, or to that which is displayed by a tamed hare, trained to fire a penny pistol. And as hunting has degenerated into mere pleasure, the number of sportsmen is legion. A man with a gun pays a license duty, and for three guineas is transformed into a Nimrod. In France, game is so scarce and sportsmen are so numerous, that they have been known to throw their caps in the air and fire at them by way of practising the art of shooting. The Tartarin of Daudet is not altogether a fictitious personage. There are excellent shooters undoubtedly. One, well known to the writer of these pages, for in- stance, thinks nothing of bringing down a bird every time he fires, and of bagging a whole covey of thirteen birds which his dog has raised ; so that he could hold his own among good sporting company anywhere. Such men, however, are relatively rare amongst our neighbours. If the French sportsmen are not first-rate shots generally, they all don first-class shooting costumes. If they bring . no game home in their huge bags, they start from home with a copious lunch in them. There may be a roasted hare on the table when they return, but it was bought in the market in the morning. Sportsmen have been known to buy a couple of rabbits on their way home to show how successful they have been tame rabbits, perhaps ! One bought a hare and triumph- antly showed it as an evidence of his marvellous skill. The sensation was tremendous the animal was stuffed ! Many stories, more or less diverting, have been in- vented at the expense of inoffensive sportsmen. We may remind some readers of a very ancient tale which is probably not familiar to the younger generation. Two Cockneys went out shooting small birds, and the sport did not turn out to be of the liveliest kind. Was it that the birds were too small to be properly 36 WIT, WISDOM AND POLL Y aimed at ? Was it that they would hop about and would not wait ? Was it that they had a knack of being rather far off? Was it that the sportsmen were not first-rate shots? Possibly all this had something to do with it They were not out in the field for nothing, for they brought down one tom-tit ; but, as they both fired at the same moment at the unfortunate bird, they could not decide who had killed it, and each flattered himself that he was the better sportsman. On their way home, they saw, not far from a large farm, a pond full of ducks. They asked a rustic who was leaning on a fence close by, if they might have a shot or two at the ducks. ' You may,' answered the man, ' but not without paying for it.' 'Well, suppose we give you half-a-crown,' they said, ' may we have a shot ? ' ' You may, and as many as you like, only you had better give it me first.' ' All right, here it is.' And they began to fire. To their astonishment they killed one duck, then another, and nearly every shot told. When they had done, ' We've killed the lot,' they said to the man, ' not dear at the price.' ' I don't mind how many you've killed ; they don't belong to me. Here is someone on horseback from the farm coming along. I should wager he will not charge you much for the ducks perhaps two shillings a-piece.' The sportsmen from London Town went away hurriedly, but the horseman had soon overtaken them. . . . We leave the cost of their sporting expedition to the reader's imagination. XI THE HERMITS REBUKE A CAVALRY general, at the head of his squadrons, was charging the enemy. As he led them to certain death, so thick was the hail of fire they encountered, he felt he must himself fall. When he dashed against the wall of steel, that belched bullets and cannon balls, he sabred right and left like a brave man, closely followed by his gallant troopers ; and as death must now strike him, he uttered the only prayer a man could utter, who had been nurtured in the atmosphere of doubt, which made the last decades of the last age such sad times. ' Oh God ! ' he cried, ' if there be a God, receive my soul, if I have a soul.' This utterance came at least from an honest breast ; and, if deplorable, it was better than downright irreverence or desperate unbelief, such as that exhibited in other instances of irreligious spirit. All nations having recognised and acknowledged a regulating and supreme power, they have experienced the need of asking its protection for their weakness ; and even when religious decay has set in, the old teach- 37 3S WIT, WISDOM AND FOLLY ing often leaves in the mind of those who no longer practise it a hazy and shadowy belief which breaks out on great occasions. That, no doubt, was the case with the cavalry officer just mentioned. France was once proud of being called the eldest daughter of the Church, and now she might be called the native land of Scepticism, for infidelity has made there as many converts as faith sways. This profound change was brought about by simultaneous causes. But these causes had their roots in the pitiless policy of the Church, which instigated atrocious religious wars for centuries, then wholesale massacres those of the Albigenses, the Dragonnades and the St Bartholomew the institution of the abominable Inquisition and its hideous persecutions, whose victims can be counted by millions. How could the sincerity of the clergy be believed in, when, in the name of charity, they ex- terminated whole communities? And as ardent faith disappeared, the Church sought to uphold religion through greater pomp and ceremonial ; and in this policy she was ' intelligent and logical,' for in proportion as belief and fervour vanished, it was necessary to strike the imagination the more. But to the hatred she had aroused by a sanguinary course, there was now added contempt for what was then taken for hypocrisy ; so that disbelief grew apace and resulted in scepticism. If, however, scepticism took deep root in France, it has now spread vigorously in Germany, Italy, and even England. ' The irreligious man,' said a great moralist, ' is always a heartless man ; for if he does not feel a Creator, what will he feel ? ' Napoleon shared this view when he said, ' I have seen godless men at work from 1793 to 1804. These men do not deserve a government, but grapeshot.' ' Scepticism,' said another moralist, ' is one of the worst diseases that can attack the soul 'and the mind, THE HERMIT'S REBUKE 39 since it deprives the wretched of their last consolation, and the wicked of what might possibly prove the last barrier to their passions.' ' The sceptic who wounds religious feeling by a raillery, commits an unpardonable impertinence,' said another. ' That is why religion should never be discussed in society. The world is not a suitable place for so serious a subject.' It was a reason of this kind that caused Chamfort, himself a sceptic, to declare that ; Scoffing was at least an indiscretion.' A man of the eighteenth century, as Chamfort was, might thus very lightly condemn that which we nowadays consider an act of folly deserving the deepest disappro- bation ; but the following, in its simplicity and mildness, appears to us despite its homeliness the tersest censure ever delivered to unbelievers. A reckless sceptic, meeting a barefooted and hungry- looking hermit, said to him, with a sardonic smile, ' My father, if there be not another world, you are indeed in a pitiful plight.' 1 It is true, my son,' replied the old man, with a severe countenance, ' but if there be one, what will be yours ? ' MEDICINE AND NATURE MANY of our doctors feel no qualm of conscience in experimenting upon their patients. This necessarily ad- mits of qualification. For some physicians, who are at the same time physiologists, in order to test the efficacy of an antidote, or, as in recent time, an anti- toxin, never hesitate for a moment to run the greatest risk, and make upon themselves experiments, of which they might be the first victims. This noble devotion to science, dictated by the still nobler desire to save the lives of their fellowmen, or diminish their sufferings, is as ad- mirable a kind of heroism as that of the sailor who leaps into the raging sea to rescue his mate, or that of the soldier who runs, under heavy fire, to fetch his wounded comrade, or rushes upon, and seizes, a smoking shell to throw it out of the entrenchments. Even among medical men of lower standing there are physicians who fearlessly ennoble their arduous profession, for some of them will make the trial of a drug more or less disagreeable upon themselves before they try it on the sick. But the generality of doctors prefer making such a trial upon others, and, human nature being what it is, we cannot 40 MEDICINE AND NATURE 41 altogether blame them. Every one of us, however, has experienced the ever-ready sympathy of the modern doctor, has benefitted by his knowledge ; many of the poor, above all, have found in him the kindest helper and gentlest of brothers, and all of us acknowledge his as the most beautiful profession ; for, whether he be considered as a man, or the representative of an order, he is the highest specimen of humanity the true phil- anthropist of our times. Former generations had not the same reasons to admire his predecessors. The San- grado type of the leech still existed at the beginning of our century. That old-fashioned physician, who bled his patient twice a week, and made him swallow two quarts of hot water a day by \vay of giving fresh strength to the body, had no misgivings about the soundness of his knowledge. Provided he killed his patient according to the perennial traditions of the Faculty and the pre- scribed rules of his art, he was certain no reproach could be attached to him. It was clearly the patient's fault if the patient died. The lancet had surely done its utmost. \Vhy the patient had not more blood in his body to let out ; why he had not turned the nice hot water into new blood as he ought to have done, was no concern of Dr Sangrado. He had done his best, and he could bury his victim with a light conscience. Now that Sangrado himself is as dead as the Dodo, the doctors of our day arouse in us nothing but gratitude for their persons and admiration for their science. But as they know that medical knowledge is still imperfect, that pathology is not infallible, that diagnosis is at times deceptive, that chemicals may kill as well as cure, that in many cases nature herself will act the part of the best physician, medical men half rely upon her to restore their patients to health. They endorse the apoph- thegm of Hippocrates: Medicine is a farce with three personages the disease, the patient and the doctor. The following anecdote is by no means the illustration 42 117 r, ll'ISDOM AND POLL Y of a singular case ; it, on the contrary, illustrates many, and shows that we may often rely on common sense and the course of nature. A medical man, undergoing a slight illness, was saying to a friend of his that a few days hence he would, no doubt, be better. Time, he felt sure, would do away with his indisposition. 'But why,' inquired the friend, 'do you not treat yourself? Why do you not take something for it?' ' My dear fellow,' replied the doctor, ' I live by my medicines, but ... I never take them.' That physician would certainly have been one of Moliere's friends had he lived two hundred years ago. To him could not very well have been applied the retort of a celebrated baronet. A well-known doctor, taking, doubt- less, the same view of medical science as the one just mentioned, was saying once to Sir William Scott (Lord Eldon's brother), 'You know that after forty a man is always either a fool or a physician.' ' Perhaps he may be both,' the baronet replied in a tone almost indicating doubt as to the physician's sense and knowledge. XIII THE CHINESE MISER OF all the varied forms of selfishness avarice is one of the most curious and incomprehensible. Can it be said that it is solely due to the instinct of preservation or excessive love of life ? No ; since misers often condemn themselves to starvation, and have been known to die of hunger rather than diminish the hoard they had amassed and concealed. The miser enjoys none of the sweets of existence. His heart is closed against all kinds of sensi- bility ; the misfortunes of the world, of his relations, of his neighbours leave him unmoved. Self is the centre and limit of his being. He has means, and yet is the poorest, the most destitute of men, depriving himself, as he does not only of pleasure, but of necessaries besides. He makes his wealth a valueless quantity. When he has accumulated gold the cause, end, and spring of so many efforts on the part of others, or himself he hastens to make it worthless ore again by burying it in the entrails of the earth whence it came ! Almost two thousand years ago, Horace said to misers, 'Your treasure painted on a wall will have the same value to you as in precious metal, since you possess the latter only to gloat over it.' And La Fontaine likewise said to them ages later, ' A 43 44 /r/7, WISDOM AND POLL Y stone buried in the place of hiding will be worth just as much as your treasure.' But avarice is a kind of insanity which no experience, no argument, no satire will cure. There was a person well-known in Paris society, who went into the country in the middle of December for a month to avoid making presents on the New Year's Day, and who left the country in midsummer for weeks in order to save the expense of entertaining visitors. Avarice is probably the most universal vice on the face of the earth. Very curious examples of it have been related in all countries from time immemorial. But we doubt whether a story more comical than one on record in a Chinese chronicle could be found in Europe. An old Celestial, who had amassed a large amount of property by work, thrift, and usury especially, was on his death-bed. As his wealth was to enrich a crowd of poor relations, nephews, cousins, grandsons, crowded the death- chamber to bid adieu to their departing relative. The sick man had been unconscious for hours, except at rare intervals, and the only sense he clearly retained, when he had a lucid moment, was the sense of ownership. When he at last sunk so low, and was so feeble, that his breath could hardly be detected, his unconsciousness became more profound. It seemed that, if he recovered from it for a moment, he could hardly have enough strength to mutter ' Good-bye.' Within three or four minutes of his death he suddenly rallied, and, with a voice which no one could have suspected, he said very loudly, ' When I am dead, don't go and squander money on coffins like fools. There is an old pig's trough in the yard which has not been used for years, and that will do for me. If you don't take it, my spirit will come back to torment you in the gloom of night. Swear that you will do that for me.' ' We swear, uncle, we swear,' the heirs answered. He collapsed, not without an apparent smile of satis- faction, and sank lower than before seemingly for the THE CHINESE MISER 45 final exit. But again he reopened his eyes and said, 4 Mind the trough ! ' ' Uncle ' said a nephew, ' it is too short for your body.' Never mind ; cut off my legs about the knees and put them in on top of me. Don't spend a farthing ' saying which, he sunk into a swoon once more. Now it is all over, they thought, his exertion has killed him. Not quite, though, for he opened one eye, beckoned to a nephew, and whispered, ' Don't use our saw, it would spoil it. Borrow the saw of Ching, our neighbour.' And now, happy in his mind, and no longer electrified into vitality by a racking anxiety, he passed into the nether world. XIV B O O ! FOR Englishmen there is no period so fascinating as that which witnessed the dawn of their modern great- ness the age of Elizabeth. This was the time when the empire of the sea passed from Spain to them, when their commerce and colonisation on a large scale were founded, when the great Queen planted the seed of British rule in India, and when intellectual radiancy gave new lustre to their race. Action and thought, heroic deeds and profound ideas united for the first time in the British people betokened the future growth of their power and the unique expansion of their sway. Greece and Rome in antiquity, Italy during the Revival, France, later on, under Louis XIV., were indeed very great, politically and intellectually. In art they remain the supreme exponents of ecstatic con- templation. But the thinkers and poets of the Shake- sperian era were not content to imitate Greece, as Rome, Italy and France did. No. The} 1 deviated from the beaten roads and struck out new tracks for themselves. The individuality, which makes the English so remark- 4 6 BOO! 47 able among nations, broke out then in magnificent origin- ality. Shakespeare is so great and imposing a poet that, when we allude to the Elizabethan period, his personality at once leaps with vividness to our recollection, and the brilliant minds, by whom he was surrounded, vanish, so to speak, from our memory so completely does he eclipse them by the luminous splendour of his genius. Yet there were then a Bacon, a Spenser, a Ben Jonson, a Philip Sydney, and others whose names and works, had not Shakespeare existed, would have sufficed to make the reign of Elizabeth a beautiful literary epoch. Among these men, Ben Jonson was especially cele- brated for his brilliant conversational wit. Lord Craven, h;>ving often heard much about it, and being desirous to know the writer personally, commissioned an intermediate friend, perhaps Lord Southampton, to invite him to call at Craven House. The poet, who led a very busy life to make both ends meet, and devoted his leisure hours to consorting with authors and players and revelling in nightly convivialities, put off going to Lord Craven for some time ; but, being repeatedly reminded of the gracious invitation, he at last made his call. The hall servants, who considered themselves connected with the nobility and thought themselves personages too lofty to receive small people with anything like civility, tried to prevent the caller from proceeding beyond the door- steps, and showed no little contempt to a man of slovenly appearance, such as Jonson always was. They would have shown a great deal more had they only suspected that the intruder was a mere scribbler of plays one of the lowest rabble as they would have judged. ' Get away with you, man,' they said, ' get away at once. His lordship wants neither beggars nor vagabonds hanging about here.' Ben Jonson gave them a piece of his mind, and called upon them to take his message to their master. 4 And how dare you, menials,' he added, ' deny a 48 WIT, WISDOM AND POLL Y visitor the entrance of his lordship's house ? When he hears of your insolent behaviour he will have you whipped like hounds.' This infuriated the servants to such a pitch that a battle royal ensued a loud volley and cross-fire of abuse first, soon followed by hustling, pushing and charging. The scrimmage was at its height, and would, no doubt, have ended in bruises, black eyes and bleeding noses, when Lord Craven chanced to come down the broad staircase, and saw and heard the unseemly confusion going on in the hall where Ben Jonson had forced his way. 'What is the meaning of all this? 'he asked in a commanding tone. The sudden appearance and voice of the master hushed the storm at once, and Ben Jonson, bowing, answered, ' My lord, your servants would prevent me from seeing your lordship, although I told them you had asked me to come and see you.' ' Who are you, my young fellow ? ' asked Lord Craven. ' I am Ben Jonson.' ' You, Ben Jonson ! Why, you do not look as if you could say " Boo ! " to a goose.' ' Boo ! ' pouted the poet at him. Lord Craven gave a loud laugh, and said, ' Ben Jonson, indeed, as I see. Come in, friend, come in. And you, men," said he to his servants, ' have the sense another time not to judge my friends by their dress.' The servants, missing the wit of both their betters, wondered how his lordship could admit such a low scoundrel into his company. This story has often been told, but we have given it because it should be perpetuated, and no book of anecdotes would be complete without being enriched by it xv A ROYAL AUTHOR AND HIS CRITICS A STUDY of Louis XIV., under the title of Le Rot Soleil* was lately published, which does more justice to the greatest of French kings than far more elaborate works. A real biography of the grand monarch has still to be written. For to speak of few authors only neither Voltaire's famous work, which presents only the brillicint aspects of the long reign that deserved to be called an Age, nor St Simon's Memoirs, which reveal with passionate animus the narrowness of the king's character, nor Michelet's fierce denunciations dictated by republican acerbity which cast strong light on details only, enable us, even if we form our estimate from these three sources taken together, to paint the prince who has been the object of so much admiration and so much blame. A ruler who rounded the natural frontiers of his kingdom, created a maritime, and foreshadowed a colonial, power organised military and civil administration, founded in- * By Arthur Hassall (Putnam & Sons, 1895). D 50 ll'IT, WISDOM AND FOLLY ternational right, codified laws, must have been a real statesman. A sovereign who encourged industry and commerce, surrounded himself with the ablest men, im- posed universal respect, pursued a national policy, protected intellect, art and science, softened manners and fostered refinement in all things, could not have been a vulgar despot. Lastly, the king who maintained a great principle with incomparable dignity, became the highest representative of authority, made his supremacy felt throughout Europe, and was studied as a type fit for imitation in most matters, must assuredly have been no ordinary prince. A man who opened an era could neither be a petty mind, as St Simon took pains to show, nor a contemptible sovereign, as Michelet repre- sented. To the dazzling picture that Voltaire gave us there were indeed deep shadows. The king might, and did, make irretrievable mistakes. He pursued a religious policy full of pitfalls, and fatal to his subjects' welfare ; his government became in the latter part of his reign a bigoted and gloomy tyranny ; but despite these excesses of despotism, he will always remain in the eyes of the impartial historian, not a great man, but a great king. And what adds much to this view is, that he worked ten and twelve hours a day, saw everything for himself, and never let his ministers take a decision without his sanction. True it is that this excessive centralisation was to lead the monarchy to its downfall, since it accumulated ex- plosives for the French Revolution ; but if Louis XV., his successor, had only been less effete, the monarchy would undoubtedly have been so modified as to have been able to meet the exigencies of new conditions, and so been saved from destruction. The weakness of the system lay more in the incapacity of the men who administered it than in its principle. When we see the monarchial principle as strong now in Germany and England as it ever was, and strong through its adoption of unavoidable reforms, we cannot believe that French A ROYAL AUTHOR AND HIS CRITICS 51 monarchy owes its fall to its inner essence. Its debility was due to feeble men not to want of vitality. At all events, it was great under Louis XIV., and that prince was a great ruler. And what is extraordinary in his career is that IK- was almost without instruction. He had, however, a paramount quality which made up for his want of learning, and that was exceptional common sense in all these matters that lay outside the religious sphere. He had solid gifts besides, and amongst others, admirable abilities and unerring taste. The great minds of his time were amazed by his brilliant personality and sound intelligence. The poets lauded him in verse, the musicians sang him in cantatas, the painters painted him on walls and on canvas, the sculptors carved him in marble and bronze. All praised him. There was in this universal laudation much that was due to flattery, certainly, but much of it was also due to the genuine admiration ex- cited by his words and his deeds in important and in small matters. With all his pride he had no paltry vanity ; with all his love of authority he liked truth. Had he not the sense to befriend Moliere, who had enemies? Had he not the wisdom to allow the circula- tion of Pascal's Letters, and the representation of Tartufe^ which aroused so much anger discriminating at once between religion, which was unassailed in those works, and its unworthy ministers who were the real subjects of censure and satire? And in other cases his judg- ment, which sometimes went counter to that of men and women of letters in his day, has been ratified by posterity. A few authenticated anecdotes paint Louis XIV. in amiable colours. He was reputed to speak and write the purest French in his kingdom, but his poetry was not equal to his prose. Once he showed a composition of his to the poet Boileau, the faultless versifier of the classic period 52 ll'IT, WISDOM AND FOLLY in France, saying to him, ' M. Boileau, read these verses and tell me what you think of them." The poet read the verses and returned them to the king without a word. 'Well, M. Boileau,' said the king, surprised; 'What say you of my poetry ? ' The great critic replied with his usual candour and wit, ' Nothing is impossible to Your Majesty : Your Majesty has wished to write bad verses, and Your Majesty has succeeded.' ' M. Boileau/ replied the king, ' not only are you a good poet, but you are also an honest man.' A little speech which was accompanied with an approving smile. He certainly was no Dionysius. On another occasion he submitted to the Duke de Grammont a few stanzas of his own, and wishing to know the unbiassed opinion of a man noted for his taste in such matters. ' Here, my Lord Duke, are verses which were given me to-day,' said he; 'read them, and just tell me whether they are not of the feeblest kind.' The Duke looked at them carefully, and hand- ing them back, with a bow to the king, ' Sire,' said he, Your Majesty's judgment is as right in this as in all else, for I never saw poorer and more impertinent lines.' ' I am glad,' replied the king, ' to hear you say what they are worth, for the verses are mine, and to the fire they go ! ' The Duke trying to retrieve his false step, cried, with great concern, ' Oh ! Your Majesty, let me look at them again, I beseech you ; I read them hurriedly, and I must have sadly misjudged them.' 'Not at all, Duke,' replied Louis XIV. 'You spoke your mind with candour, and I had much rather burn my verses than run the risk of letting bad poetry of mine loose in the world.' And to his honour neither Boileau A ROYAL AUTHOR AND HIS CRITICS 53 nor Grammont lost an iota of the royal favour they en- joyed. Would this have been the case if James I., or the Great Frederick, or Napoleon had been the subject of their criticism ? XVI THE JOLL Y POODLE THE Pont Neuf was, until the middle of the present century, the finest bridge in Paris. It goes across both branches of the Seine at their point of junction at the end of the City Island. Those who have visited Paris may remember it by the equestrian statue of Henry IV. which adorns a broad platform near the centre. The Pont Neuf no longer new, since it is upwards of three hundred years old was long considered a marvel of bridge architecture for its solid structure, height, breath and length. There was a saying about it which magnified its grandeur in the popular imagination. ' It is so lengthy and so crowded, it was said, that at all hours of the day, one could see on it a soldier, a monk, a fine lady and a white horse.' Until a time which middle-aged men can remember, the bridge, before the building of the Arts Bridge, two hundred yards lower down, was the hunting ground of costers, itinerant hawkers, pedlars, dog - shearers, stocking - darners and beggars. Paris cries could be heard there in all their deafening varieties, because the bridges across the Seine were few and far between, and the Pont Neuf was the greatest thoroughfare in the town. Once a gentleman, followed by a black poodle, was crossing the bridge, when, on the platform of Henry 54 THE JOLL Y POODLE 5 5 IV., he was accosted by a dog-shearer, who said to him with a bow, pointing to the humble quadruped, ' This is an ugly dog, and no mistake, sir.' ' True ; he certainly is far from pretty,' replied the gentleman. ' But, sir, I could transform him into a darling.' 'You? And how?' ' Why, sir, I would shear him all over.' ' He would look rather naked, wouldn't he ? Hardly decent ? ' ' Ah ! but I would leave a ruffle of hair round his neck, sir.' A ruffle around his neck ? ' answered the gentleman. ' Why, he would look like a fool just like Punch ! ' ' Not at all, sir ; and if you will only look at a fashionable poodle I mean one that belongs to a good house you will see him sporting a ruffle.' ' Is that all ? ' inquired the gentleman. ' Not quite, for on each side of his nose I would leave a strong moustache.' ' A moustache would look too fierce for a poodle, I should say, and scarcely in harmony with a ruffle.' ' It is, sir, an ornament appreciated by ladies, married or single, and the fiercer the more manly. He is a dog, don't you see? As to harmony, look at Henry IV. over there, has he not a ruffle and a moustache? And the model of kings can stand as a model to a poodle, surely.' ' Well, I won't discuss the point. You may be right.' 'Right? Well, of course I am. You may happen to know what love St Rock had for his dog, and he took care his poodle had a splendid pair of moustaches an innovation of his hundreds of years ago.' ' I did not remember it,' said the gentleman. ' No wonder ; you were not born then,' said the man, slyly. ' \Vcre you ? ' 56 ll'/r, WISDOM AND FOLLY ' No ; but I know a bit or two of history.' 'So I perceive. Well, what would you do next?' 1 Next, I should leave all the hair on his ears.' ' They would be like bunches of grapes, too big and heavy, I think.' 'But, sir, the bigger the ears the better to hear with, anatomists will tell you ; shaved ears would remind ladies of a pig. They would call him a horror.' ' Granted. But I am afraid you could do nothing else to beautify him.' ' Beg your pardon, good sir, for after that, just above his paws, I would leave elegant cuffs.' ' Never heard of such a thing,' said the pedestrian. ' Wouldn't he look namby-pamby ? ' ' Bless my soul ! Namby-pamby ? You mean dainty ! The great ladies of the St Germain Faubourg, who know what beauty is like, have their dogs decked in that way, and adore them. They wouldn't look at them with- out cuffs.' ' Well, what next ? ' ' Well, then, finally, I should leave just a tippet at the tip of his tail.' 'Oh ! a tippet! That would look rather pretentious?' 'Pretentious? Not in the least. It is the top of fashion, and the Queen Marie Am61ie, who is known for her modest simplicity and taste, has just such a dog. Shall I try, sir?' ' I don't mind,' replied the gentleman. ' All right, sir, you'll just see.' And at once the man began operating upon the good-humoured dog, and gave a dexterous example of the exercise of his art and calling. In half-an-hour the transformation had been accomplished, and master doggie was a different being. ' And now, what do you think of him ? ' said the man, with conscious pride. 'Isn't he a jewel?' ' Yes ; upon my word, he is charming ! He even looks lively.' THE JOLL V POODLE 57 ' Why, sir, just look how happy he is ! He is wagging his tippet to express his delight. Don't you think it is like magic to have turned an ugly beast into such a cherub ? ' ' True, and I must acknowledge you are a very clever fellow.' ' Why, sir, they call me an artist,' said the man. ' Well, I do think the title is deserved without flatter- ing you. I am glad to have seen it I should not have thought that anyone, with a pair of shears and a dog, could, between them, work such a sort of miracle ; and I'll remember it, too.' And as the gentleman said ' Good-bye, my good fellow,' he began to walk away. 4 I am glad you will remember that, sir, but you are now forgetting something.' ' Forgetting something ! What ? ' ' Why, you are forgetting to pay me.' ' To pay you ! And what for ? ' ' Why, for shearing your dog.' My dog ? ' replied the gentleman. ' I never saw the thing in my life before you showed it to me. It is a stray dog ! ' Tableau ! And as policemen were close by, there was nothing for the artist to do but look at the gentle- man and the dog departing in peace, both equally happy and unconcerned, whilst the ingratitude of both made him swear ... he would not be taken in again. The only satisfaction that softened his disappointment was the inward conviction no fancy, he was vain enough to think that the gentleman had come off only second best in Parisian wit What a pity this was marred by the practical victory of the gentleman ! And that dog ! trotting away with his tail up and showing off ! If he ever came that way again he would drown the brute ! . TIPS AXIOM : Travelling is expensive ! Given a railway company on the one part (to use legal phraseology), railway porters on the other P art ' and travellers on the third part three conflicting interests can or cannot these interests be con- ciliated or harmonised ? The solution of this daily problem seems as im- possible as the squaring of the circle ; for, either the company must be dissatisfied with its servants if they ac- cept tips, or the porters aggrieved if they are left without fees, or the travellers unjustly taxed if they pay the porters. As the difficulty cannot be adjusted to the satisfaction of the three parties , it follows, logically, that it is best to reduce the evil to a minimum. If it be so, we may adjudge the palm of wisdom to a very ingenious gentleman whom people might do worse than imitate. A passenger in one of our busy railway stations received the particular attention of a zealous porter, who took charge of his rug, found a nice compartment for him, and had his luggage duly labelled and stored 58 TIPS 59 away in the van the whole performance being made more pleasant by an accompaniment of nods on the one side, and of salutes on the other. A moment before the train steamed away the porter came to the compartment window of his passenger, and, touching his cap, said, ' You won't forget the porter, sir?' ' What is your name ? ' the traveller asked. 1 My name is Jones.' 1 Very well, Jones,' the gentleman said, ' I will never forget your name in my life.' A few days later the porter had the good luck to see the same gentleman alighting from a train. He quickly went forward, and stood by the traveller to tender his services. He hailed a cab, put the luggage on it, saw the passenger inside, closed the door, and, made wiser by experience, he worded a new formula which left apparently no room for misconception. ' Something to drink, sir,' said he, smiling and touch- ing his cap. 'You would like something to drink, Jones?' said the gentleman. 'Yes, sir, I should.' 1 Well then, Jones, you have a bloater for dinner, and if you do not drink after that, eat a pair of kippers, and you will drink like a fish. You let me know if you don't.' The cab drove away leaving the porter with strong misgivings about things being for the best in this best- of-all possible worlds. But what about the clever traveller? Bronze and marble statues are raised to innumerable M.P.'s, mayors and aldermen very justly we consider. Did not this great man or that confer a lasting benefit on his native place by erecting a drinking-fountain ? Did not this other great man or that cast a lasting lustre on his small town or borough, by obtaining the knighthood for the conspicuous part he took in the 6o 1177] II 'ISDOM AND I-OI. 1. V expensive reception of a royal prince ? And for such acts of unselfish devotion to the public good they should be held in high estimation, if only pour encourager les autres. No one in the country would grudge them a testimonial of grateful recognition. It is true that a Byron has not been so honoured ; but then he was only a poet, and though he is universally admired as such, he was not a practical genius ; had he been he would not have given up his life to the cause of Greek independence. But here is a practical traveller, who benefits not a place like Rottingdean, not a country like Greece but the whole of the world ; and yet no statue records his service to humanity at large in emancipating it if it only knew from ' involuntary servitude ! ' O Carlyle ! thou wert not much mis- taken in thy verdict ! XVIII DEFEA TING THE ENEM J 1)1 IN'G a bishop,' would you fight the Church? I would. Ik-ing a great noble, would you side with the people against the aristocracy ? I would. Then, though born a natural supporter of legitimate kings, you would assist their enemies? I would. Would you consent to serve a republic ? I would. Would you help in its fall ? I would. Would you serve an upstart dynasty and a military despotism ? I would. After supporting the popular cause, would you accept from the new despot the title of prince and a principality? I would. Would you be ready to plot against him? I would. Would you assist in upsetting him ? I would. Would you 61 62 WIT, WISDOM AND POLL Y support the restoration of legitimate princes? I would. Would you serve the reactionary and clerical monarchy thus restored? I would. Would you give your support to a new usurper who would upset it? I would. Then you would serve as a statesman every form of govern- ment in turn, and, while serving it, conspire against it? I would. So was Talleyrand whose cynicism was equal to his astuteness a Machiavelli in action for nearly forty years, a unique figure in history. His worldly and political experience was so unrivalled, his mental re- sources so inexhaustible, that each kind of sovereignty was compelled to make a friend of him in order to prevent him being an enemy ; and though his treachery to every regime was well known, no power ventured to dispense with him. He had the audacity to continually plot against Napoleon, and the emperor being aware of it, yet dared neither punish him nor dismiss him, and thought it the better course to make use of his abilities. The most cunning and insidious of diplomatists, he solved difficulties which other statesmen would have made more intricate and thorny. Everyone knew that he could not be trusted ; but his assurance and wiles were so incredible that while he told the most shameful lies, and practised upon his hearer the basest deception, he led his victim to believe him and to fancy him an overrated man. The entrapped victim thought he was out-diplomatising the apparently gullible Talleyrand ! Public opinion, such was his repute, ascribed to him every witticism that obtained currency. But many bons mots for which he is generally credited did not originate with him. 1 1 is reputation was due to the art with which he prepared his impromptu sayings beforehand a fact familiar to the people who were in daily contact with him. His sayings thus prepared, were always 'short, terse, just and well-coined.' He excelled in those which had a three-fold meaning, and which enabled him to DEFEATING THE ENEMY 63 interpret them as he chose, according to circumstances. That he had wonderful readiness in uttering sharp repartees is nevertheless true, and these were numerous enough to give him celebrity, so that there is no doubt about the authenticity of his most famous aphorisms. The reader may remember a few. ' Speech has been given to man to hide his thought,' he said, and he acted upon that principle. Speaking of Madame de Stael, with whom he carried on a flirtation, he said, ' A man must have known that woman intimately to appreciate the happiness there is in loving a fool.' A public servant who had done him good service, strongly expostulated with him to obtain promotion and increased pay. 1 And, monseigneur,' he said, by way of peroration, ' I must live ! ' ' I do not see the necessity of it,' replied Talleyrand. It was reported to him that the Archbishop of Paris had said, with a view of its being repeated to the prince, ' For M. de Talleyrand I would give my life.' Talleyrand, guessing that this was a preliminary speech meant to propitiate him, thwarted the probable intention of the prelate by loudly saying, ' He might make a better use of it.' But prince though he was, he would use artifice even with small people in private matters ; and the following little story is an instance of his way of getting out of an awkward fix. He enjoyed a very large income. His extensive property, and the salary to which his high official position entitled him, made him one of the richest men in France. Yet, in spite of this fact, he was always in debt, and purveyors had frequently to wait some long time for the settlement of their accounts. The coach- builder of the Minister, having called time after time for his money in vain, and being at length compelled 64 WIT, WISDOM AND FOL1. V by pressing bills to collect his accounts, went again to the Palace, determined to make no fruitless call on this occasion. He would see the prince if necessary. He sat waiting for hours in the antechamber, and as he could not be persuaded to go away, he was at last ushered into the prince's study. 'What is the matter?' asked Talleyrand. ' Monseigneur, I have brought you my bill.' 'Well, what about it?' ' Will your Excellency tell me when I shall be paid, as I particularly want to know.' ' Want to know ? ' replied the prince. ' My man, I am in the habit of answering neither impertinent questions nor inquisitive people and you are inquisitive.' There- upon the minister turned his back on the coachbuilder, who had to wait patiently not to lose his rich customer. The insolence of the ancient nobility to inferior creditors was far more offensive. Mockery, as M. Dimanche experienced, generally accompanied their plea for delay ; and Talleyrand his revolutionary ideas not- withstanding showed that he, like his ancestors, could add insult to injury. But there was in his arrogance, at least a certain manly bluntness that was far more bear- able than the derision and irony of former times. But as he was Talleyrand he could not help using artifice. XIX THE LEARNED MAN'S SUCCESS OF the four great ages which history has recorded, and which truly deserve to be remembered as the Golden Ages of civilisation, that of Leo X. was the most fascinating. If Italy gave birth, then, to no sculptors to be com- pared with those of Greece in the Age of Pericles, to no architects comparable to those of Rome in the Augustan Age, to no authors equal to the prose writers of Louis XIV.'s Age, yet she had a Michael Angelo in sculpture, a Bramante in architecture, a Machiavelli in prose literature. She held in these branches of art at least the second rank, whilst in painting she was supreme beyond compare, as she was in music and science. In poetry, Latin and Italian, she was not unequal to ancient Greece, ancient Rome and classical France. Leo X., like Pericles, Augustus and Louis XIV., was the universal protector of writers, artists, philosophers and men of science, and in consequence many works were dedicated to him. An alchemist, who had written a huge book on the art of making gold, sent a copy to the Pope with a fine dedication with the view of obtaining a recompense, and in order to make his existence felt by practical E 66 WIT, WISDOM AND POLL Y obviousness, he assiduously went to the Vatican, and stood every morning among the row of courtiers, who lined the gallery leading to the Sistine Chapel, to bow their obeisance to His Holiness. The Pope, gifted with a quick eye as he was, soon detected the new face, and soon understood the situation. And, as he was as ready in wit as he was cultured in art, he agreed with his Secretary to give some sort of satisfaction to the devoted man of science. One morning, then, as Leo was on his way to mass, he stopped opposite the alchemist and said, with a smile full of promise, ' I have perused with much interest the learned work you have composed, and I have much admired your useful discovery. I think such results deserve encouragement, and I have therefore commissioned our trusty Cardinal to hand over to you a suitable reward. I trust you will accept it, unworthy though it is.' And he passed on leaving the alchemist all quivering with expectation and joy. The Cardinal-Secretary then came up to him in his turn, and said with the utmost suavity, ' Messer, since you have discovered the art of making gold, His Holiness has thought I had better give you a purse to put it in.' And, handing him a large empty purse, he passed on and followed the Pope. The alchemist slowly returned home to meditate upon the vanities of this vale of tears. XX THE VILLAGERS' PATRON SAINT WHAT an interesting book a conscientious and learned writer could compose if he would set to write the biography of the French peasant ! There is probably no more worthy man in the world than this fine specimen of humanity. What kind of endurance and martyrdom did he not go through in the Middle Ages, when, ground to the dust by enforced labour, he reaped for his pains nothing but contempt, blows and starvation? All the fruit of his work went to others to the Church, to the nobility, and to the king and when he was flung into the army to fight for his masters, he, the poor pariah, had still heart enough left in him to win victories, or die in the attempt on the battlefield. Nowadays, after the Revolution that emancipated him, he is well-to-do. He is wealthy, and he can lend his earn- ings to the State to the extent of millions and millions. But he has remained the enduring man he was before 67 68 1177', H 'IS DOM AND J-'OI. I. ) ' the hard-working servant of the soil he no\v possesses. His wealth has not spoilt him. He remembers his former poverty and its wretchedness, and, to shield himself from any risk of relapsing into that miserable condition, he is thrifty beyond all men, provident beyond all classes, and prudent beyond all temptation. And when the flag of his country claims him, he leaves his field and vineyard to fight the foe if necessary, but he returns to his vineyard and field to devote to them the new qualities he has acquired in the army clean- liness, order, cheerfulness, sociability and love of honour and duty. A famous novelist a few years ago tried to depict him as an unscrupulous, flint - hearted and rapacious monster; but this calumnious portrait no more re- sembles the original than a murderer resembles ordinary mankind. But this worthy man loves money that money which his daily, incessant exertions has dug out of the ground he tills. Yet, though he is miserly for he is so, as a rule he will now and then put his hand into his pocket and show a certain amount of hard-cash generosity the more creditable because it goes against the grain. Only he must have his money's worth. All this, the following example of unsophisticated natvett' may serve to show : The inhabitants of a large French village were ex- tremely fond of their priest, because he was jovial, kindly, ever ready to give advice or consolation in the most brotherly spirit, and, what is more, ever prompt to assist the needy out of his own pittance. He even made small loans for which he refused interest. The parishioners, wishing to offer a testimonial of their regard and affection to the good man, secretly subscribed a fund for that purpose a rare occurrence in France, since peasants have a greater love of money than of humanity. But, as practical men, they en- deavoured to discover what would be most suitable, THE VILLAGERS' PATRON SAINT 69 or prove most agreeable to the recipient, and they tried to sound the priest himself. The reverend old man was not slow in guessing the drift of the adroit inquisitiveness of the people, and made it understood that a gift to the church of the village would redound to the credit of the present generation, and remain as a lasting memento of his parishioners' love to their creed and to himself, whereas a personal gift would be lost upon a disinterested individual. The idea was highly appreciated, and it was decided to give the church a picture of St Sebastian, its patron saint. In consequence, two villagers were deputed to go to Paris and call upon an artist to manage the affair. The price was agreed to, and the painter asked his patrons whether he should paint the saint alive or dead. The villagers, who had not given a thought to this matter, were taken aback by the difficulty, and they retired to consult each other upon the question. When they had duly deliberated, they said to the artist, ' Mr Painter, paint him alive, and if our people don't like him in life it will be easy enough to kill him ! ' ' And very practical too ! . . . No risk of wasting money that way,' the artist said, with a smile. 'Just our idea, Mr Painter!' they shrewdly replied. XXI PSYCHE AND VENUS THE impressions wrought upon the mind of a person destitute of artistic education by a masterpiece of painting or sculpture are often extremely curious. Every one of us has heard the unsophisticated beholder of a peerless statue exclaiming, ' Look at the veins ! isn't it well done?' Another beholder, gazing at a Dutch picture, will be delighted by a detail which appeals to his understanding, and exclaim, ' Look at the knives on the table ! don't they shine ? ' One gives vent to his admiration since he knows he must admire something in a different way, and enthusiastically exclaims, ' What a lovely frame ! ' Another visitor to the gallery can hardly make out why he came there, and being puzzled what to think of the pictures he sees, merely says, 7 PSYCHE AND VENUS H ' I wonder how much that can be worth ? ' The tourists who visit the splendid picture galleries of Italy even those that are educated in other respects seldom have a notion of the chief characteristics which respectively dis- tinguish the Florentine School, the Venetian School, the Roman School, the Dutch School, to speak only of few, and they go away without any new ideas regarding the design, the colour, the composition, or the realism, that constitutes the main feature, hence the main lesson of each school. Apart from the gratification of mere curi- osity, the interest they take in art is limited to the narrowest compass. This obviously explains the rapidity with which some visitors gallop through galleries and museums. You may daily observe a score or two of people running through the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, or the Brera Palace in Milan, in just half-an-hour exactly the time it takes to walk along the rooms at a good pace. If pictures awaken a certain feeling of curiosity on account of the story they generally tell, sculpture, on the other hand, awakens hardly any, and you see visitors passing, without a pause, along a row of statues and bas-reliefs of ravishing beauty, with the vacant and bored look of disappointed expectation. But it is unnecessary to go to a gallery to discover the hopeless want of taste and culture which very estimable people can exhibit when in presence of a work of art. We all know the famous bust of Psyche, whose muti- lated head, just above the forehead, presents a smooth surface from the front to the back part of the skull, just as if the upper portion had been cleanly struck off with an axe. A lady who was by no means uneducated, except in aesthetic matters apparently, went once to a beautiful house, and after seeing a number of art reproductions, came in front of a copy of Psyche. ' Well, I never,' she said, with an air of discriminating judgment, ' what have they put a flat iron upon her head for, I wonder? That can't be right.' This is a true story. 72 \V1T> WISDOM AND FOLLY The writer of this collection once bought a plaster-of- Paris Venus of Milo, and brought it to his rooms with great care. He summoned his landlady, and begged her to order her servants to leave the dusting of the statue to himself. She smilingly acquiesced, and looking at the Venus, ' Is it considered beautiful ? ' she said. ' Yes ; it is one of the finest pieces of carving in the world,' he answered, studiously avoiding to use the words Greek statuary, not to puzzle her too much. She looked at it again carefully to see for herself whether she could endorse his statement, and then, with a smile of satisfaction at her own acuteness, ' I suppose,' she said, ' it is meant to represent broken arms ? ' This Venus was destined to evoke a very different feeling in the maiden lady who succeeded the previous housekeeper. As the writer was going out, after his first interview with her, he met her in the hall, and, as in the first instance, he requested her in the most winning tone not to touch the Venus. ' Do you mean,' she in- quired, with visible frumpish scorn, ' do you mean the female upon the chimney-piece?' The way in which she pronounced the word female was just as rancorous and appalling as it was comical. By a curious coincidence her name was Miss Grundy. XXII FRIAR AND BISHOP FREE-THINKING in the eighteenth century was so general in France that the very nobility the natural champion of religion and the Church had imbibed it almost in the same degree as the emancipated middle- class. The only difference was that the aristocracy had not discarded the garb of Christians. The nobles kept up the appearances of being staunch Catholics. They went to Mass ladies especially if only to main- tain themselves in the good grace of Church dignitaries and the favour of the Court. They also thought it advisable to continue to observe the outward forms of devotion as a necessary example to their peasantry and servants, for they did not want the clergy to lose their salutary influence over the lower orders. For this reason, the majority of lords and titled ladies went to Confession, and partook of the Holy Com- munion at least once a year at Easter. For the same reason, they also allowed a friar to visit their houses frequently usually once a week for the pur- pose of having unctuous exhortations delivered to the menials of their household. 73 74 It'/r, WISDOM AND POLL Y A clever monk had made himself very popular among the servants of several noble mansions of the St Germain Faubourg by his good humour and friendly addresses. Each day in the week he called at a great house. His pious advice was always short and un- pretending, but it was interlarded at all times by amusing anecdotes and smart little stories that made his visits extremely welcome. Whenever he came, a cheerful gathering crammed the lower hall, for the servants asked their friends to come in to enjoy his familiar sermon, and the whole thing was considered as a sort of entertainment far more than a formal function. As soon as the performance was over, he was eagerly asked to take some refreshment, and, without much pressing, he affably assented, and soon sat down in front of a table which was quickly placed in the middle of the hall. There he would despatch a dozen mouthfuls of the remnants of a game pie and two tumblers of Volnay, then the leg of a turkey and another glass. Between each mouthful and each sip he would talk pleasantly, and delight the humble audience which stood around him with more stories and funny tales. Then he would dispose of the breast of a pheasant and swallow a tumbler of Graves, laugh- ingly rattling away. Half-a-dozen larks pushed before his plate would follow the way the turkey and game had taken, not without a few sips of Bouzy and two or three jokes. Then, after half a partridge, he would, ' just to taste it,' have a slice or two of truffled galantine, and moisten that with two or three glasses of Clos- Vougeot. And as to this open grape tart, and this blancmange, and this jelly, and that almond trifle, oh! he would 'just have some to see whether they were not as good as on a previous occasions.' He would have ' nothing more ' except a few biscuits and grapes and a couple of glasses of sparkling champagne. ' Father, you must now tell us what you think of /RIAR AND BISHOP 75 this Maraschino and this Chartreuse; his lordship says he never had anything like it." ' By Our Lady, he is right. That Maraschino is more luscious than honey; but the Chartreuse beats it, I think. I am not sure though, and I'll take another thimbleful to see.' Then chocolate and black coffee were brought in, and, in the midst of quaint and comical stories, he would slowly sip both with exceptional gusto. After that he could never be prevailed upon to accept any- thing. No ; he would now go to the drawing-room of the countess to pay his respects to her ladyship. So, after his blessing to his admirers, and their thanks and bows to him, up the grand staircase he went with crimson face and steady gait. Of the six or seven houses which had the privilege of his spiritual direction, there was one to which he was a little partial. He was treated just as well else- where, but, somehow, the hospitality of that house offered if not greater quality, quantity and variety of fare vague attractions which he particularly relished. It might be the comfort of the hall, or the religious zeal of the household, or was it the cooking, the wines, the coffee or the liqueurs? It was possibly the charm- ing affability of her ladyship, or the attention he received from the company in the drawing-room. It was perhaps a little of all these things together. He did not know. But he liked it rather better than the other mansions he adorned with his presence. He lived in the happy illusion of believing that the lunch (!) he took downstairs was ' kept dark ' and indeed it was in most houses but in this very mansion her ladyship had become aware of it, and she was much amused at the cleverness, appetite, wit and appreciation of good things displayed by the 'jolly friar.' She laughed heartily every week when her confidential maid related to her, in all their richness 76 \V1'1\ \\-JSDOM AND FOLLY of details, the address and tales of the monk, and enumerated the dishes and wines he had conjured away. After a time, not being able to keep the doings of the good friar to herself, she told the whole thing to her intimate circle. The subject afforded so sug- gestive a scope for jesting that every week, when the holy man entered the drawing-room, there was a natural desire to draw him out, and hear his tales straight from him, for then he would be pretty sure to stammer or lisp after his copious ingurgitations. His step and demeanour were steady enough, but it was suspected his tongue would disclose a certain inability to speak as glibly as an hour before, or on the other hand perhaps exhibit more unrestrained volubility ; and, either way, the company would enjoy his embarrass- ment, or his greater freedom, as the case might be. The Friar, however, with great presence of mind, resisted every allurement, and kept on his guard, lest he should betray the effects of good cheer. Once, on the day of his visit, the company determined either to make him talk to test the readiness of his speech, or to make him drink to test his physical capacity, and, what was more laughable, to make him drink water a beverage for which he could have but the greatest aversion at such a time. The plot was arranged beforehand. When the Friar appeared with a countenance as richly illuminated as a thirteenth-century missal, her ladyship, after an amiable bow, asked him to tell her and her friends what had been the subject of his exhortation on that day. His eloquence was highly prized by her household, and yet, neither she nor her friends had ever had the pleasure of applauding it. ' Will you not, dear Father, repeat your address to us ; we should be so delighted and edified if you would. Here is our Lord Bishop, who knows you well by repute, and who would also appreciate your homely words.' FRIAK AND BISHOP 77 ' Yes. Father," added the Bishop, we should truly enjoy it.' ' My Lord and Madam,' replied the Friar, humbly, ' after my day's duties I feel unequal to venture upon speaking again. It is so hot, too, though \ve are in October. Kindly excuse me.' 4 Oh ! ho\v thoughtless of me, dear father,' rejoined the lady. 'Yes, the heat to-day is surprising, and you are indeed very hot, as I see, and so we will not trouble you. But one thing, however, I must insist upon, and that is you should take some refreshment, for I would never forgive myself to let you go without after your fatiguing work.' A bow and a gesture from the Friar indicated his polite refusal. But the lady had rung a silver bell close by her, and to a small negro who appeared, she said, ' Bring some refreshment to the holy Father.' In a few seconds the little one brought in a huge glass of water on a gold tray, and presented it to the friar. He, who from both corners of his eyes surveyed the field, thought he detected suppressed smiles on all the faces around. Was there not a trap? A slight giggle behind a fan confirmed him in his suspicions. It behoved him to escape the danger ! So he looked at the Bishop, and with a bow, ' Monseigneur,' said he, with as much composure as he could command. ' Will Your Lord- ship do me the special favour to bless my refreshment ? ' 4 Certainly, dear Father,' replied his superior. And, accordingly, the Bishop with two fingers raised over the tumbler, rapidly pronounced sotto voce the sacra- mental words. The Friar took up the glass, and then, as if suddenly remembering the reverence due to consecrated things, he quickly said, ' Now I think of it, Monseigneur, it would be very unbecoming and sinful on my part to drink holy water, and rather than violate the duties of my call- ing I had better bear thirst and abstain in all humility.' 78 U'/r, WISDOM AND J-OLL Y So saying, he replaced the tumbler on the tray, and making a general obeisance to the whole company, and another profound bow to the Bishop and her ladyship, he gracefully retired with the honours of war, to the good-humoured amazement of all those present, who laughed at their own discomfiture and the shrewd- ness of their intended victim. -- as* xxsss THE MUMMY WITH all their faults, shortcomings, vanities, pretensions and frivolities, the French nobles of the pre-revolu- tionary era were at least brave, refined and educated. The upstart nobility created by Napoleon, by the side of its prime quality bravery shared with the old nobility many defects of the latter. Most of the im- perial grandees, princes, dukes, viceroys, having risen from the lower strata of the nation, were more or less tainted with the natural sins and defects inherent to their origin. Few of them possessed refinement ; fewer still had received any education. This want of the two essentials of highly-civilised society was often more conspicuous in their wives than in themselves ; for the men, guided by practical common sense and experience at most times, and accustomed to obey a master who had clear ideas and always gave precise orders, had, in the activity and rush of their daily duties, a screen 79 So WIT, WISDOM AND FOLLY which easily hid their lack of information, whereas the women, wholly given up to the enjoyment of greatness, committed, as the Duchess of Abrantes and other authorities have revealed, the most comical incongruities of manners and speech. But now and then the parvenu marshals, though generally on their guard, made an exhibition of themselves which it was not easy to match. Denon, the famous chief of the learned men who accompanied Bonaparte in his Egyptian campaign, and conducted the explorations of the Nile Valley, once, long after the expedition, gave a great dinner to the civil and military celebrities of the day, amongst whom shone Augereau, Duke of Castiglione. The host said, during the banquet, that he would give a unique treat to his guests after dinner, for he had just received a lovely mummy from Egypt, a princess, too, and he would exhibit her to the company. He had, he said, divested her of her outer wrappings, and he could assure his friends that she was a perfect beauty of twenty or twenty-two, equally admirable for the symmetry of her body, and the exquisite delicacy of her features. The dinner over, everyone, full of curiosity and expectation, followed Denon to a large drawing-room, and there, in the middle, was the Egyptian princess, stretched out on a broad, striped satin sofa. All the guests crowded so quickly round that it was sometime before everybody could have a peep at the beauty. When Augereau, by craning his neck, at last obtained a full view of the Egyptian wonder, he said, ' Why, Denon, she is dead, is your mummy ! ' Laughter in Homeric roars met his discovery, and Augereau laughed loudest, shouting, ' You are fine scientists not to have seen that at once, I saw it at a glance ! ' The tableau was complete. XXIV THE CARDINALS TEETH IF a Court be the theatre of ambition and conflicting interests, it is also the school of society and politeness. The violence of passions and the danger of rivalry are, however, much softened by refined etiquette and respectful formulas. The Court is a fertile soil for two opposite defects pride and servility; for love of in- fluence, wealth and luxury on the one hand, and lower- ing of morality and character on the other, must be united to make courtiers. Flattery, the usual means courtiers use to secure self-advancement, is, as a rule, far more successful than merit, because it is a kind of deceit which irresistibly attracts its victims. A lofty soul never descends to use it, but the sycophant is a mixed being who unites a base spirit with a subtle mind. He trades upon the knowledge that vanity, pride and presumption are the accomplices of his fawning; but he is aware also that unless he administers his sweet poison with delicate dis- cernment he will defeat his own object, and cause disgust rather than pleasure. He must, therefore, be careful to burn incense sparingly so as to make it F 82 ll'JT, WISDOM AND J-'OLL Y acceptable. Sometimes adulation becomes practical, and finds an expression in acts rather than in words ; and the flatterer who devises a fresh means of pleasing, and thus makes a clever discovery, will at once be imitated by all courtiers. When this is the case, flattery assumes proportions to which there are no bounds. It may affect a whole nation, and bring about the adoption of most ridiculous fashions. Under the hump-backed Richard III., courtiers bent and rounded their backs on the plea that such an attitude added much grace to beauty. Queen Mary of Medici's flaxen hair caused the court to adopt white powder. The reddish hair of Marie Antoinette brought in the fashion of gold powder. The small stature and bald head of Louis XIV. caused courtiers to adopt the high wig and high heels which the King had judged necessary to increase his own size. Courtiers had, then, so to speak, drawn up the Magna Charta of adulation Court etiquette, which became a compli- cated code, ruling the aristocracy, and serving flatterers as a supreme guide in all things. The gift of the candlestick, which St Simon describes, shows us to what length etiquette was carried, and what praise was bestowed on the happy mortal who had had the rare privilege of escorting the King to his bed-chamber. Such praise was in reality addressed to the Prince. Louis XIV., as we all know, was the object of wholesale flattery, and yet this sovereign, though by no means insensible to it, was never a slave to flatterers, His rare common sense guarded him from their baneful influence. The Duke de La Rochefoucauld, the highest type of the courtier that ever lived, was so afraid to lose an occasion to praise his master, that for more than twenty years he remained in the King's company without sleeping away from the Court a single night. But his tact was such that his flattery 'in action' was taken for personal devotion. Never was he suspected of having any other motive than sincere friendship, and THE CARDINAL'S TEETH 83 beyond the privilege of enjoying the royal presence every day, he never obtained any substantial benefit. The King was proof against exaggerated flattery. In one circumstance only does he seem to have been biassed by it. Chamillard, who was the best billiard player at Court, was so assiduous in losing every game he had with the King, that his master made him a minister of State. To his skill, and the use he made of it, he owed his appointment to the Finance Depart- ment, although he had no particular aptitude. But Louis XIV. knew that he could do no harm, for the ministers of State, after the death of Colbert and Louvois, were mere secretaries who carried his orders out, and Chamillard was as efficient a minister as anyone. The King, besides, rewarded the man just as much for his excellent qualities and charming amiability as for his billiard defeats, so that his elevation was not the result of flattery alone. Court people, who knew the sovereign well, were careful to avoid excess of praise. Two consummate courtiers, however, were carried a little too far, and occasioned much surprise. The whole Court took care to be present every evening at the royal supper, for that was the time when His Majesty was at all communicative, and when every one in turn hoped to be specially noticed. The two or three noblemen whom the King addressed had the happiness of being uni- versally envied, and were courted for days by the highest personages. It need hardly, therefore, be said that wits and flatterers vied with one another in their replies to the Prince. One evening the King, who was advancing in years, complained to the Cardinal de Charost how much he felt the loss of his teeth, and how much he envied the happy possessors of good teeth. ' Good teeth ! Your Majesty,' exclaimed the Cardinal. 'And who in the world has any?' 8 4 /r/y; WISDOM AND FOLI, Y This flattery made the King more than smile, for the Cardinal was proverbially known at Versailles for the beauty and soundness of his teeth. It goes with- out saying that the Court and the town were much amused at the little comedy. But very impudent were the conduct and speech of the Marquis de Spinola. It was called a clever piece of flattery. Was it not rather a feat of coarse vanity more fitting a clown than a gentleman ? At the birth of his grandson, the Duke of Burgundy, Louis XIV. was particularly happy at the prospect of a male line of descendants. Relaxing from the usual exigencies of rigid etiquette, to show the joy he felt at so auspicious an event, he had the portals of the Palace thrown widely open to the multitude, and many had then the privilege of kissing his hand. The crowd was pressing forward, and filing off before the Prince as rapidly as kissing hands allowed. Of the number of those who thus passed on was the Marquis de Spinola, the son of the well-known Spanish general. When his turn came, instead of merely kissing the hand, he bit the King's finger. 4 Hay ! ' sharply exclaimed the King. ' I beg Your Majesty's pardon,' said Spinola, ' but had I not bitten Your Majesty, I should have passed unobserved. '- XXV LORD CHESTERFIELD AND THE CHA TTERBOX THAT nothing is more risky for a man than speaking ill of persons unknown to him to strangers, was never better exemplified than on one occasion in Paris. At a large evening-party in one of the celebrated drawing - rooms of the St Germain Faubourg, Lord Chesterfield, who was one of the guests, was much courted. His accomplishments, as a thorough man of the world of fashion, made him a supreme authority in matters of good taste, and his conversation was prized beyond that of any courtier, because it was known to be equally refined, witty and weighty. His great ex- perience of society, and the exceptional extent of his reading, gave him almost a unique ascendancy in social and literary gatherings, so that his approbation was eagerly sought, even in trifles. A gentleman who knew him by repute, and saw him then for the first time, said to him, by way of entering into conversation, ' Did you ever see, sir, such a fright 85 86 WIT, WISDOM AND FOLLY as that broomstick-like woman in the corner? Who is she, I wonder?' ' She is my sister, sir,' replied Lord Chesterfield, frigidly. ' No, no,' said the gentleman, trying to recover him- self, ' not the lady in blue, but the ugly, horse-headed woman in pink by her side.' ' She is my wife, sir,' answered the English nobleman, in a more frigid tone than before, to the great discom- fiture of his unknown interlocutor, who sneaked gradually away, and soon vanished altogether. The hero of this little adventure is also said to have been Lord North ; but whether he, or Lord Chesterfield, gave the lesson of politeness just related does not in the least invalidate the moral. If Lord Chesterfield was really the chief actor in the occurrence, he must have intended to bring a light- headed chatterer to a sense of propriety, regardless of accuracy in his answers, for Lady Chesterfield was, it appears, a handsome woman, and he could not very well have given her a certificate of ugliness. A sensi- tive advocate of the fitness of things, as he was, would probably hit upon the idea of a fictitious wife and a fictitious sister to make his talker sensible of the enormity of his indiscreet remarks. XXVI THE FRENCH TOURIST IN LONDON THE Anglo-Saxon race is admired all the world over for its practical spirit It is this solid quality which has enabled it to spread in all climes, and take root every- where, as no other race ever did. It matters not what may be the difficulties or stumbling-blocks standing in his way, the Englishman will get over them by some means or other, and come out victorious in the end. If he starts for a colony, he will adapt himself to the climate, make the natives serviceable to him, find out the richest product the soil is susceptible of yielding, and become master of the situation. If he is a manufacturer, he will arrive at producing the best and cheapest article, after discovering a mechanical improvement equally simple and important, which his foreign competitor will be slow to adopt. If he is a merchant, he will find the best buying or selling market and beat the natives on their own ground. If he is a statesman, he will devise means of ruling suitable for his countrymen, or for this or that subjected race, however varied the require- ments may be. Nothing is more striking than the numerous kinds of governments which have been con- 87 88 WIT, WISDOM AND FOLL Y stitutecl throughout the British Empire. There are not two exactly alike ; and yet they are, all and everyone of them, the best sort which could have been found in each case. The French who are in many a field the rivals of England may be excused if now and then they show a little jealousy of the English. Occasional want of success may dim their keen sense of vision. But there is one thing about the English which they immensely admire, and upon which they are every day expatiating in the most ungrudging and generous spirit, and that is the practical sense so generally visible throughout the British community. A Frenchman, who was visiting London for the first time, was walking to the South Kensington Museum. He had started from the Cannon Street Hotel, and had elected to walk instead of taking a conveyance, in order to see the streets, the shops and the people more leisurely. Not having much experience about London distances, he imagined, when he had walked for nearly an hour, that he must be very near his destination. He knew he was in the right direction, because he had consulted the plan of London, and had carefully kept to the main thoroughfares. Yet, in order to make quite sure of it, he ventured to inquire of a policeman, of whose urbanity he rightly entertained a high notion. The excellent bobby, not being a master of the mixed lingo which the polite Frenchman commanded, smiled broadly, but shook his head, saying, ' Don't understand what you mean, sir,' and moved on after touching his helmet. The pedestrian soon addressed another agent of the force, and said as plainly and as loudly as he could, ' Soot Kongsingueton, please.' The noble agent was not likely to guess what these curious sounds meant, and said, 'What, sir?' The foreign gentleman, knowing these two words well, repeated his question once, twice, thrice, but by no mental effort, could the good policeman make out the THE FRENCH TOURIST IN LONDON 89 sense of the mysterious sentence. The inquirer thought the police altogether up to their reputation for their obliging ways, but he had misgivings about their intellectual power. When he had tried one more couple of policemen, with the same unsatisfactory result, he made up his mind to walk on until he could see the Albert Hall, or the Albert Memorial, which he had read was not far from the Museum. On his way he saw a 'sandwichman,' with a placard in large print: 'J. L. TOOLE. '/ on parle f 'ran fat's.' A play in which the famous comic actor was then taking part. ' Oh, these English ! ' exclaimed the foreign visitor, with irrepressible delight. ' Oh, these English ! How practical they are ! They actually have perambulating interpreters ! ' ' Mr Toole,' said he, in French, raising his hat to the 'sandwichman,' 'Mr Toole, would you have the kind- ness to tell me where is Soot Kongsingueton ? ' ' Go to Jericho ! ' replied the low-born Briton. ' No gammon with me ! ' Great was the surprise of the tourist to find that the right board had been put on the wrong man ! To make such a blunder was hardly in keeping with the fame of the English for business habits. XX VII THE FLUTE WHO will succeed in describing the irresistible charm of music? the most abundant, extensive and varied of all languages. There is no necessity to resort to an impos- sible analysis to appreciate the full power of that art. We all have felt its potency and been enthralled by it. Gothe said that music is the easiest of arts to acquire, and the one that will produce the most stirring effects by the simplest means. And it is undoubtedly so. It is an occupation during our leisure time, a comfort in sorrow, a repose in fatigue, a distraction in weariness ; it appeases anger; it cheers the sad heart. These are sweet boons, but it confers more precious benefits still. It more than anything more than education itself contributes to the softening of manners and customs, to the brotherly feeling which should unite men with one another, to the creation of strong sympathies, and by its influence becomes a pro- 90 THE FLUTE 91 digious agent of civilisation. How could one fully define that marvellous art at once mysterious, yet manifest ; at once national, yet universal in its effects which moves and carries the soul to ethereal regions? It unites a whole nation in one sentiment. It unites the whole of mankind in one emotion. Well could Plato say that ' Music is divine in its origin and its end.' And a Chinese philosopher expressed the same thought by saying that ' Music connects the earth with the heavens/' It rules all men, whatever their inclinations. To the pious it is like the perfume of prayer, to the warrior it is the voice of his country, to the lover it is the language of his rapture, to the poet the dream of his imagination, to the thinker supernatural communion with the unknown. To each one it paints, in turn, all feelings, all sensations, all thoughts, all reveries, all passions, however varied and opposite. It is the most spiritualising of all arts. Ad- dressing every one of our faculties, it affects them through what is most intimate within us. Remaining indefinite and vague, it yet gives utterance to every emotion. It will soothe pain and excite joy, and between these two extremes will bestow blessings with lavish hand. ' There is,' said George Sand, ' no mightier art than this to awaken in man the sublime consciousness of his own humanity, to paint before the mind's eye the rich splendours of nature, the joy of meditation, the national character of a people, the passionate tumult of their hopes and fears, the languor and despondency of their sufferings.' Re- morse, violence, terror, control, despair, enthusiasm, faith, disquietude, glory, calm these, and a thousand other nameless emotions, belong to music. Without stooping to a childish imitation of noises and effects, she transports us in spirit to strange and distant scenes. There we wander to and fro in dim air, like ^Eneas in the Elysian fields. All we behold is greater than on earth godlike, changed, idealised. Being such in its elements, power and effects, music 92 WIT, WISDOM AND POLL Y could develop only in a highly-civilised society. The Greeks, great as they were, and understanding the capa- bilities of music as they did, could neither arrive at its complete cultivation, nor apprehend the fulness of its scope. They were too rational, not emotional enough ; too imperfectly humanised as yet, to carry music beyond its second stage. Their religion also was too earthly to inspire them with sublime melodies. Instruments were likewise too primitive to permit of their attaining the divine excellence realised by the moderns. Yet, for all that, they were grand even in that art. The Delphian hymn, lately discovered, reveals a simple majesty that we were, until now, far from suspecting. The progress reached as early as the fourth century B.C. explains the attractions which the art offered to the greatest minds. For, if Alexander felt captivated enough by the loveliness of music to study it with fervour, it must, indeed, have thus early possessed a very delightful fascination. But it must be owned that practical minds generally held it little worthy of serious men's time, application and thought. We see this in the following. One of the shrewdest men of antiquity, Philip of Macedonia, used to declare, speaking of musicians, that he preferred the nightingale to its imitators, a proof that he at least appreciated natural music. In this he showed more taste than Charles X. of France, who once said, in reply to someone asking him whether he liked the musical art, ' I am not fond of unpleasant noise ! ' What would the French King have thought of our con- temporary princes, all of whom, without exception, delight in musical entertainments, and some of whom also study the art of Euterpe and Terpsichore, and become pro- ficient artists? It is probable that he despised Frederick the Great for his love of the flute. Philip's son, Alexander, whose education, conducted by Aristotle, was so complete and admirable, was as genuine an admirer of the arts as Pericles himself had THE FLUTE 93 been. Not only did he understand and love architecture, sculpture and painting, but he learnt music, and practised on the flute until he was equal to his teachers. His father, who heard him play, was so struck by his son's per- formance one day, that, as a practical ruler, he thought it advisable to check the musical taste of the young prince, lest the art he studied should become an engrossing pas- time and passion and conduce to his neglect of regal duties. ' Are you not ashamed, Alexander,' he sternly said, ' to play so well ? You should know that it does not befit the dignity of a king to bestow too much time and atten- tion on an idle occupation. It is well that a ruler should encourage those who have proficiency in art ; he may also listen to musicians for relaxation, but he does them sufficient honour by so doing, and the leader of men must not descend to the level of the leader of choirs. Remember the great Themistocles's answer: "No, I do not play the flute," he said, " but I can destroy fleets and save and build cities.'" After this paternal rebuke, Alexander pursued the art no longer, and gave all his time to the study of poetry, philosophy, history, science, government and war. A lesson worthy of a king this, and good for all kings to learn and remember ! Yet, even such a lesson ought to leave unfettered that art which is beyond all others infinite as a language, and at the same time an inex- haustible source of constant delight. Music is essentially a modern art. Ancient times were not ripe for its growth. That the nightingale's song should have appeared to Agesilaus and Philip superior to the human voice and musical harmony, shows that music, in their time, was in its infancy. The nightingale's rich and enchanting strains are farther from human melodies than the flute is from the organ. XX CA L UMN Y A ND ITS ROYAL VICTIM As a tempest brings to the surface of the ocean the slime of its depths, so a revolution often raises from the lower layers of society the worst characters that can disgrace humanity. This was the case during a phase of the French Revolution at the climax of its violence. The Terror which lasted fourteen months, is, by some writers, represented as constituting the Revolution, whereas it was a passing hurricane, and must not be identified with the mighty social and political change itself. Carlyle is mainly responsible for this misconception. His work on the tremendous upheaval is only a gallery of tragic pictures historically true so far as they are real episodes in the political drama that was being enacted but inadequate to present a narration of the convulsion. It gives us no more idea of the causes, bearings, importance, and consequences of the prominent series of events as a whole, than the exhibition of re- pelling monsters cast on the sea shore, gives us a notion of the life that is teeming in the depth of the ocean. In his judgment the Revolution is synonymous with evil, 94 CALUMNY AND ITS ROYAL VICTIM 95 because it cost the lives of many victims. Yet, he passes no such wholesale condemnation on the Crom- wellian Revolution, which cost as much blood for liberty, nor on the wars of his hero, Frederick, the death-roll of which was, for mere conquest, be it re- membered, hardly ever exceeded. It is rather incon- sistent to say the least. Who can gather from Carlyle's account the iniquities which the French Revolution swept away ; the folly of monarchy, which brought about new necessities and forced a succession of unavoidable events ; the political social, legislative, commercial, financial improvements which the Revolution carried out, and which resulted in the prosperity and welfare of a nation? Looking at the France of 1788 and at the France of 1888, what difference do we see? The first, abjectly poor, miserable, mortified, trampled upon, suffering every kind of vexation and trial, embittered by all sorts of wrongs a nation, weak, humiliated and bleeding. The second France, rich, cheerful, refreshed, content, regener- ated, enjoying equality of rights a nation, at once strong, respected and imposing. The Revolution brought in that transformation, and of that transformation Carlyle gives us no conception. He expresses nothing but loathing for the movement contempt unmitigated. Instead of sympathy for 'a people struggling to be free,' we have sarcasm for the actors, derision for the proceedings, dis- paragement of the change. Sentimental pity blinds the historian. He sees a scaffold and its victims he sees not the dawn of a new era, nor the millions who bless the rise of the sun. He shows a hideous populace he shows not the heroic multitude that fight for freedom to the death. He paints the destruction he paints not the re-construction. He weeps over the violence he hails not the triumph of justice. He, the advocate of force when Cromwell and Frederick use it, will not admit the use of force for the emancipation of a great 96 ;r//; WISDOM AND POLL Y people. Did he expect liberty to blossom like a rose and work itself out without travail ? Victories are not won without battles. The fact is, the pretended seer is not only myopic, but squints besides, and the coat of prejudice that covers his glasses distorts his vision the more. Wholly engrossed with his own oracular wisdom, he mistakes the genius of a gifted nation for frivolous imbecility, irreclaimable baseness and foul savagery. Too great are some sages in their own eyes to condescend to make themselves acquainted with facts, and study them. Above events they stand, and detraction will pass for judgment. The time for disputing about the good which the Revolution undoubtedly inaugurated is passed. We, who view the struggle from afar, can distinguish the right and the wrong. Never was so much good wrought in so few years never were so many wrongs perpetrated to secure it. Like historians, we deplore the bloodshed, and hate tyrants. With them we shed tears over the massacre of the innocent, and vow execration to their execu- tioners. No human being would be at variance with them on that ground. Pity moves us all to the core for the noble men and women whose cruel and useless death dishonours the cause of the transient victors. When these heartless rulers of one day, in their turn mount the scaffold, we feel no regret to see them punished, whereas we still remember their victims with veneration. Of these victims none excites our admira- tion and grief more than the beautiful queen, whose only crime was sovereignty, and whose only fault was her love for her husband. It has been said, with much truth it appears to us, that good nature is the distinct quality of character of the House of Austria, and that Marie Antoinette was serious and stately in public functions in proportion as she was playful, merry, light-hearted, witty and sweet CL'LUMNY AND ITS ROYAL VICTIM 97 within her intimate circle. Her coldness, arising from timidity in solemn celebrations, but mistaken for un- unbending pride, caused her to be called The Austrian, then Madame Deficit, then Madame Veto. The calumny about the famous Necklace Scandal, studiously spread by the enemies of the Court, had robbed her of all her previous popularity. After the false accusation which this affair generated, a mere outcry, clap-trap, were likely to excite hatred, unchain passions, and finally bring on her destruction. A legend, with a view to discredit her and increase popular animosity, was un- scrupulously invented, and furnished the rabble with a cry. In the severe winter following the bad harvest that occurred at the outset of the Revolution, a famine pre- vailed in France. This naturally increased the misery of the poorer population. The people of Paris suffered most owing to the want of work and the vice of the Fiscal System. A wicked story, the origin of which has been traced to Fouquier-Tinville, the Chairman of the Revolutionary Tribunal, was mongered everywhere by the demagogues. It was related that, when some one had reported to Marie Antoinette that the poor had no bread to eat, she had exclaimed, ' And why do they not eat cake, then ? ' This tale, which the former sprightly liveliness of the Queen tended to make credible, was spread among the lower classes of Paris to infuriate them against royalty. It did not, by itself, cause the Queen's misfortunes, but it no doubt intensified the deep hatred which had been aroused against ' The Austrian ' by her baneful advice to the King at the break of the political earthquake. When she perished on the scaffold, with that dignified heroism which has gained the respectful sympathy of the whole world, the wretched tale was being repeated with callous resentment, and her death seemed to many a just retribution of her heartlessness. To such lengths go political passions. G XXIX THE MISSISSIPPI S WIMMER AMERICAN writers of the playful kind, before and after the time of Artemus Ward, have always been numerous, and have, on both sides of the Atlantic, deservedly en- joyed popularity for their humour and wit. They have been the first to observe and paint the curious character- istics of their own countrymen ; and had Dickens never gone to the New World, it is probable that American pens would themselves have described just those features with which the great English novelist has made us familiar. Exaggeration there is perhaps too much of it in all these photographic snips ; the exact lineaments are enlarged or dwarfed out of proportion, often blurred by grotesqueness, no doubt ; but still, the defects of the picture never rob its original of all recognition, and, if the sketch is a caricature as it is meant it is at least one which is exempt from malice. Good - natured satires they are at all times, and at all times their very exaggeration evokes additional amusement. There are endless tales of the kind just alluded to. As a specimen of the type, we may reproduce the following, At a large refreshment bar in New Orleans a crowd 98 THE MISSISSIPPI SWIMMER 99 of men were smoking and were relating, with great animation, more or less marvellous occurrences, some of which they had heard, some of which they had witnessed. One had known of a pedestrian who covered a thousand miles in ten days. Another had seen Blondin crossing the Niagara Falls on a tight rope, with his legs in a sack. A third had ventured to accompany an aeronaut across America, but had been carried over the sea by an adverse wind current. They were both saved by a barque, close by which they determined to come down at all risks. ' I had a brother,' said another speaker, ' who was a first-class swimmer, and who, like you, volunteered to go up in a balloon. He also was carried over the ocean, hut when he saw the wind likely to last, he let himself fall into the water and swam ashore, long after land had been lost sight of. He reckoned he swam over forty-six miles. His companion was never found.' ' Well,' another man said, ' as to swimming, I will tell you what I saw a week ago. I was coming down here on board one of the large Mississippi boats, when, while we were stopping at Memphis, to leave and take passengers and cargo, a swimmer passed along, going down stream at a splendid rate. An hour and a quarter later we overtook that same swimmer, and we were surprised, for we thought he must have gone ashore long ago. We stopped opposite Helena, and we were rather startled by seeing the man coming down on his back, and propelling himself swiftly with his legs. He once more took the lead of us, but we passed him again, however, before we got to Coahoma. But whilst we were at that station, he came on again, and once more went a long way in front of our boat. We soon overtook him, you guess and arrived at Napoleon. Then there were bets as to whether he could again pass us, and we looked out. XVithin ten minutes we saw a black speck bobbing up ioo II7r, WISDOM AND FOLLY and down in the water, and very soon there was the swimmer shooting by only fifty yards from us. Once more we steamed by him, and, as we passed, the captain shouted to him through his speaking horn, " Will you come aboard ? " ' \Ye heard him shout in reply, " No, thanks ! " ' " Where are you going to ? " roared the captain. ' We heard, " Vicksburg ! " and he turned on his back by way of taking it easy. ' I can tell you, sirs, we were astonished. Some passengers told of grand swimming feats, but they owned they had never seen the like of this. He must have covered upwards of two hundred miles. What do you think of that in the way of swimming?' ended the speaker with the look of a record-breaker. The outbursts of 'By Jove!' and 'By Jabers!' in curious diversity of tones, from shrill falsetto to guttural profondo, showed that the story was appreciated, and interpreted in various degrees of credulity. And from all sides the traveller was pelted with a hubbub of questions, ' Did he take tea on the way ? ' ' Did he fast all the time?' 'Had he provisions?' 'Did he catch fish to feed on?' 'Did he drink champagne?' But the traveller was spared the necessity and ordeal of re- plying by a smoker in the company, who loudly asked with an unmistakable twang, ' Stranger, did you see the swimmer's face ? Would you know him again ? ' ' No, sir,' replied the previous speaker ; ' he was always too far from the boat for us to see his features.' ' Well, then,' rejoined the inquirer, ' look at me. 1 was the man ! ' Staring eyes and gaping mouths greeted this state- ment, and of all those present the boat passenger stared and gaped most. ' Yes,' continued the unknown hero, with volubility, ' I was at New Madrid, and had to come to New Orleans THE MISSISSIPPI SWIMMER 101 for pressing business. I had only half a dollar left, so I sent my clothes by despatch boat to Vicksburg, where I had money waiting for me ; and, not being a bad swimmer, I guessed I had better swim it, and I did, as you see. But, as I do not want what they call an ovation, gentlemen, I'll bid you all good-night!' Short as his tale was, it amazed the company still more than that of the steamboat man. And when the latter, proud of his success, had hurriedly strutted out of the bar, possibly to avoid complications, one of the company exclaimed, ' Well, I guess we know men of truth when we see them, gentlemen ! I wonder whether those two could tell a story ? ' ' Ah ! ' replied one, 'they could if they'd only try, you bet!' GENERAL WOLFE AND HIS SOVEREIGN 1 PUT not thy trust in princes,' is a maxim of which history furnishes no more terrible and dramatic illustration than the following, during the Thirty Years' \Var. Ferdinand II. of Ger- many owed everything to Wal- lenstein endless resources, enthusiastic armies, glorious victories, the success of his baneful policy ; nay, the security of his power and even of his crown and he repaid the great captain with exile ! But when the heroic Gustavus Adolphus had swooped upon the Empire, routed its commanders, reconquered North Germany, Franconia, the Palatinate, and carried Munich, while his Saxon allies were marching upon Vienna, the I^mperor Ferdinand II., at bay, implored Wallenstcin to come to his assistance. The great leader, by the magic of his name, raised new armies, and having re- sumed the supreme command, he secured the Empire from further defeats by crushing the Saxons and facing Gustavus, who was killed at Lutzen. It was then that the Emperor gave an instance of his gratitude to the GENERAL WOLFE AND HIS SOVEREIGN 103 man who had twice saved him. He had Wallenstein murdered ! After this deed of princely wisdom, the Imperial power collapsed when it was attacked by Cond, whose sword finally saved the Reformed King- doms and assured the existence of Protestantism. If, however, the precept quoted above often proves true, it admits of striking exceptions. We find a beautiful exception, for example, in the dignity and justice displayed by Philip II. who was an exacting master after the loss of his Armada. For, when the Duke of Medina- Sidonia, who commanded the grand Expedition, carried the news of the disaster to his master, the King said, with royal composure, ' My Lord Duke, I can bear you no ill-will, for I sent you to conquer England not a tempest.' In truth, whatever the opponents of monarchy may say, princes, by the nature of their education not to speak of their inherited qualities are almost always good and benevolent. We have only to look around us and see the numerous members of sovereign houses to be- come convinced of that fact. Abundant evidence of it could be gathered from all sides. In no circum- stance, as a rule, are princes more ready to be just and evince gratitude than in the defence of their friends and servants. A good instance refers to George II. General Wolfe, of Canadian celebrity, had many enemies at Court. His heroic successes in the field were not very palatable to stay-at-home nonentities The king once overheard some of his courtiers speak- ing ill of the General, and joining the group in con- versation, he asked, ' What, gentlemen, are you saying of General Wolfe ? ' ' We are saying, Your Majesty,' said one of the noble- men, 'that he is an enraged madman.' ' If this be the case, then,' said the king, ' I should uncommonly like him to bite some of my other generals, 104 WIT, WISDOM AND FOLLY and yourselves, gentlemen, into the bargain, for I am sadly in want of madmen of his kind.' If this rejoinder did not produce great commanders, it arrested the animosity of Wolfe's jealous enemies, and showed that princes are not forgetful of what their sub- jects do for their greatness. XXXI ROYAL FARE THE Emperor Joseph II., who had very simple habits, often indulged in solitary walks in the neighbourhood of Vienna. One morning he had gone a few miles from town when it threatened to rain ; he therefore turned back and briskly stepped homewards. In a few minutes, a gig, driven towards the city by a gentleman, overtook him. This gentleman slackened the pace of his horse upon observing the respectable looks of the pedestrian, and asked him whether he would not accept a seat in his vehicle. The Emperor accepted, and after thanking the stranger for his courtesy, took a seat by his side. The horse resumed its trot, and its driver whose jovial face revealed a particularly pleasant humour and talkative mood said playfully to his companion, 4 Ah, sir, I had such a breakfast this morning, that you no doubt would be glad to make one like it every day of your life. It was a real treat!' 1 What, then, did you have ? ' the Emperor asked. 105 106 117T, WISDOM AND FOLI. V * Ah ! that is the question/ said the driver, smil- ing. ' Now, my dear sir, suppose you try to guess.' ' Well, you had, perhaps, an omelet with fine herbs ? ' ' Guess again, sir.' 'Well, then, mutton cutlets with mushrooms, perhaps?' ' Something better. Guess again.' ' Well, a roasted chicken ? ' 4 Better, better still.' ' Partridges, then ? ' ' Better still. Guess on, please.' 'A truffled turkey?' ' No, still better. Guess again.' 'Ortolans?' ' Sir, you must guess again.' ' I must give it up,' said the Emperor. ' Well, then, my dear sir, I had a pheasant, shot on His Majesty's preserves,' triumphantly replied the amiable citizen. ' Indeed ! ' said the Emperor. And he added, smil- ing, ' But that is a grave case of poaching, and I might have you taken up for it, sir.' ' You ! my dear sir. And who are you ? ' ' It is your turn to guess now, sir.' ' I see by your overcoat that you belong to the army ? ' Yes, but guess in what capacity. ' You are a captain in the Guards, perhaps ? ' ' Oh ! higher than that.' ' You are a major ? ' ' Higher than that. Guess on.' ' Well, then, a colonel ? ' ' Better than that. Go on.' ' Perhaps your honour is a general ? ' ' A little higher still. Guess again, please.' ' Would your honour be a field-marshal ? the driver asked, rather anxiously. ' Better than that. Guess on." KOYAL FARE 107 'Then your excellency must be an Archduke?' stuttered the gentleman, getting very uneasy. ' Better than that, my dear sir. Guess on.' ' Then I cannot guess unless,' he added, with great trepidation, 'you are the Emperor himself.' ' I am,' answered the sovereign. Then, unbuttoning his overcoat, he uncovered a star of the highest order. The worthy Viennese, struck dumb, tried to glide down upon his knees to show respect to his Kaiser ; but the Emperor took him by the hand and compelled him to resume his seat, saying, in a merry tone, ' My dear sir, you have breakfasted at my expense this morning, and, since you are fond of pheasant, you shall dine at my expense again this afternoon, if you will drive me to the Palace, and be my guest ; for I shall be delighted to share with you another pheasant, also killed on the Imperial preserves.' The happy Viennese of course accepted this kind invitation, and his moistened eyes testified to the mixed feelings of gratitude and pleasure he was experiencing. RUBENS AND VAN DYCK THAT English art has made great strides within the last half century needs hardly any demonstration. When we look at the daubs of which the majority of British painters were guilty fifty or sixty years ago, and by the side of these we sec the works that are produced every year by the numerous masters and students of the present day we find it difficult to believe that they belong to the same country. Even now, though draughtsmanship is vastly superior to what it was, yet it has not reached general excellence, and it still remains the comparative weakness of the British school. This relative deficiency may be ascribed almost entirely to the process of training which obtains in England, and which is so different from that found abroad. Abroad, a great painter, a great sculptor makes his studio a school open to all comers, and numerous pupils flock to it ; so that, besides the benefit derived from public art schools, students have the advantage of working under the master's eye, of re- ceiving his daily advice, and of watching his own manner of handling pencil and brush. Under such conditions pro- 108 RL'BENS AND VAN DYCK 109 ficiency is more rapid and more thorough. In England, great masters do not care to adopt this system The foreign mode of training seems to have originated in Italy four hundred years ago, and has continued ever since. It had another advantage, greater formerly than now : it was useful to the master himself. The master was often assisted by his pupils in finishing works of immense proportions. Promising pupils were entrusted with the task of painting the background, the draperies and the shadows. That explains the extraordinary number of productions which an old master was able to accomplish. The first thing that strikes a visitor, say, to the Palazzo Vecchio at Venice, is the astonishing amount of work that was done by Tintoretto. One wonders how a man's life- time could have sufficed to conceive, to draw, to paint this or that superb canvas, covering a surface of hundreds of feet. A single painting of his may measure 50 feet by 25, and contain perhaps four or five hundred personages, besides grand architectural details. There may be fifty separate great works in the same gallery. And this is only a portion of his labours. Everywhere in Europe, but in Italian cities especially, one finds pictures of large dimensions magnificently executed by the aame master. \Ve should be unable to imagine how these countless masterpieces could have been the creation of one artist, unless we knew that he was surrounded by a band of devoted pupils. These filled up blank spaces left in the work, as soon as the master had done what he con- sidered necessary. Yet, when this is understood, it is still marvellous that any one man, even a man of high genius, should have been able to treat so large a number of subjects on such a scale. Take a picture. He had to meditate upon the con- ception, upon the composition, the general effect, the grouping, the costumes, the physiognomy of each person- age often a portrait and so forth. Then he had to sketch the whole. Then he had to paint the heads, the no WIT, WISDOM AND FOLLY faces, the hands, the feet, the chief light effects, the sky, and the flexures of the draperies. When his pupils had done their share, he would return and add hundreds of touches. In fact, the artist had acquired such mastery over each part of his art that he drew and painted with amazing rapidity. There were masters who used the brush from the first, and painted straight away without any sketching. All this explains much ; but what about time ? If we reflect that our present masters can do no more than one, two or three fair-sized pictures, and perhaps a few smaller pieces besides, in a year, well may we ask how the old masters managed to cover more numerous and far more extensive surfaces of canvas. On this point we find a satisfactory explanation. A day, in olden times, was wholly given up to work. As a rule, a great painter had a residence, and an allowance offered him by a prince or a corporation, and was not disturbed or distressed by the necessity of earning his daily bread, so that he devoted his energies and time exclusively to his art. He was, besides, as free from social engagements as he chose, and ' society ' made no demand on his time. Nowadays, the artist has to waste precious days in order to meet the exigencies of his social position. He has, besides, to face the necessities of life, which are infinitely more expensive and varied than formerly. This enables us to see that the halcyon days of art are necessarily over, nevermore to return. We may tell a pretty little story about the golden days of old, which illustrates one of the features we have endeavoured to describe. Once Rubens left his studio for a few days in order to visit a friend in the country, leaving on the easel, several unfinished paintings, for a master would frequently commence four or six works at a time. This was Rubens's way, oftener than was advisable, and it accounts for so AY 'KENS AND VAN D YCK 1 1 1 many paintings of his that are unsatisfactory. His imagination was so prolific that, after beginning a subject, a new fancy would seize hold of him and he would dash into a new composition, leaving on one side a previous painting, and taking his chance of finishing it as best he could later on. Sometimes the unfinished work was laid by altogether, or it was finished by a more or less advanced pupil. During Rubens's absence on the occasion referred to, Van Dyck, who was then under his training* took it into his head to complete one of the unfinished pictures, and this he accomplished to his satisfaction. In due course the great Flemish master came home, and, upon seeing how things stood in his studio, he noticed the picture finished by Van Dyck. ' Ho ! ' he said, ' I was under the impression I had left this unfinished ; but, upon my faith, it does not want another touch, and it is by no means the worst canvas I have painted in my life ! ' From that time Van Dyck was the rival of Rubens, for the world thus early endorsed the judgment of the master about his pupil. And, in truth, most people, looking at the splendid works of Van Dyck and the best works of Rubens, would be puzzled if they had to declare which present the highest qualities of excellence. XXXI f I AUNTIE'S CANARY THE writer of this collection can vouch for the truth of the following story. A friend of his had a very wealthy aunt, who was known for the oddity of her old-maidish ways, and the sincerity of her love of money. She lived a very retired life, and her seclusion had, in her eyes, the double charm of sparing her resources both in the renewal of her wardrobe and the return of invitations. Her table was as scanty as that of a sparrow. Her nephew was immensely amused at the manner in which she husbanded her fortune, and hoarded the accumulated interest of her property. ' She is the most marvellous steward the world ever saw,' he used to say, with the good humour that an heir, gifted with patience as he was, might legitimately evince at the thought of a rich harvest. As he was as attentive to her as she was herself to her goods and chattels, he often spent an hour with her, and he always found her in the same equable mood, for she was not a woman likely to shorten 112 AUNTIE 1 S CANARY 113 her existence by anything that might happen outside her house. Scarcity, epidemics, war might rage ; calamities, disasters, catastrophes, might take place ; heartrending miseries might be brought to her notice she remained placid and unconcerned, for, as she said, ' My dear, if we were to lament and cry over all that happens in the world we should have nothing else to do.' Once her nephew made his dutiful visit to the dear old thing, and, to his amazement, he for once found her in grief. He could see she had shed tears. 'Aunt, what is the matter?' he inquired, with visible concern. ' Oh ! Ernest,' she replied, with a sad sigh, followed by sobs and tears as she proceeded, ' my dear little canary is dead ! ' 'What? Your canary is gone, Aunt?' ' Gone ! Yes, it died yesterday. I had it for eleven years, and I attended to it every day. It was the sole thing I had in the world to care for and it is dead ! . . .' ' Oh, aunt ! I am sorry ! You must have another.' ' No, Ernest, I could not have another. Besides, if I had another, I might again become attached to it ; and then, if it died, it would be another parting. No; let it be.' ' Well, then, Aunt, since you will have no more, let me have the little bird, and I shall have it stuffed for you, and we'll put it in its cage.' ' We cannot do that. I wish I had thought of it ! ' Why not ? Have you buried it ? ' 'No.' ' Surely you have not given it to the cat next door ? ' 'No; I have eaten it at dinner to-day!' Ernest was staggered. ' Was it good ? ' he gasped. ' It was a little thin and tough, but it made up just a meal.' H ii 4 //'//; WISDOM AND FOLLY His aunt had had the courage to pluck her little favourite, to throw its pretty feathers in the dust hole, to truss it, to fry it, to cat it, to crunch its little bones, and to season them with her tears. The ways of misers, as Ernest said, are unfathomable. . mm I \ former days thieves were undoubtedly more prosper- ous than they now are. The malefactors of previous generations easily escaped punishment at least, for a longer time than at present because they generally were gifted with sharper wits than the community at large, and they could prey upon it with comparative safety. In our day, things are exactly reversed ; people are far more shrewd and wide-awake than they were, whilst evil- doers, springing, as they commonly do, from the lowest dregs of society, are no match either for the police or for ordinary men. Some robberies are now and then committed in our midst which, for daring and ingenuity, beat past records, it is true, but these are relatively rare, and they seldom escape speedy retribution. It may safely be said, that crime has been decreasing as steadily as enlightenment has spread, and that male- factors have greatly diminished in number. There are ancient feats of robbery on record that are clever and curious enough to find a place here. In some, the thief suffered immediate punishment ; in others, the thief made good his escape through superior craftiness. "5 Il6 WIT, WISDOM AND FOLLY Zenon (of Citium) was robbed by a slave of his, and the latter, upon being convicted, tried, in extenuation of his theft and to escape chastisement, to use an argument in harmony, as he thought, with the doctrine of his Stoic master. ' The Fates have decreed that I should steal,' he pleaded. ' And also that thou shouldst be punished,' replied Zenon ; and the penalty was inflicted accordingly. A thief who had stolen some money from the priest of his own parish, went to confession to his victim and accused himself of the robbery, without naming the sufferer of it. ' And Father,' he ended, ' what am I to do ? ' ' You must return the money,' replied the priest, who had not as yet detected the theft. ' Here it is, Father,' said the thief. ' Not to me.' 'Who to, then, Father?' ' To him from whom you have stolen it.' ' He will not take it back, Father,' rejoined the thief. ' Then, in that case, you may keep it.' The pious thief went away with the money, and with a relieved conscience into the bargain. A fashionable gentleman was taking a walk, not far from his own mansion, when he was approached from a side street by a very lame mendicant, who begged for alms in a piteous manner. From the other side of the street there appeared a man, who hurriedly said, ' Do not give him a farthing, my lord, the rascal is not lame at all, and if you only give me your cane I will thrash the vagabond for you and make him run.' ' Right ! ' said the gentleman, handing his stick. ' Go in for him ! ' ' Here goes ! ' the two men roared with one voice, and they both ran away together with the gold -headed cane. THIEVES 117 There is an old story, well known to the previous generation, and, it seems, founded on fact, which is rather amusing. A man was returning from market with the money which his pigs had fetched, when he was suddenly stopped by a highwayman, who, pistol in hand, ordered him to stand and deliver. The farmer, all in a tremble, vowed that he was a poor man and had no money. ' Nonsense,' said the robber, ' I have seen you sell your pigs, and receive a price for them, with my own eyes, so you had better give me your money-bag at once, or else I will shoot you dead and take it afterwards.' The farmer, whining and crying, pulled the bag out of his pocket and handed it to the highwayman. When this painful parting was over, he whined more lamentably than before, vowed that his wife and children must now starve, and that he had better die at once himself. ' My pigs,' he added, ' were our only resource to pay the landlord and buy food, and now that I have nothing to take home I don't want to live another hour! You had better put a bullet into my head as a charity.' ' My dear man,' said the robber, ' I don't want to have your blood on my conscience now that I have your money.' 'Oh, do kill me!' said the despairing countryman, visibly grown frantic with sorrow. ' Do kill me ; don't be afraid ! ' \"t I, man,' answered the malefactor. 'Then, dear Mr Highwayman, at least let me do it myself. Lend me your pistol to blow out my brains. I won't live another minute. I can't face my family with- out money. Do give me the pistol : that is the only thing I want for my bag. You can't deny it to. a poor beggar tired of life. My blood won't be on your head. So, do give me your pistol, or else, for charity's sake, kill me yourself. Do it, do it like a good man ! ' 1 Well, then,' rejoined the thief, ' since it is your will, here is the weapon. Be quick ! ' ii8 H77', WISDOM AND FOLLY The farmer grasped the pistol, cocked it, and at once, pointing it to the robber's head, shouted, full of energy, ' Xo\v, stand and deliver, you vagabond, or I lay you dead this second ! ' He was so full of menace and resolu- tion that the suddenly terrified highwayman threw down the bag of money without demurring. Hut the farmer, still aiming at him, and with fury depicted in his countenance, added, ' And now, rascal, I'll blow your brains out and kill you like a dog if you do not empty your pockets besides and quickly, too ! ' The robber, caught in his own trap, saw such de- termination in the fiery eyes of the armed man, that he emptied his pockets and threw their contents at his feet expostulating, however, to be permitted to keep at least his own for himself. 'No; you shall be punished, you rascally thief ! This money of yours will go to the poor-box of the parish. Now, lie down at full length, while I pick up my bag and your money. Lie on the ground at once, I say, or I fire; and if you attempt to stir until I allow you, you are a dead man.' The robber lay down as he was bidden ; and when the farmer had secured his money and prize, ' Now, you get up, and walk in front of me in the direction I am going. I'll keep within a couple of yards behind you, and if you try to run I'll put a bullet in your spine. Now then, go on ! ' The crestfallen robber, thoroughly overmatched and subdued, punctually obeyed his former victim, and was marched to the village, where the police took charge of him. XXXV FLA TTER Y Low adulation is justly held unworthy. There are, however, examples or forms of flattery well deserving admiration, not because they convey adulation as such, but because they express a fit compliment in felicitous, concise and witty terms. Such speeches should possess another sort of charm ; not only should they be spoken on the spur of the moment, but it is essential they should have the double quality of fitness and truth. If the French, as is often said, possess the faculty of ready speech to a conspicuous degree, it must be due to the long-standing intercourse they have had with one another since the reign of Francis I. This prince was the first who encouraged the daily presence of ladies in the Court circle. This change of customs at once im- proved sociability. It led to obligatory conversation, so to speak, and to that politeness, refinement and liveli- ness of speech, for which our neighbours have been dis- tinguished for so many generations. Be this the true 119 120 U'lT, WISDOM AND FOLLY cause or not, it is certain that no nation excels them in the art of spontaneously and aptly turning a piece of flattery into acceptable praise, exempt alike from ex- aggeration and meanness, and equally creditable to the speaker and to the recipient. Of this kind was the reply of La Salle to Wurmser, on a particular occasion. The Austrian commander, who had taken La Salle in action, asked him what age was Bonaparte, the victor of so many battles in Italy. ' The age,' replied the French General, ' Scipio was when he vanquished Hannibal.' The aged Marshal, much flattered to be thus com- pared with the most famous captain of antiquity, im- mediately liberated his prisoner on parole. Equally noteworthy was Racine's answer to Louis XIV., just after one of the Flemish campaigns. ' What was the cause of your absence during the last campaign ? ' inquired the King. ' I made you and Boileau my historiographers, and neither he nor you were with me in Flanders.' ' The fortresses you attacked, Sire,' replied Racine, ' were taken by Your Majesty in less time than was needful to have our outfits ready.' The Cardinal de Retx, who had fought in the Fronde against Louis XIV.'s Government in the beginning of the reign, naturally incurred the King's anger, and after escaping from prison lived in exile and oblivion for a long time, away from the Court and royal sunshine. When, by the exertion of his friends, he was at last pardoned, he repaired to Versailles to lay at the foot of the throne the humblest expressions of submission and gratitude to the King. Coming into the royal presence, he fell on his knees, and waited for the King to speak a kindly word. 'Your hair has become white, sir Cardinal,' said the Prince to him in a gentle tone. I- LATTERY 121 People,' replied the once powerful mover of civil war, ' people easily grow old, Sire, when they have the misfortune of living under Your Majesty's displeasure.' Of a different order, though not unbecoming, was the ready reply of a French philosopher to the Dovvager- Kmpress of Germany. * People,' said the Empress, ' declare the Queen of Sweden the most beautiful princess in the world. You, Mr de Maupertuis, who have seen her so often, can tell us if she really is?' ' I thought her so until to-day, Madam,' answered Maupertuis. 'My Lord Marquis,' said Louis XIV. to M. de Bievre, 'you are reckoned one of our best wits, and I have enjoyed your lively jeux de mots even your puns about every one at Court, many persons being thereby indebted to you for a certain celebrity. But you have never said anything playful about me. Why is that?' ' Sire,' answered the Marquis, ' Your Majesty is not a subject.' A French Grenadier, made a prisoner at Blenheim, and brought before Marlborough, was asked a few par- ticulars about that march and those movements of the French army which landed Marshals Tallard and Marsin into their irretrievable disaster. The Duke showed visible signs of surprise at what he heard from the soldier, and, being much struck with his intelligence and martial look, said to the veteran, ' If France had had fifty thousand men like thyself, she would have been victorious.' ' \Ve had enough men like myself/ replied the soldier. ' \Ve were defeated because it was not an hundred thou- sand like me that we wanted, but only one like you ! ' For his flattering frankness and wit the Duke sent him away a free man. i22 /r/y; WISDOM AND FOLLY Henry IV., just after one of the victories by which he won his throne, cried to Crillon, who arrived too late for the battle, ' Hang thyself, brave Crillon, we have vanquished without thee ! ' Later, the King being asked who was the most valiant knight in his kingdom, at once pointed to Crillon, saying, ' There he is ! ' ' That is a lie,' shouted blunt Crillon, ' a lie ! for it is you, Sire, who are the bravest ! ' XXXVI WE enjoy seeing a supercilious man discomfited by his superior in station or mind. And the greater the pomp on one side, and the simplicity on the other, the more we appreciate the exhibition. A magistrate was once loftily questioning a witness who happened to be a poet. ' Oh, you are a poet ! are you ? Then, how do you live?' 'I live pretty well, Your Worship!' 4 Just tell us how ? ' ' \Vell, generally a joint and a pudding.' ' No, no ; I mean how do you get your bread ? ' ' Oh ! it depends, Your Worship.' 4 Well, you may as well answer.' "3 i2 4 II7T, WISDOM AND FOLI. Y ' I get it cither at the baker's or at the chandler's.' ' But can you not be made to understand a single question ? I want to know how you are doing ? ' 1 Pretty well, thank you. I hope Your Worship is well, too? ' ' All right. You may go down.' ' Are you prepared to swear to the mare's age ? ' asked Counsel of an ostler, who had been mixed up in a horse transaction. 'I am.' ' Upon what authority ? ' ' Upon what authority ? ' repeated the witness, doubt- fully. ' You are to answer, not repeat, the question put to you.' ' Well, I want time to turn it over in my mind.' ' Nothing can be simpler than this question, sir. Upon what authority can you swear to the mare's age ? ' 1 On the best authority/ replied the witness, archly. ' Then, why such evasion ? Why not state it at once ? ' 'Well, then, if I must state it . . .' ' Must ! you shall state it.' ' Then you must have it, I suppose ? ' 'Ay! I will have it!' loudly cried Counsel, strik- ing the table with his fist. ' Well then, if you will have it,' answered the ostler, with apparent gravity, 'why, then, I had it myself from the mare's own mouth ! ' Needless to add that 'roars of laughter' followed his unimpeachable statement. The Count d'Alen was once passing through Lyons, and from a desire to show courtesy to the King's Lieutenant (of the Province), he called upon the stately official. The Count happened to meet him in the court- NEWS FROM THE COURT 125 yard of the palace, and before he could mention his quality and name, the King's Lieutenant, who saw by the nobleman's elegant clothes, that he could scarcely be a Lyons man, abruptly inquired, ' Whence do you come, friend ? ' ' From Paris.' ' From Paris, indeed ! And what, friend, do they say there ? ' ' They say Mass.' ' No, my friend, I want to know if you heard anything?' ' Oh, yes ; the noise of carriages.' 'I mean, friend, what is the newest thing out?' ' Green peas.' ' But have you heard no report at all, my friend ? ' 1 Oh ! yes, certainly.' ' Then, my friend, what report was that ? ' ' The report of cannon on the King's birthday.' 'You seem to know nothing, my friend. Perhaps you know your own name ? ' 'Certainly, sir.' 1 And what may your name be, I wonder ? ' ' At Lyons, I am called " my friend," but in Paris I am called "the Count d'Alen."' And the King's Lieutenant humbly apologised. XXXVII THE SIAMESE TWINS GLOBE-TROTTERS are numerous enough in these days ; but fifty years ago this title could have been given only to Americans. They were the travellers. As soon as money had been made, to Europe they came ; across Europe the> r sped from end to end as fast as railways and steamers could carry them. These visitors from the New World to the Old Continent have become, since then, so much more numerous, and are nowadays increasing at such a rate, that all Americans, so to speak, know Europe as well, or better than we do ourselves. A man who returns home from his grand tour is now no longer a ram avis. As the story he would have to tell is always the same, and generally known, he does not talk over much, and he is not, as he would have been formerly, assailed by a crowd of inquirers eager to know all about the old country. A generation ago, the traveller who came home was a species of talking lion ; you had only to touch a spring, as it were, and out came innumerable stories, in voluble rapidity, on scenery, cities, monuments, men, hostelries cooking, drinks, charges, manners, adventures ; and in all these a central figure the traveller himself who had been an universally admired hero, just as much in. 126 THE SIAMESE TWINS 127 foreign parts as he now was among his own country- men. A thorough Yankee, who had just returned from Europe, was thus relating his travels to a crowd of listeners : and, after speaking of his adventures in Spain, Italy, Greece, Germany, Russia and Belgium, said that he had wound up by the two countries, that, after all, ' take the cake ' between them that is France and England. He had, before that, seen celebrated men and women, famous statesmen, well-known princes and lovely princesses, and, as he had spoken to most of them, he could say, 'speaking for himself,' that he had found them all very civil, and, as a rule, ' a pretty intelligent, and a pretty nice set of people.' But it was in Paris and in London that he had come across the very flower of the Old World. He could say, 'speaking for himself,' that these two places are ' pretty highly civilised,' old places though they are ; for it is there that an American is appreciated best. He had not been three days in Paris before the Emperor, on his way to the ' Boa de Boulong,' had, when returning his salute, spotted him as a citizen of the New World. The Emperor had stopped his guards and carriage, and asked him to come to the ' Tooleries ' to speak about America. He had gone to the Palace, and after an hour's talk, enlivened by smoking, the Emperor had sent for the Empress and said to her, ' Eugenie, I want to introduce you to a citizen of New York City. Sir, my wife. My dear, take the gentleman to your " Boodoa," and ask him the news ; he has lots to say for himself.' ' The Empress took me along, and we had coffee together, and I can tell you one thing, friends, I did astonish the lady. ' " Sir," she said, with a smile, when we shook hands, " I have never been so astonished in my life. If you come this way again, don't forget to call." When they heard in London that I had been to 128 1177\ WISDOM AND FOLl.Y the " Tooleries," for you must know that Prince Albert has got reporters in every Court they tried to out-do the Emperor and Empress. The day after my landing in London, the Prince called, and, as I was out, he left his card, and left word for me to call at the Palace on that day about four, but, if that was not quite convenient, I might call when I liked. I went, and the first thing he said was, " We don't want to be behind other people in showing attention to American citizens ; and, as you have been the guest of other crowned heads, the Queen will be delighted to see you. Tea is ready in the ' Blue Boodoa ' come along." ' The fact was, they wanted to know something about Napoleon's policy, and I suspect they expected me to say what I knew. But I was very reserved ; and though the Queen put leading questions now and then, I spoke to her of things in general. But as she is a pretty nice sort of woman, she showed no spite.' Thus, the traveller went on describing the sights he had seen and the things he had heard. When the adventures had been exhausted, questions were put to him, and he readily replied to them. One of the listeners inquired, ' And, sir, when you were in Paris, did you see the wonder that makes them stare so ? I mean, did you see the Siamese Twins ? ' ' Oh ! yes or rather, no. I only saw one of them. The other had gone to a fancy ball.' ' He had, had he ? ' ' Yes, he had.' ' Well, then,' said the inquirer, ' friends, after this, we had better adjourn.' And they did adjourn, to the satisfaction of the traveller, who would, no doubt, have shown signs of uneasiness if a cross-examination had been instituted. K/M XX XVII I THE WIND AND HIS FRIEND VIEWING novelists as an extensive and varied family, we might divide them into three groups : mere story-tellers, whose merit lies in the art of relating a tale with more or less vivacity or elegance, with- out troubling themselves with psychological analysis ; sensational writers whose exuberant imagination replaces worldly experience who draw from their inner consciousness types of humanity which vie with those of fairy tales in ideal features less true than attractive ; finally, authors whose piercing eyes see through human flesh who analyse the passions and dissect the heart with photographical truth. These last writers are gifted with the marvellous faculty of reading characters aright, and because of this faculty they will charm posterity as they do ourselves. There is a subject-matter which even they have not attempted to grasp in our generation, and that is the Society of the Jesuits in its present condition. Eugene Sue painted it in terrible colours as it was more than half a century ago ; Disraeli gave light sketches of it twenty-five years since ; but the Order having the genius I 130 ll' IT, WISDOM AND FOLLY of rapidly adapting itself to new requirements, these authors would now seem calumnious to many readers, so altered are the circumstances, so changed are the means of action of that religious community. The Jesuits are nowadays so unobtrusive, their tact always wonderful since last century is so keen and delicate, their presence is so completely screened from the public gaze, that it seems as if they were non-existent. Yet they are still in our midst, ever watchful of events, ever masterly in handling their own influence, ever superior to the situation, and ever directing, with deep learning and intellectual strength, the education of the highest and most thorough Catholics in Europe. We do not see them, but they see us. The fatal blow which Pascal struck at them more than two centuries ago discredited them so effectually that they abandoned the open battle- field, and have been fighting ever since behind ramparts. After ruining their famous doctrine the end justifies the means which authorised hypocrisy and slander, mendacity and stealing, injustice and murder; after revealing the subtlety, depravity and ambition of the Order ; after vindicating the right of public morality and the right of human conscience, Pascal left to the people the mission of dealing with them as best they could, and the Jesuits' power vastly decreased. But that power had been so immense, ubiquitous, deep-rooted before, that for one hundred years they continued to rule Europe that part which was within the sphere of their previous influence with nearly as much success to themselves as they had done before Pascal routed them. Their audacity during that time grew afresh to such an extent that kings, governments, and the Papacy itself, were compelled to act with vigour against them ; and since that energetic stand against their Order, their conflicts with modern society have been fewer and less embracing, and their weapons have been more subtle and less visible. When we think that no less a genius than Pascal was necessary to un- THE WIND AND HIS FRIEND 131 mask them, and that he alone could have succeeded in so doing, we are well-nigh lost in admiration ; and when \vc reflect that without him the network of intrigue they had cast over the whole of Catholic Europe would have enslaved nations and rulers alike, we are filled with gratitude towards him : but that they should have survived at all the onslaughts made upon them in the seventeenth and the eighteenth centuries is a marvel. It is to their prodigious organisation and discipline which had given them the might they once wielded that they are indebted for escaping total destruction, and for pre- serving the sway of which they are still in possession. Now that they use their influence without ostentation, and with a prudence and a modesty that cause them to be outwardly unfelt and unseen, we know little of what passes in their midst and are content to let fall between them and ourselves a curtain that conceals their presence ; but that curtain is not so thick and impenetrable as to hide their past history. It is with a shudder that we remember that these estimable and refined teachers of the present day were, for upwards of two hundred years, the terror of the world. The work of the hideous Inquisition was ordered and done by them ; they brought about wars of extermination, the victims of which could be counted by millions ; they lit the fire that consumed hundreds of thousands of innocent men and women at the stake ; they conducted persecutions in Germany and Spain, in Italy and the Netherlands, in France and England. The massacres that dishonour humanity the St Bartholomew, the Dragonnades were their doings ; imprisonment, spoliation, torture, were their mildest mis- deeds ; daggers and poison were common weapons with which to murder the nobles, princes or kings who crossed their path. Theirs has been a history of daily bloodshed and unspeakable horrors. Rulers, whose confessors they had stealthily become, did their bidding and trembled. They did all these things in the name of Christian 132 WIT, WISDOM AND FOLL Y faith, but in reality in the interest of their earthly domination. This was known, this was whispered with bated breath, but until Pascal broke their spell by his immortal Provincial Letters, no one durst speak openly. Yet, curiously, there were at times among the people manifestations of popular emotion even riots expressing hatred and anger, which made the Jesuits pause for a while. This was the case especially in Italy, which, though fettered, had once been free, and always remained intellectual. Popular wits, and this not long after the Order had crept into supreme power, had the boldness to embody the latent and universal sentiment in legends that summed up the verdict of the general feeling. Stories, due to observation or invented by mirth, carried a judgment and a condemnation which later generations have fully endorsed and ratified. The following is probably the best of them. It was a current belief in Rome that in the Piazza Giesu the wind blew all the year round, even during those calm days when the slightest breeze was felt nowhere around. The cause of this wonder was at last explained. Some three hundred years ago, the Diavolo and the Wind agreed to travel together, and to assist each other if necessary. The wind, to show his strength, now uprooted trees and unroofed houses ; now raised the waves of the sea and caused them to batter high cliffs down ; at one time he ruined orchards and cornfields ; at another he would accumulate clouds in such masses that torrents of rain deluged town and country, swelled rivers to overflowing, while thunder and lightning terrified and killed flocks and shepherds. His companion witnessed all this and sardonically laughed. 4 Try to do better work than all this child's play,' he said ; ' I see thou wantest advice. Look, yonder sails a fleet manned by countless sailors ; swoop upon it ; show thy might ; sink it, and I shall gather a large harvest.' And it was done. So went both evils in company ; THE WIND AND HIS FRIEND 133 the Wind being often pooh-poohed for his fitful per- formances that left no lasting traces. ' Thou art not a bad pupil,' the other would say, ' but thou art too light-headed and shifty to do enduring work. My doings are less fussy and less noisy; but they are eventful. If I plant a seed, it grows up to be a tree, by-and-by a forest that bears fruit year by year, and that fruit I can carry home and keep under my eye for my delectation for ages and ages. Thou art content to puff and work from hand to mouth, whereas I grow richer and richer as time rolls on.' ' Perhaps,' the Wind would reply, ' I shall do better under thy tuition." They kept together, and travelled round the world, visiting this region and that. Amongst other places they went to the Holy City. They visited the whole town to see what they could do. And one day, as they were passing on the Piazza Giesu, the Evil One said to his companion, ' Oh, oh ! we are now in front of the College of the Jesuits. I have a good mind to pop in, for I might be of some little use to them, although they can manage affairs to my satisfaction. Now, good compeer, wait thou for me on the Piazza while I am in, and be sure not to go without me.' And since that time the Wind has been waiting on the square, turning round and round, and wondering how long his comrade would remain at the headquarters of the great religious institution. Such was the playful explanation of the evils which afflicted our unhappy ancestors. Pascal gave us a picture ; the encyclopaedists gave us another ; Eugene Sue gave us a third each of them true for their time : we are waiting for one more equally true for ours. XXXIX MEMORABLE PREACHERS MANY amusing anecdotes have been told about preachers. Everybody, probably, knows the one in reference to a preacher who got up in the pulpit to deliver a sermon to one solitary worshipper who happened to be simple-vvitted. 1 Is it not sad, ' began the priest, ' that I should have only one idiot to preach to ? ' ' Ay ' interrupted the parishioner, ' and if he was not an idiot he would not he here to hear you preach.' The sermon proceeded no further. There is the tale of a preacher in Italy who began to address his very small audience with the words ; 1 Pochissimi Fratelli ' very few brethren ; and at intervals repeated, ' Very few brethren,' with telling effect. There is also the tale of the priest who, when return- ing home after the afternoon sermon, met some friends on his way, to whom he said, ' Why ! would you believe it, I had only three or four donkeys to speak to ! ' ' And how did you address them ? ' a friend asked. ' Dear brethren, of course,' replied the preacher. ' Quite right,' said the kind friend. '34 MEMORABLE PREACHERS 135 University men may recollect the beginning of an ex- amination sermon, read by a theological student before the Bishop and his Chaplain, who constituted the examining board. ' My audience,' said the student in divinity, ' is divided into two sets the converted and the unconverted ' ' Before you proceed any further,' interrupted the Bishop, ' would you kindly tell us who is converted and who unconverted my Chaplain or myself?'* A story which bears repeating is that of the young Curate, who was small in stature, and not much greater in intellect than in size, but had wits enough to know it. His text was: 'There was a man named Zacchaeus who was little of stature, and he climbed up into a tree to see the procession, and he came down and went home.' The sermon was an object lesson, which the speaker and auditory alike appreciated for its terseness and brevity. ' Zacchaeus,' said the preacher, ' was a small man, and so am I ; he was up a tree, and so am I ; he came down and went home, and so do I.' So began and ended a performance which delighted the whole parish. In keeping with this there is an Arabian story, well known in Algeria, about a practical sermon preached one day by a Marabout in the mosque. ' Children of the Faithful,' he began, ' do you know what I am about to say ? Answer everyone, do you know ? ' ' No,' they all shouted. ' Very well, then, you go home and learn it.' The week after the holy man again began, * Children of the Prophet, do you now know what I am going to say ? Reply.' ' Some of us do,' was the answer, ' and some of us do not.' 136 ll'/T, WISDOM AND POLL Y 1 Ah ! then, return home, and let those who know tell it to those who do not.' The next week came round and the Marabout com- menced once more by saying, 'Children of Mohammed do you now know what I am going to say ? ' We do,' they all shouted. 4 Well, then, as you know, it is unnecessary I should tell it to you again. Go home with my blessing ! ' XL THE PRESENT AND THE FUTURE GREAT difference of age between two persons is usually considered a sufficient impediment to a matrimonial union. Marriages of this kind are rightly censured, for obvious reasons. Yet, unnatural as they seem, such unions are by no means unhappy in most cases, and though they violate social custom and ordinary senti- ment, they frequently assure felicity. Of all things in the world the gravest is that durable and indefeasible tie which is the basis of civilised society. Upon this institution depends the solidity of national morality. It has existed ever since the foundation of religion, law and order. It is almost safe to say that marriage makes one wretched couple only out of every ten. It insures protection to the weakness of woman. Therein she finds a safe shelter against the many evils which surround her ; therein she finds the support of her children who are the source of her purest joys. Someone has justly observed that marriage is ' an eternal union that affection embellishes, content main- i37 138 WIT, WISDOM AND FOLLY tains, and misfortune fortifies.' Settling our future home life, as it does, it is the most important act in our exist- ence. Love may not always be present in marriage, but deep friendship or deep sympathy will, as a rule, replace it not disadvantageous^. This is the case between man and wife of different ages, and the sympathy will necessarily increase year by year through morality, kindness, order and love of work. When each person is the most agreeable company to the other, marriage can but be a blessing to both. But experience is power- less to enable one to foresee the consequences of a match. The shrewdest observer's prediction may often be falsified, because the consequences entirely depend upon the nature and temperament of each couple. A celebrated marriage furnishes a proof of this proposition. When the lovely daughter of M. Richard at last consented to marry M. Rccamier, an unusual sensation stirred the French capital. The highest society wondered how she could have made up her mind to accept such a husband, for if he was renowned for his immense wealth, he was an elderly, prosaic and plain man. She, the most beautiful woman in France, and worthy to adorn a throne, was actually going to become a mere banker's wife. The astonishment was the greater because she was known to possess uncommon qualities sound sense, a high mind, admirable wit and thoughtfulness. There was therefore a great crush at the signature of the marriage settlement. Curiosity caused everyone to be present at the function the more so as the trousseau and presents would be on view, and it was whispered that the future husband had spent almost a fortune on the corbeillc. Bonaparte, then First Consul, had been invited to honour the preliminary ceremony with his presence. He went very willingly, as he par- ticularly admired the beauty of the bride-elect. When he saw the princely corbeillc, and its display of splendid stuffs, royal dresses, rare lace, rich jewellery, diamond THE PRESENT AND THE PUT UK E 139 tiaras, pearl necklaces, precious stones, pins, brooches and bracelets in profusion, he exclaimed, ' Oh, oh ! I see, the present makes one forget the future ! '* In this case disparity of age did not exclude un- clouded happiness. Honest hearts are the safest source of domestic harmony. The husband is principally re- sponsible for the peace of the home. He has been compared to a sculptor who is entrusted with a piece of precious marble to give it form and life. It is his mission to shape and develop his young wife. In the above story, the sculptor had fine material, and he had the wisdom to bring out the whole loveliness that lay within it. * Le present fait oublier le ftitur. The word futur in French means the intended husband and the time to come ; and in the same way the word prhtnt means gift and present time. XLI LADY COWERS WISDOM LADIES, by the constant practice of using their tongues for it can hardly be denied they are fond of talking acquire a proficiency in the art of conversation far higher than that generally attained by the sterner sex. As a natural consequence, they become more than a match for the so-called lords of creation in smart speech, and the wit they develop at an early age eclipsing, as it often does, the dull capacity of gentle- men in that respect induces them to conceive a not always undeserved contempt for their husbands, brothers and intended bridegrooms. This was the case last century, in a much greater degree than at present, because the intercourse of ladies with one another was incessant, and conduced to intelligence, shrewdness and worldly cleverness ; whilst, on the other hand, men almost wholly addicted to sport and heavy revels, to say the least grew unrefined and obtuse. It is 140 LADY GOlVEtfS WISDOM 141 probable that women will never hold their sway over Society, to the same extent as they did in that material age. Lady Gower had an exceedingly beautiful niece, whom she wished to marry into one of the highest families in the kingdom. She wanted to make her a duchess or a marchioness, and she found for her an eligible parti in the person of the Marquess of W . The beauty of the young lady was so fascinating that the young nobleman was only too happy to be allowed to woo, and undergo the ordeal of waiting. The future bride, however, was very timid, but, at the same time, clever enough to have a will of her own in the matter. She wanted her marriage to be a blissful one, and she was conscious that her beauty enabled her not only to wait, but to choose for herself. She would only say 'Yes' when she had thoroughly satisfied and convinced herself that the man she would honour was one to be relied upon as capable of devoting himself, heart and soul, to her own happiness. The Marquess, rather inclined to hasten the conclusion of the event, was most assiduous in his visits to Lady Gower, and in seeking opportunities of making himself agreeable to the young lady. He, besides, gave a party now and then, which enabled him also to display his establish- ment to advantage. Things went far enough for him to venture upon asking the two ladies to lunch. On this occasion he was more attentive to them than ever before ; so much so, that he made no doubt that the object of his assiduity must, in a day or two, pronounce the decisive word. Whilst Lady Gower and her niece were driving home after this quiet entertainment, the aunt said, ' Well, my dear, what do you say of him at last? Don't you think he will make an admirable husband ? Why, he is head and shoulders above the generality of young men.' ' Well, aunt, I do not deny that he appears to have 142 WIT, WISDOM AND FOLLY excellent points : but who knows whether the qualities he exhibits are not assumed, and that a few months after marrying he will not be quite different ? ' ' But, my dear, have you not remarked a thing which reveals the genuineness of his heart ? ' ' No ; what do you mean ? ' 'Have you not seen the new clock he has bought?' ' Yes ; you mean the lovely musical clock on the chimney-piece.' ' Well, my dear, is not that enough for you to decide, and accept his hand ? ' ' Why so, aunt ? I do not see what difference that clock makes to me?' ' My dear, it makes all the difference. Before luncheon we did not know him completely ; but now we do the clock showed us his true character.' ' Really, aunt, I do not understand what you mean/ 'Mean, my dear? Why, can't you see that a man who is simple-minded enough to take a delight in a musical clock can be no Machiavelli, and that you will easily lead him by the tip of his nose all your life.' ' Auntie, dear, you are admirable. That revelation is conclusive. I'll marry the dear soul.' The ladies of that time were wise in their generation. XLI1 CURIOUS CHALLENGES DUELLING is dying out at last. In England it has long since ceased to be considered as a satisfactory means of avenging or redressing a wrong. Common sense will no longer admit a mode of argument bequeathed by the violent and unreasoning world of 'the good old times.' Modern law has pro- vided us with adequate remedies to punish a personal offence. Even calumny, so often difficult to trace to its source, does not escape penalty. When Rousseau unanswerably demonstrated the folly of duelling, he astonished his generation by daring to write against an immemorial mode of settling a quarrel. What astonishes us nowadays is, that his eloquent onslaught should have been necessary to prove the absurdity of fighting about a point of honour. For how did the matter stand ? A, a man of blameless character, considered himself insulted by the disparaging remarks uttered by 143 i 4 4 WIT, WISDOM AND FOLLY B, who notoriously was a despicable bully. A duel ensued. B killed A. The sword avenged the wronged man by sending him to a better world. Had A killed B, the once stainless man would have lived in remorse, with the blood of his fellovvman on his conscience. Either way, where did his satisfaction come in? If this mad practice has died out in England, it still, however, flourishes on the Continent, and we hear now and then of a fatal encounter. It is true that most duels do not end tragically, and harmless results often incline us to view the hostile meetings as a farce ; but in reality they are not a farce at all, since the same risk exists in harmless as in deadly battle the harmlessness being due to a happy chance, viz. : want of skill in both combatants. Public opinion, even in France, is begin- ning to tell against the barbarous custom, and the time is not far distant, we think, when it will be a thing of the past. Before duelling was at all discredited in civilised countries there had been very queer challenges followed by ludicrous effects, and, curiously enough, the comicality imparted to them was, as a rule, brought about by sensible behaviour on the part of one of the opponents. Josepin, who considered himself the rival of the best painters of his time, having heard that his pictures were not always admired by Annibal Carracci, wanted to settle the question of artistic supremacy sword in hand, and went to challenge the great Bolognese master. Annibal seized a painting brush, and quietly showing it to the irate Josepin, said, with commanding coolness, ' And I challenge you with this weapon, and with it I mean to vanquish you.' Needless to say that no duel ensued either with the brush or with the sword. An irascible little man fancied himself deeply aggrieved by a gentleman of colossal proportions, because, when- ever they met, a smile played upon the lips of the giant, CURIOUS CHALLENGES 145 which he took for an insulting smile of mockery, although most people would have interpreted it rather as an expression of good-humoured kindliness. The under- sized gentleman sent his seconds to deliver a challenge to his man. Instead of accepting it off-hand, the challenged party said, ' I do not object to fight if such is the wish of your principal ; but before I do so, perfect equality between him and me should be established.' ' How so, sir ? ' one of the seconds asked. ' Why, I am twice as big as your friend, and whether we use swords or pistols, I shall present a much larger surface to his weapon than he to mine. Please, gentle- men, go and debate this point with him. When this is settled, I shall appoint seconds to meet you and arrange for the time and place.' To this objection the challenger had the wit, or the impudence, to reply that he would undertake to hit his opponent within a limited portion of his body, and that, should he hit beyond the limits of the specified surface, the hit or hits should not [count. When this proposal had been, with some hesitation, reported to the tall and bulky adversary, instead of flying into a passion as the seconds expected, he laughed merrily, and naturally declared that the disparity would be increased tenfold. ' I think,' he said ' a simpler means might be found. The difficulty might be easily overcome if your friend would only take my advice.' ' What is that ? ' they inquired. ' Why, as a fight will be just as good a duel two or three months'] hence as it would be to-morrow, let him every morning do what I used to do myself when 1 was a growing lad, that is, eat plenty of porridge, and when he has, by this wholesome food, grown as big as I am, I will meet him. Until then I will have nothing to do with this ridiculous challenge. I think, gentle- men, you will agree that my proposal is as practic- able and reasonable as his own.' K 146 H7T, WISDOM AND POLL Y And as the matter was not susceptible of an arrange- ment either way, it naturally dropped. This question of equality of advantages in a duel was settled in a still more effectual manner in a quarrel between a military man and a medical gentleman. The latter objected that, never having held a sword or a pistol in his life, whereas the Officer was known as a fine swordsman and a dead shot, the chances were all in his opponent's favour. The Doctor, however, having the choice of weapons, undertook to find means to equalise the contest. The Officer's seconds accepted this offer, and next morning both adversaries and their seconds met on the field. The Doctor then, showing a tiny box, said, ' Gentle- men, here are two pills one quite innocuous, the other a deadly poison. Let my opponent have first choice,' This staggering proposal was declined with thanks. ' I prefer apologising,' said the Officer ; ' a sword's scratch or even a broken arm is one thing, but certain death is another. Doctor, I crave the privilege of your friendship.' And the two brave men, brought to their senses forthwith, cemented their amity by a merry breakfast Voiture, the charming wit and delightful poet of the Hotel de Rambouillet, was once challenged by a gentle- man smarting under a repartee. ' Sir,' playfully said Voiture, in reply to the proposal to fight, ' the game is altogether one-sided ; you are tall, brave, skilful whereas I am little, cowardly and awkward. You wish to kill me. Well, then, I declare myself a dead man.' It goes without saying that his challenger was appeased by such a handsome acknowledgment of his superiority. Sometimes a duel ends to the utmost satisfaction of all concerned. Thomas Moore was very angry with the Edinburgh CURIOUS CHALLENGES 147 Review for its unsparing criticism of his Odes and Epistles. He sent a challenge to the great critic, Francis Jeffrey. The Hon. William Robert Spencer gave his pistols to Moore to go to the fighting ground, and gave due warning of the duel to the police. When the poet and the critic met each other on the field, they were then meeting for the first time in their lives, and so little fierceness fired their breasts that they bowed to each other, and while the pistols were being loaded, Jeffrey said, without a tinge of bloodthirstiness, ' What a beautiful morning it is ! ' 'Yes,' replied Moore, with a smile, 'it is a morning made for better purposes,' to which mild words Jeffrey gently answered by ' a sort of assenting sigh.' Walking up and down side by side while the loading was slowly proceeding, Moore related to Jeffrey how, under similar circumstances, an Irishman Billy Egan had peeped through the trees to see the loading opera- tions, and how his opponent had shouted to him, ' Don't make yourself unaisy, my dear fellow ; sure isn't it bad enough to take the dose, without being by at the mixing up?' Jeffrey was smiling at the story when the dreadful weapons were served out. Both lamb-like antagonists having retired to a proper distance from each other, they raised their pistols, waiting for the signal to fire, when, just in the nick of time, constables rushed out from behind a hedge, disarmed the two duellists and took them, crestfallen, but not unhappy, to Bow Street. This duel led to a lasting friendship between the combatants. The Provost of Dublin, Hutchinson, quarrelled with the Irish Attorney-General, Tisdale, and sent him his seconds. Tisdale flatly refused to fight, not only because he was seventy-three years of age, but because he could derive no satisfaction from the duel. I 4 8 WIT, WISDOM AND FOLLY ' If I should kill Hutchinson," said he, ' I should get nothing but the pleasure of killing the fellow, whereas, if he kills me, he will get my place of Secretary of State, of which he has the reversion.' As it was not easy to find an answer to this excellent argument, the two men remained content with reviling each other. We should not much mind hearing of duels every day, if their termination were attended with no more disastrous results than in the instances just recorded. XLIII FORCE OF WIT THAT wit has often benefitted those who were sufficiently well gifted to make clever sallies is comprehensible enough : the surprise and admiration which are aroused in the hearer's mind by striking answers are so sudden and unexpected, that a complete change of resolve is not unfrequently their natural effect, and in that case, both the benefactor and the benefitted one alike share our sympathy the latter for his mental resource, the former for his generous impulse or kindly disposition. A few examples may show how variously the charm of wit may operate. A Prussian soldier made a great show of a huge watch chain ; but as unfortunately he had no watch, he had a musket bullet fixed to it and duly hidden in his 149 ISO WIT, WISDOM AND FOLLY fob. His comrades occasionally joked him about his love of display. Frederick II., having heard of this, once, at a review of his troops, stopped in front of the soldier, and, to enjoy his embarrassment, asked him, ' Well, my man, just tell me the time your watch marks?' ' It marks that at every hour of the day I must be ready to give up my life for Your Majesty.' The King, who had intended to laugh at the confusion of his devoted soldier, gave him a kindly smile and the watch he evidently desired into the bargain. Four Austrian soldiers had been sentenced to death for some very serious breach of discipline. The Emperor, Joseph II., whose humanity was proverbial and who was more like a father than a ruler to his people, thought that if one out of the four paid the penalty, the sternness of military law would be sufficiently upheld and vindicated, and the four sentenced men were required to draw lots to know which of them should undergo the condemna- tion. One of the four, however, obstinately refused to draw. 1 And why should you refuse doing what your com- rades are ready to do ? ' he was asked. ' Because,' replied the soldier, ' our beloved Emperor has forbidden games of chance.' The kind Sovereign, to whom this was reported, de- lighted at the presence of mind of the trooper, at once granted a free pardon to the four culprits. In the fierce wars which raged in France in the six- teenth century between the Catholics and the Protestants each victory on one side or the other was stained by a wholesale massacre of the prisoners taken in battle. These wars had that character of cruelty which generally mark civil conflicts, but private hatred and vengeance gave them an additional feature of savagery only met with in the crusades against the Albigenses, and the FORCE OF WIT 151 Thirty Years' War, in the annals of modern history. Montluc, one of the Catholic leaders in the South, would break on the wheel as many as thirty or forty Protestant prisoners, or hang seventy at a time in the market-place. He was accompanied by professional executioners. Baron des Adrets, a Protestant leader in the Rhone Valley, gained dreadful celebrity by his acts of retaliation. After the capture of Montbrison, he had many of the defenders of the fortress decapitated, and sentenced the rest, two hundred, to precipitate themselves from the top of a lofty tower upon the pikes of his soldiers below, and he actually witnessed the execution of his decree. One after another the wretched but heroic prisoners leaped undaunted into eternity. Of the number, there was one soldier who twice made a rush to the brink of the parapet and there stopped. ' Go on, jump away ! ' cried Des Adrets to him ; ' to try the ford twice is enough to cross the stream.' ' I will give you four tries to do it yourself,' answered the soldier. Des Adrets could not forbear smiling at the sally, and he ordered the release of the prisoner. The others died. XLIV UNKIND CRITICS AUTHORS are just as blind to the defects of their works as fond parents are to those of their children. And not unnaturally. For the more labour a production has cost a writer, the more value does it possess in his eyes. The work may be poor ; but if the brain that has been at great pains in elaborating it, if the poet has spent wakeful nights on the rack of mental exertion and in- tellectual toil, spinning, twisting, stretching a thought which refused to become powerful by any process, pursuing an image that refused to become graceful, hammering at a rhythm that refused to be musical, hunting for rhymes that refused to fit either sound or sense, that poet will not easily persuade himself that his time, trouble and struggle have been lost. He will look tenderly upon his offspring. Why, even a Milton 152 UNKIND CRITICS 153 had this human weakness. Of his two epic poems he preferred Paradise Regained, because, owing to the slender- ness of the action, it had been more difficult to compose, and had cost him infinite effort. If a poet of imperial genius can show such frailty, what fatuity may we not expect from an ordinary mortal ! A young university man of last century, who had obtained his degree with honours, was under the delusion that the eyes of the world were fixed upon him, and he hastened to compose an epic poem whilst his laurels were yet green, and his name was, as he fancied, in everybody's mouth. When he had finished his work to his own satisfaction, he took it to Person, one of the famous scholars of the time, begged him to peruse it, and to express his candid opinion upon the poetical spirit, the imagination, the plan, the invention, the sub- ject-matter and the style of its author. Some few weeks later he returned to the great scholar, and in one breath inquired, ' Well, Mr Porson, have you read my poem ? Do you like it? Do you think I ought to publish it? Will people read it?' ' My dear sir,' replied Porson, ' since you have asked me all about your work in one sentence, I can answer all these questions in one sentence your poem will be read when Homer and Virgil have been forgotten.' ' Oh, thank you, sir,' exclaimed the young poet, elated ; ' I am exceedingly delighted to hear you ex- press such a favourable opinion. I knew my work was good, of course, but a man is always more or less unfit to judge of the value of his own creation. Now I am safe, and if you will kindly give me the manuscript I will run to the printers.' He went ; he had the poem printed ; and he had it all to himself the earth rolling on in its orbit as if nothing had happened. A young Persian versifier, who had just read a poem 154 WIT, WISDOM AND FOLLY of his to Jami, whose approbation he sought, pointed out to the great poet that he had cleverly contrived to write his stanzas without the letter ' A ' occurring once in them. Jami, who had listened attentively, gave his opinion in the shape of advice. ' As you have left out ' A ' in order to make your verses uncommon,' he said, 'you can easily make them more uncommon still by leaving out the other vowels.' The same story is current in France, and is said to have referred to a poetaster who consulted Boileau. The critic on this occasion advised the removal of the other letters of the alphabet. Piron was no more tender-hearted under similar circumstances. He returned a huge manuscript to its author once without any comments. The young poet rapidly turned over the pages of his work to see whether the critic had pencilled marks in the margin by way of suggesting improvements, and perceiving nothing of the kind : ' What ! ' he cried, with a face beaming with satis- faction, ' no crosses anywhere ? ' ' No crosses ! ' replied Piron ; ' did you want me to turn your work into a cemetery ? ' From another young writer, Piron once received a pheasant with a gracious little note, begging him to kindly accept it as a testimony of sincere regard. Next day, the young man called, and drawing a tragedy from his pocket : ' Sir,' said he, ' may I venture to ask your opinion about this play?' ' I see ! ' answered Piron, ' this is the sauce I must eat your pheasant with ; be good enough to take the bird back. TOMMY ATKINS'S ANCIENT BROTHERS WHO, in these days of ours, is not fond of Tommy Atkins? Who does not delight to see him in his regimentals, marching with elastic step and in high spirits, to the martial tune of the band? Who does not experience a feeling of affection for him, when, neat and spruce, straight as a dart, with his glossy hair properly trimmed, with his cap rakishly stuck sideways on the tip of his right ear, with rounded arms and elbows foremost, with a light stick in his hand, he briskly passes along the street and makes his heels ring on the pavement in pursuit of his love? Who, more than he, has been the deserving subject of popular song? Is he not as brave as unpretending, as en- during as merry, as cheerful as serviceable, ever ready and ever proud to give up his life for his country in India, at the Cape, or in the Soudan ? And what soldier has earned more laurels and won more battles in every part of the globe than dear Tommy Atkins? Thou art a hero, Tommy every inch of thee ! and thou dost not suspect it, Tom ! '55 156 WIT, WISDOM AND FOLLY Look at that picture, and at this. Long before the good, honest, brave Tommy Atkins was in existence, and stood as a model warrior in the modern world, armies especially on the Continent, say, one hundred and fifty years ago were recruited from the very lowest class of vagabonds, and the word soldier was generally the synonym of thief. This was really the case, military discipline and training notwith- standing, because the pay which was of the poorest was either paid irregularly, or left unpaid altogether. A traveller once went to the Captain of a company on the march to complain that three of his straggling soldiers had robbed him on the highway of a warm new cloak, and he begged for immediate redress. ' My dear man, I do not believe your story at all/ quoth the Captain. ' How so, Captain ? ' replied the traveller ; ' I can swear to the robbery, and I can identify the men ! ' ' It won't do for me, I tell you ! ' retorted the Captain. ' I know my men better.' ' But,' insisted the complainant, ' this is not the way an honest burgess like me should be treated by the soldiers of his King, and I appeal to your sense of justice to obtain the return of my cloak.' ' It is precisely my sense of justice that gives me the conviction that none of my men had anything to do with the theft. You could, by no means, have your cloak restored in any case, for it would be sold by this time. But my soldiers would never rob a well- to-do man like you of so mean an object as a cloak.' ' By all I hold sacred on this earth, I can assure you, Captain, that I was shamefully robbed.' ' Then it could be none of my troopers who stole the cloak, I repeat ! ' 'Why should you, Captain, flatly contradict my story ? ' TOMMY A TKINS '5 ANCIENT BROTHERS \ 57 ' I contradict it flatly, because, if any of my men had robbed you at all, I can assure you they would have robbed you of all you possess besides your cloak, and would have left you naked on the road. I know them. Believe me, and think yourself fortunate not to have fallen into their clutches.' 4 What, then, am I to do, Captain ? ' inquired the traveller. ' Rest, and be thankful ! ' answered the Officer. r ' cts^irnrj CHIVALROUS NELSON THE greatest sea commander of all times and countries, and probably the hero of heroes Nelson was not without faults. He committed, owing to his strong passionate impulse, acts that historians cannot find words to palliate. The best excuse that can be found to partly obliter- ate from our minds the painful impression some of the episodes of his life would otherwise leave upon us, is that a hero without passions would be no com- plete hero. Impassioned feeling makes him romantic, and adds a certain radiance to his glorious personality. What can surround the chivalric warrior with a more fascinating halo than love ? And thus Nelson, swayed 158 CHIVALROUS NELSON 159 both by love and by patriotism, will always remain the pet hero of a great people, blending in his person the frailty of man and the greatness of the mighty war-god. The true knight of old chivalry had a lofty spirit that was never sullied by petty envy. He was too noble in mind and heart to be actuated by that base quality. Nelson shared with him this beautiful characteristic, we think, in the highest degree. He loved his subordinates, when worthy, with a warmth and sincerity, which made him admire and praise their deeds. He was too great to feel jealousy at the prowess of brave men. He loved them as brothers; they loved him as a friend. But if his attachment to his friends was ardent, their admiration for him was as genuine as their love. At Trafalgar, both the chief and his subordinates gave proof of the most sincere reciprocity of esteem and affection. Admiral Collingwood was first engaged, and he bore right upon the centre of the enemy's line, cutting it through 'astern of the Santa Anna, and engaging her under the very muzzle of her guns on the starboard side. ' See,' shouted Nelson, how that noble fellow, Collingwood, carries his ship into action ! ' And when Collingwood stood between two storms of fire and shot, he joyfully exclaimed, ' What would not Nelson give to be here ! ' The annals of war contain no record of chivalrous spirit superior to this. But there is an instance of Nelson's generosity and affection which reveals the whole beauty of his character. When he was presented to George III., the King did not forget to compliment him on his great actions and to thank him for the service he had done the country. His Majesty also condoled with him on the loss of his eye and of his arm. But Nelson, wheeling round to Captain Berry, his faithful companion through- 160 WIT, WISDOM AND FOLLY out his victories, introduced him to George III., and wishing to pay the gallant captain the highest compliment he could, he said, ' My LOSS, I assure Your Majesty, is not so great as you imagine,' for if I have lost my right arm in your service, here is my right hand.' No wonder his friends said of him, ' Our Nel is as brave as a lion and as gentle as a lamb.' XL VI I PRINCESS DE TALLEYRAND ASTONISHES HER GUESTS IT seems to ordinary mortals an almost inexplicable fact that some great men should have chosen to marry women altogether inferior to them, not in genius for that was outside the compass of possibility but in birth, position, education and breeding, even women whose natural gifts were far below those of the average humdrum wife. Many instances of such marriages are well-known to students, from Xantippe's time downwards. We all remember Gothe, whose wife was a good type of the German frau a good housekeeper, who cared for little beyond the cleanliness of her rooms, the polish of her furniture, and the wholesomeness of her food. Talleyrand took to his bosom a lady of the same homely L 162 WIT* WISDOM AND FOLLY kind, who was probably inferior to Madame Gothe as a housewife, and certainly inferior to most women in intellectual capacity. Who does not wonder at Diderot having married his Annette, and Rousseau his Theresa? The plea for such a choice on the part of great men is that an ungifted wife is unlikely to intrigue, meddle in important affairs, and trouble a husband with her opinions or pretensions, and is likely to give him the domestic peace necessary to him in the pursuit of great objects. Madame cle Talleyrand was a former Madame Grand, whose ignorance and small wits were proverbial. Her reading, needless to say, was not extensive, and her tact was hardly greater than her reading. Prince Talleyrand, who wanted to honour science in one of its best representatives, gave a state dinner to Denon, who some time before had returned from Egypt, and whom all Europe admired for his scientific explora- tions in the land of the Pharoahs. The day before the dinner party, Talleyrand said to the Princess, ' In order that you may know what to talk about with Denon, who has travelled much and will sit next to you at dinner, you will do well to read some pages of his work. Go to the librarian and ask for his book.' Madame de Talleyrand, who heard Denon's name for the first time, went to the library ; and, by the time she arrived there, she had forgotten the exact name. ' I want,' she said to the librarian, ' that curious book of travels by DC De What do you call him?' ' Defoe, I suppose your ladyship means ? ' ' Yes, that is it, I think. Pray give it to me.' As soon as she opened Robinson Crusoe, she was so interested that she read the best part of the story by the next day, and she took the author for the hero of the book. The great dinner began in the usual solemn silence, when Madame de Talleyrand, wishing to open the con- versation cleverly, said to Denon, in a voice audible to rXf.VCESS DE TALLEYRAND ASTONISHES HER GUESTS 163 f all the guests, ' How happy you must have felt, sir, when you found the good man Friday ! ' The event was unexpected. Everyone stared, wonder- ing ; and Talleyrand felt, for the first time in his life a cold perspiration upon his brow. ' She actually takes him for Robinson Crusoe ! ' he thought, and then, with a smile, he said to Denon, ' I made Madame cle Talleyrand believe you were of the same family as Robinson Crusoe, and she has dreamt that you were Robinson himself. Madame,' said he to his wife, ' M. Denon and Robinson are not even relatives. I beg your pardon for having deceived you in the matter.' Madame de Talleyrand thought her husband a rogue, Denon a fool, Robinson an imposter, and herself an injured woman ; and she was as unconscious of the hilarity she caused in Paris, as Talleyrand was sensible of it. XL VIII COUNT GOURVILLE AND THE SHOOTING PARTY No comic poet ever succeeded in curing the defects of Society in the same degree as Moliere. Neither the sarcasm of Aristophanes, nor the satire of the prince of dramatic poets Shakespeare worked the wonder of correcting, so quickly and so thoroughly, those eccen- tricities of affectation and fooleries of fashion, that grotesqueness of ignorance, that hideousness of hypocrisy which threatened to turn the French into a nation of idiots, fops and rascals. He brought back common sense and propriety. He had powerful co- adjutors in the great writers of the time. Pension, La Fontaine, La Bruyere and Boileau, each in a dif- ferent literary sphere, worked in the same field, no doubt, and did immense moral and social good, but it was the greatest of all comic poets who exercised supreme influence. Soon after the representation of Moliere's ' Maladc Imaginairc,' which had excited universal laughter at the expense of the ignorant medical men of the period, Gourville, one of the best wits of the Court of Versailles, 164 COUNT GOURVILLE AND THE SHOOTING-PARTY 165 met one morning a well-known doctor on his way to a shooting expedition. The doctor carried a gun and a rapier, and was followed by two servants, each of whom was carrying a gun, too. Gourville, who had seen Diafoirus and Purgon on the stage, did not let the occasion slip. \Vhat,' said he, ' what, doctor, armed to the teeth ! Are you afraid to miss your patients ? ' The medical man passed qn, bowing placidly, with- out asking for an explanation. He probably understood the jest. A generation later, the Purgons might flourish elsewhere, but, thanks to Moliere, they existed no longer in France. About the same time a man was indicted for having publicly declared that he would, in a short while, kill at least five hundred persons to make his fortune. After hearing the witnesses, the judge asked him, ' Is it true ? ' 'Yes,' he replied, 'but I only meant that I should soon become a physician.' He was acquitted, though everyone was convinced he would keep his word. Moliere's want of confidence in the medical art, and still greater mistrust of its practitioners, was shared by Addison. With the humour for which he was so famous, the latter once compared doctors to the army of the ancient Britons as Caesar described it. 'Some slay on foot, some slay in chariots. If the infantry makes less execution than the cavalry, it is because they cannot convey themselves with so much rapidity into all quarters, nor despatch their business in so short a time.' Some people would have the levity to declare that things are just reversed at present But it is safe to say that matters have so immensely im- proved since Addison's time, that physicians are no longer liable to such accusations; they, on the contrary, command respect for their sterling knowledge, and in- 166 It'/r, WISDOM AND POLL Y spire affectionate regard for their usual devotion to their fellowmen. The Chinese doctors are probably still at that stage of stagnant knowledge or scanty experience which dis- tinguished our own medical men two hundred years ago. The Emperor of China once inquired of the English Ambassador how physicians were paid in Europe. Sir George Staunton explained it to him. ' Then,' said the Emperor, ' I wonder how anyone can afford to be ill ? I deal with my physicians dif- ferently. I have four to whom the care of my health is entrusted, and I allow them a weekly salary; but the moment I am indisposed the salary is stopped until I am well again. I need hardly inform you that my illness is always of short duration.' This plan would certainly have accelerated the pro- gress of medical science if it had been adopted in Eurooe in the Middle A