Chapter 13

'Need I confess that the entrance of a guardian angel in the shape of a skillful disciple of Esculapius would have been hailed by me as an especial joy? However, no such angel came, neither was he within call; so as the danger struck me as imminent, and his condition appeared growing every moment more critical, I argued, without bleeding he would undoubtedly die, whereas by my attempt, however clumsy, he might rally. I plucked up my courage to the sticking-point, and stuck my patient. I drew several ounces of blood. My fair assistant displayed the most undeniable, I can hardly say irreproachable, coolness, for really, to my fancy, she was a little too much self-possessed. As soon as the bandages were applied, Arthur's consciousness returned.

''Ah! thanks, thanks,' said he, addressing me in a low, faltering tone. 'The crisis has now passed.'

''Over-excitement, doubtless, produced it?'

''Yes,' said he, 'any excitement is dangerous for one like me. You see in me a man condemned to death by every member of the faculty that I have ever consulted. I dare say you mean kindly, and by that look of incredulity, you would seek to comfort me.'

''Well, doctors are often mistaken,' I said.

''True; but I am convinced their predictions in my case will be literally fulfilled, for when this terrible disease of the heart once lays its hold upon a man, it never relaxes its deadly grasp. But,' said he, raising himself to a sitting posture, 'but I _will_ not die, I _must_ live. One fixed purpose, one great aim sustains me, and I feel that till I have accomplished this, the thread of life, frail as I know it is, strained as I feel it oft to be, still, still I have a firm presentiment it will hold out.'

''Arthur, dear Arthur!' broke in the voice of Adéle, as she leaned over his shoulder, 'you know after such a paroxysm, repose is necessary. No more conversation to-night; strive to calm your nerves, and to enjoy the tranquil influence of sleep. Do this, I beg, I implore you.'

'With the docility of a petted child he yielded, and reclining his head upon his pillow, soon sank into a deep sleep. It was now verging upon three o'clock, and at my solicitation Adéle retired to my apartment, while I kept watch beside my patient's couch.

'The mysterious individual whose conduct had so puzzled me, and to whom I had been so strangely introduced, seemed to be a man of about thirty, decidedly handsome, and of striking mien, of elegant manners, and evidently accustomed to refined society. His hair, which curled naturally, was, however, growing thin; a few deep lines were furrowed on his brow, and the corners of his mouth wore, as it were, unconsciously, at times, a disdainful air, and as he slept I could trace how the fire of youthful passion had brought his manhood to premature decay.

'Although the veil of mystery had been rent, my curiosity was only whetted, by no means gratified. Who could this man be for whose arrival, according to my hostess' account, he had been waiting with such feverish impatience? What journey could he have returned from, in such shattered health; and finally, what was this great purpose, on the successful issue of which, he seemed to stake his all, on which he declared his life to hang?

'Again the undefinable spell that seemed to attach to the fascinating Adéle, filled my mind with reveries of wondrous interest. What was her part in this drama that was enacting so close beside me? Was she the victim or the enchantress? During the long vigils of that night, I asked this question of myself many a time and oft, and yet could arrive at no solution of my doubts. The soft, regular sound, produced by her breathing, in the next room, the door of which remained ajar--for she had thrown herself upon my bed, without removing her apparel--fell upon my ear, and proved she slept in all the tranquillity of innocence. And yet the very tranquillity of that sleep almost excited my displeasure; for it seemed to evince a listless, reckless indifference to danger, a lack of tender, womanly sympathy for suffering and sickness, that might indeed arise from a heart untouched by any love, save that of self.

'I was just rolling up another cigarette, when, as the day dawned, Adéle entered. She was lovely, and radiant with smiles. The closest and most sagacious observer would have failed to discern the slightest trace of the excitement through which she had passed but a few short hours before. She thanked me for my kind assistance, with a bewitching grace, almost girlish in its simplicity, and begged me to retire, and take the rest she felt assured I must need. Before so doing, however, it was agreed that the door leading to my room should in future remain unfastened, in case of a recurrence of the danger that had menaced her the previous night.

'Feeling no drowsiness, but rather a desire for fresh air, I mounted to the cupola that adorned the roof of our house, and for a couple of hours I sat there, enjoying the delicious breeze and the picturesque panorama that lay beneath my feet, and the motley groups that swarmed to early prayers up the Cathedral steps.

'At last, I felt like strengthening the inner man, and determined to step down as far as Véroley's, the fashionable café of the city, and there to take a right good breakfast. I returned to my room to replenish my purse, and to take my dagger and revolver. I found the purse and revolver on the shelf where I had left them, untouched, but my search for the dagger proved fruitless. Yet with it I had wrenched out the staples that fastened the door, and to my knowledge no one had had access to my room since that time, save Adéle.

'After taking my breakfast, and calling for my letters, I paid one or two visits, and ere I returned home, it was well nigh three in the afternoon.

'I had not been seated long, ere Mr. Livermore entered. He appeared to have completely recovered from his attack.

''Of two evils, the adage advises us to choose the lesser. I would, therefore, prefer to appear intrusive rather than ungrateful; so excuse me if I trespass on your time or your patience. After the generous devotion you displayed last night, and after what Adéle moreover has told me, I feel I am bound to inform you whom you have thus befriended; for, as you have already learned, Albert Pride is not my real name.'

'I hastened to offer to my neighbor the seat of honor, my magnificent rocking-chair, not only as a mark of politeness, but thinking that as he was about to tell me something, if he were only comfortably ensconced, very interesting, he might find himself so much at his ease that he would make a much cleaner breast of it.

'My little surmise proved correct; he accepted my proffered civility, and proceeded to give me a long and very interesting account of his parentage and youth. Suffice it to say, that he was a native of Tennessee, and being left an orphan at an early age, had, like thousands of others, passed through a brief career of folly and extravagance. He had become acquainted with Adéle and her family some two years previously, and had been married to her about four months, under the impression, as he had told her husband on the previous night, that a divorce had been obtained.

'What most excited my surprise, in his recital, was, that while Percival had accused her of having deserted him because she deemed him ruined, Arthur told me that she married him, knowing him to be almost penniless. But I will give you his own words:

''I explained to her my desperate position, when she replied: 'It matters not; in return for the fortune you have squandered, I will give you that which shall produce an income far beyond your boyish dreams.'

''A horrible suspicion flashed across my mind; I feared her reason was impaired.

'''Adéle,' I exclaimed, 'in mercy, jest not; but explain yourself.'

'''I will, Arthur; but first of all, I must exact from you the most solemn vow, that under no circumstances will you divulge to mortal man or woman, the secret I am about to confide to you.''

'At this point, Mr. Livermore checked himself suddenly, as if he had said too much, and then added:

''I regret, my dear sir, that I can merely add, that I gave Adéle the solemn pledge she required, and that my presence here, in the city of Mexico, to-day, is merely the result of the secret then intrusted to me.'

'I was still under the impression that this narrative had produced, when Adéle softly entered the apartment.

''Arthur,' said she, in a low whisper, 'there is some one knocking at the door of the ante-chamber.'

''Remain here,' said he, rising from his seat, 'I will go and open it.'

''Do not let him go alone, I beg of you,' said Adéle. 'Who knows of what service your presence may be to-day, or of what value your testimony may be hereafter? Possibly, it may save money, if not life; but why go without your hat and gloves?' she added, as I was leaving the room bare-headed, 'you must pass for a visitor, not for a fellow-lodger.'

'Lost in admiration of her ready tact and coolness, I reached Arthur Livermore's sitting-room, just as he opened the door.

''Pepito,' exclaimed he.

''Ay, Caballero, Pepito himself, in perfect health, and ever your most devoted servant.''

[TO BE CONCLUDED.]

* * * * *

CHANGED.

I can not tell what change has come to you, Since when, amid the pine-trees' murmurous stir, You spoke to me of love most deep and true: I only know you are not as you were.

It is not that you fail in tender speech; You speak to me as kindly as of old; But yet there is a depth I do not reach, A doubt that makes my heart grow sick and cold.

True, there has been no anger and no strife; I only feel, with dreary discontent, That something bright has vanished from my life; I know not what it is, nor where it went.

You chide my grief, and wipe my frequent tears; But to my pain what art can minister? Oh! I would give all life's remaining years If you would be again as once you were!

As, dipped in fabled fountains far away, All living things are hardened into stone, So strange and frozen seems your love to-day, Its sweet, spontaneous growth and life are gone:

And it is changed into a marble ghost, Driving away all happiness and rest; In whose chill arms I shiver faint and lost, Bruising my heart against its rocky breast.

Nay, no regrets, no vows: it is too late, Too late for you to speak, or me to hear: We can not mend torn roses: we must wait For the new blossoms of another year.

* * * * *

HAMLET A FAT MAN.

I have seen on the stage several Hamlets, more or less successful in that sublime dramatic creation of Shakspeare, to say nothing of small-calfed personifications at private fancy balls. Young Booth, in these days, is doubtless the most ideal and accurate interpreter of the great Dane; although Mrs. Kemble's rendition is certainly beyond the reach of hostile criticism.

In this paper I propose to consider Hamlet not as he is represented on the stage, but as he is described in the original text. At the theatre, he usually appears as a dark-complexioned, black-haired, beetle-browed, and slender young man, wearing an intensely gloomy wig, eyebrows corked into the blackness of preternatural bitterness, while on thin and romantic legs, imprisoned in black silk tights, he struts across the stage, the counterfeit presentment of the veritable prince.

I once read a brief line or two in a work by Goethe, alleging that Hamlet was 'a fat man.' At first I was inclined to regard this as a joke of the majestic German. Later reflection induced me to examine this surmise in detail, and to conclude finally that the theory is true, and that the enigma of Hamlet's character can be solved through calculations of pinguitude.

Eurêka. Perfect tense, indicative mood, 'I have found it!' In fact, the whole Hamlet problem must be regarded in an obese, or adipose point of view. The Prince of Denmark is not the conventional Hamlet of the theatre, nor the Hamlet of Shakspeare. He was a Northman, and like the greater number of the inhabitants of Northern Europe, was, doubtless, a blue-eyed and flaxen-haired blonde. My lord was far from appearing thin or delicate; on the contrary, he carried on his belly a large portmanteau well-rounded by the swell of the digesting nutriment.

That our honored prince was a fat man, is proved by his own confession, as well as by the evidence of the queen. Tossed about in a hot desert of doubt and despair, he exclaims in one of his incomparable soliloquies:

'_Oh! that this too, too solid flesh_ WOULD MELT!'

What thin man would melt away even in the hot solstice of June? In the fencing scene, (Act IV.,) his flabby muscles are soon fatigued, and the queen exclaims:

'_He's fat, and scant of breath: Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows_.'

However, to be serious, it must be confessed that there are splendid traits in the mental character of the prince; every grandeur or folly can be found in him. From the lowest pit of despair, his soul debates the question of suicide as a logical proposition, forgetting the divine prohibition against 'self-slaughter.' Eloquence, genius, and brilliant fancies, are constantly manifested, and also a gorgeous imagination.

It may be mentioned, incidentally, that Hamlet's character has been contrasted with that of Orestes, the Greek, who, when he arrived at years of manhood, avenged his father's death by assassinating his mother, Clytemnestra, and her adulterer, OEgisthus. In other words, he avenged a crime by a crime.

And now let us drop these serious comments, and return to the more humorous side of our theory--the plumpness of the prince, overlooked as a mere accident, by critics and actors. It is a physiological propriety that he should be of a phlegmatic temperament--a temperament often united to an acute intellect, but also, to a sluggish and heavy person. A weak, wavering inactivity, fickleness of purpose, a keen sensibility, or sensitiveness, are also noticeable; while the subtlety of his theories is sharply penetrating, and forms the keystone to the arch of his character.

Truly, Hamlet's intellect is that of a giant; his strength of will, that of a child. He has, so to speak, no executive talent. He is the doubting philosopher, the subtle metaphysician, the self-analyzer, always 'thinking too precisely upon the event.' He sees so far into the consequences of human action that he is fearful of taking decided steps. He has the nerve to kill neither his uncle nor himself, although he debates the latter question with great dexterity. He never _effected_ any one of the plans upon which he had deliberated. Any one who reads _Hamlet_, under the influence of this theory, will see that it is confirmed by every incident in the tragedy.

A series of accidents hurried the prince to the final catastrophe. His was a lovely, great, and noble nature; but it lacked one element of heroism--strength of will. It was an exquisite touch in the mighty poet to make Hamlet gross in figure, as he was phlegmatic, inactive, and irresolute in temperament. Had he been a thin, brown, choleric, and nervous man, the tragedy would have ended in the first Act. Had he been a fiery Italian, instead of a doubting, deliberating Dane; had he been of a passionate, or yellow complexion, instead of a calm blonde; had he possessed a wiry, high-strung, and nervous constitution; had he, in a word, proved himself a man of action, and not a man of metaphysical tendencies, his sword would have soon cut the perplexing meshes which surrounded him, and he would have executed instant vengeance upon the authors of his misfortune and disgrace. Else he would have put an end to a life too wretched to be endured.

The conventional critic may smile at the conceit of a _fat_ Hamlet, but I am satisfied that my theory is amply sustained by the text, as well as by the true solution of the alleged knotty points of Shakspeare's mental character, over which the ponderous but inflated brain of Dr. Johnson stultified itself. He accuses the Avon bard of introducing spirits, ghosts, myths, and fairies; of being guilty of exaggerations, absurdities, vulgar expressions, and other naughtiness. (_Boswell's Johnson_, Vol. IV. pp. 258, etc.) All of which proves that the Doctor was sometimes prejudiced, ill-natured, jealous, and ponderously silly on certain points.

But they who have cracked the kernel of this grand tragedy, and formed a just conception of the real disposition and peculiarities of the true hero, must admire and appreciate the marvelous skill of the great bard who understands the relations between physiology and the passions, and can analyze the temperament physical, as well as dissect the soul immortal.

* * * * *

THE KNIGHTS OF THE GOLDEN CIRCLE.

Within a very few years, the friends of Emancipation in the North and West, as well as all opposed to the increase of 'Southern power' in our national policy, have been from time to time interested by rumors of a secret association termed that of the _Knights of the Golden Circle_, or as it is familiarly described, 'the K.G.C.' It was understood to be a secret society, instituted for the purpose of extending, by the most desperate means and measures, the institution of slavery, and with it, of Southern Secession and all those social and political principles which have been of late years so unscrupulously advocated by Southern statesmen. It is, however, only of late that any thing definite relative to this order has been published.

In July, 1861, the Louisville _Journal_ gave a full _exposé_ of the order, which has been recently republished in a pamphlet, by 'the U.S. National U.C.,' a copy of which now lies before us. 'Of the authenticity of this exposition,' says the introduction, 'there can be no doubt.' George D. Prentice, Esq., the editor of the _Journal_, gives his solemn assurance, as an editor and as a man, that the documents from which he derived his information are authentic. He asserts, moreover, that he received them from a prominent Knight of the Third Degree. The genuineness of these documents has never yet been denied by any man whose word can be regarded as valid testimony in the case. Corroborative testimony was furnished in a violent newspaper quarrel which occurred soon after the first publication was made, in which several 'Knights of the Third Degree' were participants, the question in dispute being as to the authorship of the revelations made to Mr. Prentice. After the warfare had subsided, he informed them that they were all mistaken, and that each one of the parties implicated was equally guiltless.

On the first page of the introduction referred to, the editor, after a succinct statement that the K.G.C. is the direct descendant of the order of the Lone Star and other secret fillibustering societies, and that many of the 'old landmarks' of those unions may be traced in its organization, quotes from an article in the CONTINENTAL MONTHLY for January, 1862, as follows:

'This organization, which was instituted by John C. Calhoun, William L. Porcher, and others, as far back as 1835, had for its sole object the dissolution of the Union and the establishment of Southern Empire--Empire is the word, not Confederacy or Republic--and it was solely by means of its secret but powerful machinery, that the Southern States were plunged into revolution, in defiance of the will of a majority of their voting population. Nearly every man of influence at the South, (and many a pretended Union man at the North,) is a member of this organization, and sworn, _under the penalty of assassination_, to labor, 'in season and out of season, by fair means and by foul, at all times and on all occasions, for the accomplishment of its object.'

The editor of the pamphlet in question declares that he knows not upon what evidence the above statement from the CONTINENTAL is based, but admits that there can be no reasonable doubt that these men and their associates _did_ resort to secret and powerful means for the spread of their views and for the instruction of the Southern mind in the doctrines of disunion and treason which they originated.

As regards our source of information, let it suffice to say that we derived it from a gentleman who was himself a K.G.C., who was familiar with its history, and of whose character for honor and veracity strict inquiries made by us of men of high standing in the community left no shadow of room for doubt. From his statements, it was transferred by one of our establishment to the author of the article in question.

To the eye of the student of history, who has closely traced in many ages and countries the vast action of secret societies in events, the whole Southern movement bears, however, intrinsic evidence of that peculiar form of hidden political power. The prompt and vigorous action of the whole Secession movement, by which States with a majority attached to the Union were hurled, scarce knowing how, into rebellion, would never have been accomplished save by a long established and perfectly drilled organization. It is not enough to sway millions that the leaders simply know what they wish to do, or that they have the power to do it. There must be _organization_ and _subordination_, if only to control the independent action of demagogues and of selfish politicians, who abound in the South as elsewhere. Had the existence of the K.G.C. never been revealed, the historian would have detected it by its results, and been compelled in fairness to admit that it was admirably instituted to fulfill its ends--evil as they were--and that its work was well done.

The editor of the pamphlet has good grounds for asserting that the K.G.C. embraces among its members thousands of secretly disloyal men in the North, and that these are of all grades of society. Let it, however, be remembered that previous to the breaking out of this war there were many who did not see Disunion as they now view it, and that their ties with the South were often of the most brotherly kind. Indeed, when Secession was first openly agitated, and until Sumter fired the Northern heart, myriads who would now gladly disown those words were wont to say: 'Well, if they are determined to go, I suppose we must lose them.' Would Fernando Wood have ever _dared_ at that time to publish a proclamation recommending the secession of New-York as a free city had there not then existed a singular apathy, or rather a strange blindness, to the horrible results which must flow from disunion? In those days the country _was_ blind--it has seen many an old error and delusion dispelled since then--unfortunately too many among us have still much to learn! Let those who still oppose _Emancipation_ remember that a day will come when they, too, will unavoidably appear as the tories of the great Revolution now in progress!