Part 8
Long toed shoes were invented by Fulk, Count of Anjou, to hide an excrescence on one of his feet. These toes were so long as to be fastened to the knees with gold chains, and carved at the extreme point with the representation of a church window, a bird, or some fantastic device.
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The game of Cassino is thus played in some parts of Germany:--
Great Cassino takes sixteen. Little Cassino--fifteen. Every Ace--fourteen. King--thirteen. Queen--twelve. Knave--eleven.
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[Sidenote: Local Associations.]
Particular places become dear to the heart of man more generally by the associations attached to them, than by their beauty, convenience, or fertility. Nor is this the case only as affecting individuals, for attachment founded on memories or traditions binds tribes and nations likewise to certain spots, and this is carried so far occasionally that the mere name of a distant country will call from the bosom feelings of affection and devotion, joy, pride, and hope.
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[Sidenote: On the Choice of a Wife.]
Enough of beauty to secure affection, Enough of sprightliness to shun dejection, Of modest diffidence to claim protection; A docile mind subservient to correction, Yet stored with sense, with reason, and reflection, And every passion held in due subjection; Just faults enough to keep her from perfection. When such I find, I’ll make her my election.
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[Sidenote: Henry IV.]
On the night of the twentieth of January, 1608, the historian Pierre Mathieu relates, that he was present at the levee of Henry IV. of France, when that monarch said, that such had been the intense frost on that night, “his whiskers had been frozen when in bed by the side of the queen.”
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The following Latin prayer was composed by Mary, Queen of Scots, and repeated by her immediately before her execution.
“O Domine Deus, speravi in te; O care Jesu, nunc libera me; In durâ catenâ, in miserâ pœnâ, desidero te. Languendo, gemendo, et genuflectendo, A pœnâ desidero te; Adoro, imploro, ut liberes me.”
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In the year 1429, the same year Margaret of Anjou was born, Jargeau was taken by the Maid of Orleans. The Duke of Suffolk was the governor of the town, and when great part of the garrison was slain, being hard pressed to surrender by William Renaud, the following colloquy passed between them in the breach: “Are you a gentleman?” demanded Suffolk, finding it impossible to escape. “I am,” replied Renaud. “But are you a knight?” rejoined the Earl. “I am not,” answered Renaud. “Kneel down, then,” said Suffolk, “that I may make you one, for I cannot otherwise yield to you.” This was accordingly done, and affords a rich characteristic of the age of chivalry.
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_To the Memory of the gallant Sir Thomas Picton._
“My arm a nobler victory never gained.”
Weep for the brave! yet wherefore weep? On honour’s bed he laid him down, Distinguish’d ’mid the mighty heap, Encircled with the hero’s crown.
Weep for the brave! the tear shall tell Beyond the sculptor’s proudest art; Though Picton, gallant Picton fell, He lives enshrin’d in England’s heart.
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[Sidenote: True Magnanimity.]
Hath any wronged thee? be bravely revenged: slight it, and the work is begun; forgive it, and ’tis finished. He is below himself, that is not above an injury. Was it not Plato who said, that when an injurious speech was offered to him, he placed himself so high that it could not reach him?
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_On a Music Master who after gaining Credit of many, ran away in every one’s Debt._
His _time_ was short, his touch was neat, Our gold he freely finger’d; Alert alike with hands and feet, His movements have not linger’d. Where lies the wonder of the case? A moment’s thought detects it; His practice has been _Thoro-base_, A chord will be his exit! Yet while we blame his hasty flight Our censure may be rash; A traveller is surely right To change his _notes_ for _cash_.
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[Sidenote: The Emperor and the Opera Dancer.]
The insurrection and popular tumult which took place during the first days of the reign of the present Emperor of Russia, Nicolas, are facts well known; yet it may not be uninteresting to relate some of the circumstances attending the substitution of the Grand Duke Nicolas Paulowitsch in place of his brother the Grand Duke Constantine, who had abdicated, as was declared, and renounced his right to the crown in consequence of the marriage which had been in opposition, it was stated, to the opinions of his family, and by them averred, with his own abdication of his rights in favour of his brother Nicolas. After the, to say the least, awfully mysterious death of Alexander, the Archduke Constantine’s abdication was thus explained.
It was towards the end of 1825 that St. Petersburg was the scene of the struggle between the subjects and the sovereign; marked, in the first instance, by the fearless and intrepid exposure of his own royal person, and in the latter, by the terrible vengeance and inflictions with which many of the agents of this revolt were made to suffer by the merciless decree of the new Emperor. Even where life was spared, scarcely preferable to death were the punishments awarded indiscriminately, and without mitigation to age, youth, or sex.
Amongst the nobler victims of the Autocrat’s implacable revenge, was the Prince Troubeitzkoi, a young colonel, but lately married to the daughter of one of the most distinguished members of the diplomacy at St. Petersburg. This unfortunate man had sought a refuge in the house of his father in law; but his retreat being discovered to Nicolas, he was pursued, and with the trembling ambassador carried before the Emperor. The Prince Troubeitzkoi, throwing himself on his knees, implored his clemency, and in tears the wretched parent pleaded his youth and the sincerity of his repentance. Disdaining to reply to the prostrate nobleman, Nicolas turned to the ambassador, saying that, in consideration for him, the life of his son in law was granted, but that his name would be added to those who were sentenced to the _second_ degree of punishment.
“To lay their head on the block whilst reeking with the blood of their accomplices, and afterwards to hard labour for life, in exile: that exile, Siberia!”
Before relating the fate of any of the other conspirators, we will add to the sad story of this young couple, that the wife sued for and obtained leave to follow her husband into banishment; she nobly shared his trials, his privations, and his labours in the mines. Her devotion had no limit; and it was by the trifling produce of her industry that she sustained her family. Five times, in these desolate regions, she became a mother. In the year 1838, she gave her husband a fresh proof of her sublime and unwearying affection. She quitted Siberia, and alone crossing the dreadful country, after a journey of _sixteen hundred leagues_, she threw herself at the feet of the Emperor, and implored his pardon for her husband.
The autocrat was inflexible, and forbade the name of the individual who had dared to conspire against his person, to be mentioned in his presence.
The wretched wife withdrew, and again retrod the desert path to exile and her husband.
Four years subsequently, this hapless victim again resolved to undertake this dreadful journey, and to make another effort to soften the iron will of her sovereign. And this time she succeeded, through the influence of--_an opera dancer!_
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Marie Taglioni had by her talent, and her good qualities, acquired the favour and indulgence of the Emperor and the Empress. Whilst none dared to speak in behalf of the miserable exiles, or to utter the suppliant’s cry for mercy, it was suggested, that probably Marie Taglioni would venture to lay the petition at the Sovereign’s feet; she did so, and, aided by the noble intercession of the Empress, the pardon was obtained; and after sixteen years banishment the Prince Troubeitzkoï was released, but on the condition of never approaching the Russian territory.
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A reflection is attributed to the illustrious historian Edward Gibbon, which those who are capable of giving it just value ought more frequently to apply.
“My lot,” he says, “might have been that of a peasant, a slave, or a savage; nor can I reflect without pleasure on the bounty of nature, which cast my birth in a free and civilized country, in an age of science and philosophy, in a family of honourable rank, and decently endowed with the gifts of fortune.”
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Lady Wortley Montague says of the Hervey family, “They were a clever but eccentric race, and of whom it was observed, that the world consisted of men, women, and Herveys.”
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[Sidenote: Coquetry.]
Tacitus remarks of Poppea, the Queen of Nero, that she concealed a part of her face: to the end, that the imagination having fuller play by irritating curiosity, they might think more highly of her beauty than if the whole of her face had been exposed.
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[Sidenote: Charles V.]
Charles V. spoke five languages: the Flemish, the German, the Spanish, the French, and the Italian. He used to say, that to employ the vulgar languages according to the use for which they were most proper, he would speak Italian to the ladies, French to men, German to horses, and Spanish to God. He used also to say, the Portuguese appeared to be madmen, and were so; the Spaniards appeared to be wise, and were not so; the Italians appeared to be wise, and were so; the French appeared to be madmen, and were not such. That the Germans spoke like carmen, the English like simpletons, the Italians like lovers, the French like masters, and the Spaniards like kings.
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[Sidenote: Family MSS.]
To the Right Honourable the Earl of Leycester, Extraordinary Embassador for his Majesty of Great Britain with the King of France.
My Lord,
I have received a great honour and favour from your Lordship, that you would think upon a servant so far off, which I can but acknowledge, being unable to requite. For news (which is the Embassador’s philosophie), I have so many employments of my vocation, and now so little means to enquire near at hand, as I am utterly ignorant of any thing worth writing; but that I hear your Lordship hath given his Majesty very good satisfaction in his business, and planted in him a great opinion of your abilities. I heartily wish your Lordship may likewise find a proportionable compensation for both at your return. No man, shall be more glad to see your Lordship in the right place of your merit than
Your Lordship’s humble and faithful servant, BEN. RUDYARD.
St. James’s Lodge, 20 June, 1637.
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[Sidenote: Man was made to mourn.]
When chill November’s surly blast Made fields and forests bare, One evening as I wandered forth Along the banks of Ayr, I spied a man whose aged steps Seem’d weary worn with care, His face was furrow’d o’er with age, And hoary was his hair.
Young stranger, whither wand’rest thou? Began the rev’rend sage; Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, Or youthful pleasures rage? Or haply prest with cares and woes, Too soon thou hast begun To wander forth with me to mourn The miseries of man!
The sun that overhangs yon moors Outspreading far and wide, Where hundreds labour to support A haughty Lordship’s pride; I’ve seen yon weary winter sun Twice forty years return, And every time has added proof That man was made to mourn!
Oh man! while in thy early years, How prodigal of time, Misspending all thy precious hours, Thy glorious youthful prime; Alternate follies take the sway, Licentious passions burn, Which tenfold force gives nature’s law, That man was made to mourn!
Look not alone on youthful prime, On manhood’s active might; Man then is useful to his kind, Supported is his right: But see him on the edge of life, With cares and sorrows worn, Then age and want--oh, ill-match’d pair! Show man was made to mourn!
A few seem favourites of fate, In pleasure’s lap carest, Yet think not all the rich and great Are likewise truly blest: But oh, what crowds in every land Are wretched and forlorn! Through weary life this lesson learn, That man was made to mourn!
Many and sharp the num’rous ills Inwoven with our frame, More pointed still we make ourselves, Regret, remorse, and shame! And man, whose heaven-erected face The smiles of love adorn, Man’s inhumanity to man, Makes countless thousands mourn!
See yonder poor o’er-labour’d wight, So abject, mean, and vile, Who begs a brother of the earth To give him leave to toil; And see his lordly fellow worm The poor petition spurn, Unmindful though a weeping wife And helpless offspring mourn!
If I’m design’d yon lordling’s slave, By nature’s law design’d, Why was an independent wish E’er planted in my mind? If not, why am I subject to His cruelty or scorn? Or why has man the will and power To make his fellow mourn?
Yet let not this too much, my son, Disturb thy youthful breast; This partial view of human kind Is surely not the best! The poor, oppressed, honest man Had surely ne’er been born, Had there not been some recompense To comfort those that mourn!
Oh Death! the poor man’s dearest friend, The kindest and the best, Welcome the hour my aged limbs Are laid with thee at rest; The great, the wealthy fear thy blow, From pomp and pleasure torn, But oh! a blest relief to those Who weary laden mourn!
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Two opposite opinions should not lie on the same bolster.
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Afflictions are sent us by Providence to teach us to recollect our ways.
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[Sidenote: Sir Thomas More.]
Quod mihi dixisti, De corpore Christi, Crede quod edas, et edis; Sic tibi rescribo De tuo Palfrido, Crede quod habeas, ut habes.
This was a witty satire on the zeal of Sir Thomas for the dogma of the Romish church, Transubstantiation.
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It was by Sir Thomas More that Hans Holbein was introduced to King Henry VIII. He resided during three years at his patron’s house at Chelsea. Holbein was born at Augsburgh in 1495 or 8. His father was a citizen of that place, and an esteemed painter. At Basil in Switzerland he became known to Erasmus, who sent him with his introduction to England, to Sir Thomas More.
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[Sidenote: Thought.]
You think me in danger of becoming an unhappy being, from my turn of thought and taste. Young as I am, I feel the truth of your observation. I differ from those I converse with, they mortify and disappoint me, I draw back with disgust; I raise wonder, and perhaps hatred also. Sometimes my reserve is construed into pride and affectation. When I am talkative my ideas are laughed at, as inconsistent with the opinions of the world; my conduct and character are not understood, and I am stigmatized with being romantic, that is, ridiculous. What am I to do? either I must give up the world or my own faculties. Am I born to say, “Yes, certainly,” and “that’s right,” when my conviction impels me to say, “No, I doubt,” and “that’s wrong?”
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_Providence._
Just as a mother, with sweet pious face, Yearns tow’rds her little children from her seat, Gives one a kiss, another an embrace, Takes this upon her knee, that on her feet; And while from actions, looks, complaints, pretences, She learns their feeling, and their various will, To this a look, to that a word dispenses, And whether stern or smiling, loves them still. So Providence! for us high, infinite, Makes our necessities its watchful task; Hearkens to all our prayers, helps all our wants, And e’en if it denies what seems our right, Either denies, because ’twould have us ask, Or seems but to deny, or in denying, grants.
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[Sidenote: Cromwell.]
“Cromwell was formed to delude the minds of men. His hypocrisy, a thing far removed from what is ordinarily known by that name, was fervent, and excited sympathy, and created awe in the beholders. The bluntness of his manner, and the occasional familiarity of his deportment, even to the entire emptying himself of all extrinsic and accidental greatness, won the favour of those with whom he had intercourse. There was something deep in his conceptions, that none of his assistants could fathom. He was moderate in his temper, and forbearing in his actions; never allowing himself in violence more frequently, or to a greater extent, than was necessary to his purposes. Add to which the firmness and courage of his spirit, and the greatness of his abilities, whether to procure intelligence, or to overawe the insidiousness and crooked hostility of foreign courts: and we shall own that he was most singularly fitted for the station he filled.”[8]
[8] This character of Oliver Cromwell was drawn by William Godwin, author of the Life of Milton’s Nephews, E. and J. Philips.
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[Sidenote: Spanish Proverb.]
When the child is christened, you may have godfathers enough: when a man’s need is supplied, or his necessities over, people are ready to offer their assistance or service.
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Good Chancellor Van, (Who’s a very wise man), Would persuade poor John Bull, (Who’s a bit of a fool,) That _paper_, though _rags_, (This is one of his brags) Is as good as pure gold. And yet we are told He’d entail degradation On our brave sister nation, For merely believing _Transubstantiation_. You’d have reason’d much better, Dear Van, had you said, That your wig block, though wood, Was as good as your head.
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[Sidenote: Hyder Ali Khan.]
In the following extract from the speech of the Right Honourable Edmund Burke, on the subject of the Nabob of Arcot’s debts, the reader is led by all the enthusiasm of characteristic feeling and the ornamental graces of imagination which distinguished that orator, to the contemplation of a great though savage mind, which he so strongly paints as struggling against the toils of oppressive power, and in the operation of determined revenge, _collecting, calculating, and measuring_ the vengeance with which he purposed to visit his oppressors.
“When at length Hyder Ali found that he had to do with men who either would sign no convention, or whom no treaty and no signature could bind, and who were the determined enemies of human intercourse itself, he decreed to make the country possessed by these incorrigible and predestinated criminals a memorable example to mankind. He resolved, in the gloomy recesses of a mind capacious of such things, to leave the whole Carnatick an everlasting monument of vengeance, and to put perpetual desolation as a barrier between him and those against whom the faith which holds the moral elements of the world together, was no protection. He became at length so confident of his force so collected in his might, that he made no secret whatsoever of his dreadful resolution. Having terminated his disputes with every enemy and every rival, who buried their mutual animosities in their common detestation against the creditors of the Nabob of Arcot, he drew from every quarter whatever a savage ferocity could add to his new rudiments in the arts of destruction; and, compounding all the materials of fury, havock, and desolation into one black cloud, he hung for a while on the declivities of the mountains. Whilst the authors of all these evils were idly and stupidly gazing on this menacing meteor, which blackened all their horizon, it suddenly burst, and poured down the whole of its contents upon the plains of the Carnatick. Then ensued a scene of woe, the like of which no eye had seen, no heart conceived, and which no tongue can adequately tell. All the horrors of war, before known or heard of, were mercy to that new havock. A storm of universal fire blasted every field, consumed every house, destroyed every temple. The miserable inhabitants, flying from their flaming villages, in part were slaughtered; others, without regard to sex, to age, to the respect of rank, or sacredness of function, fathers torn from children, husbands from wives, enveloped in a whirlwind of cavalry, and amidst the goading spears of drivers and the trampling of pursuing horses, were swept into captivity, in an unknown and hostile land. Those who were able to evade this tempest fled to the walled cities; but, escaping from fire, sword, and exile, they fell into the jaws of famine. The alms of the settlement, in this dreadful exigency, were certainly liberal; and all was done by charity that private charity could do; but it was a people in beggary; it was a nation which stretched out its hands for food. For months together those creatures of sufferance, whose very excess and luxury in their most plenteous days had fallen short of the allowance of our austerest fasts, silent, patient, resigned, without sedition or disturbance, almost without complaint, perished by a hundred a day in the streets of Madras. Every day seventy at least laid their bodies in the streets, or on the glacis of Tanjore, and expired of famine in the granary of India. I was going to awake your justice towards this unhappy part of our fellow citizens, by bringing before you some of the circumstances of this plague of hunger. Of all the calamities which beset and waylay the life of man, this comes the nearest to our heart, and is that wherein the proudest of us all feels himself to be nothing more than he is: but I find myself unable to manage it with decorum; these details are of a species of horror so nauseous and disgusting, they are so degrading to the sufferers and to the hearers, they are so humiliating to human nature itself, that, on better thoughts, I find it more advisable to throw a pall over this hideous object, and to leave it to your general conceptions. For eighteen months, without intermission, this destruction raged from the gates of Madras to the gates of Tanjore; and so completely did these masters in their art, Hyder Ali, and his more ferocious son, absolve themselves of their impious vow, that when the British armies traversed, as they did, the Carnatick for hundreds of miles in all directions, through the whole line of their march they did not see one man, not one woman, not one child, not one four-footed beast of any description whatever. One dead, uniform silence reigned over the whole region. With the inconsiderable exceptions of the narrow vicinage of some few forts, (I wish to be understood as speaking literally; I mean to produce to you more than three witnesses, above all exception, who will support this assertion in its full extent) that hurricane of war passed through every part of the central provinces of the Carnatick. Six or seven districts to the North and to the South (and these not wholly untouched) escaped the general ravage.
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[Sidenote: The Seal.]
The _Seal_ displays a taste for music. They will long follow a boat in which any musical instrument is played, and even a tune whistled has attraction for them.
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[Sidenote: Thought.]
There is perhaps no pang so acute, no sentiment so humiliating to the heart of woman, as the consciousness of awakening distrust, when she most deserved to have inspired confidence.
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[Sidenote: Pride of Birth.]